A Quick Trip Before Knee Surgery; A Bit of Nostalgia; A Surprise Visit With Old Friends

 At Turkey Creek RV Park, Hollister, Missouri...

I can't help but cringe at my expectation of a dressing-down from Janice for my irregular posting; In fact, I'm surprised she hasn't scolded me again already. She's probably saving it up for just the right time. I'm really struggling to explain my inattention to this, except two circumstances are at play: 1) I just can't bring myself to post about unremarkable days and 2) we took a quick trip to Branson, and we have just been too busy to sit down and put something together. 

When I ended the last post, I was describing all the updates to Phannie that we had done at Red Bay, Alabama, the tiny town that is the home of the Tiffin Motorhome factory. There was one photo that I forgot to add to that post, involving a sign that I saw while we were there. Red Bay is a quirky little town, as I previously described in three ancient posts, published in sequence beginning with this one (click on the link). You can add to those quirks this sign, which appears to be relatively new:

If you read it through carefully, the Red Bay Hospital is trying to promote its outpatient care, but the sign is not large enough to read the smaller print as you dash past it in a car.  All you see is, "We Make it Easy for You to Stay Home." As I zipped by the sign, not reading any further than that, it instantly brought forth my proper English language obsession and love of its comedic butchering to produce unintended meanings; I turned the car around to take another look. In reading only the large print, of course, the sign gives the impression that the hospital's function is so abhorrent that a prospective patient would prefer to stay home and take his or her chances rather than to use its services. The explanation, in small print below the larger lettering, made it more sensible. However, the designer obviously didn't take into account that only a speed reader would notice more of the message than I did as he or she passed by.

With that little oddity out of the way, I'll go ahead with more current events. After Red Bay, we went to Searcy, Arkansas to visit friends Carolyn and Larry for a couple of days, then we were off to my ancestral homeland, Nacogdoches, Texas, to visit more friends. We even got a fine catfish dinner and a tour of the beautiful Lufkin home of Ray (a former employee but forever friend) and his wife, Carolyn. Naturally, I forgot to take a photo. We also had a nice lunch at the Lufkin, Texas airport, where I was based shortly after I landed my first real job as a pilot (pun intended), flying mail every night to and from Dallas with a stop in Palestine. It's hard to believe that was more than 50 years ago. The following photo was taken from that era:

I was all of 23 years old at the time, and the airplane was a Beech 18, which was an upgrade from the old WWII-era C-45. Because the airplane was not particularly forgiving to pilots who weren't on their game, I took some pride in having pretty well mastered it at such a young age. 

Airplanes were not automated then as they are today, and these small airports had ancient navigation aids; GPS used today hadn't even been invented. I can't tell you how many VOR and ADF approaches I hand-flew at night in bad weather in these airplanes with no autopilots. With the advent of modern avionics and GPS, such hand-flown approaches would be somewhat of a curiosity to today's pilots--as the old Radio Range approaches were when I began flying. (Yes, they still had a few of those back in 1963.) Most older pilots will know what I'm talking about, but the young ones probably don't have a clue.

Writing about the changes in aviation I have witnessed throughout my lifetime doesn't really bring with it the feeling that I have missed out on anything; in fact, I am not unhappy that I actually had to fly--with hands on the yoke and feet on the rudder pedals--the airplanes instead of watching a computer fly them.  I'm glad I was there when the airlines were still switching from propeller-driven airliners to jets. In fact, it occurs to me that I may be one of only a handful of active pilots still remaining who have actually flown a Lockheed Super Constellation which, in my view, was the most beautiful airliner ever built. I think there is only one left in the world that is still flying. The photo below shows the Connie I flew; it was taken during a stop in Acapulco in 1968:

Leaving all this nostalgia behind, let's get back to Phannie and Mae and the current day.  After a brief stay in my home town, we then made a quick stop at Livingston to pick up our mail from Escapees before pausing at Conroe for doctor appointments and a visit with the kids. We couldn't stay long, because Sandy had yet another medical appointment in San Antonio, so we were off for our digs in Hondo, a small town near San Antonio. We were pretty worn out after all that, so we spent a few days at our Lone Star Corral property for some downtime after the doctor visit.

After almost six years of fulltiming, our tiny cabin at Hondo has begun to remind us of why we sold our house and hit the road: There is always something that needs to be done, even to such a small and simple place. Some guys thrive on piddling around and tweaking things, but I'm not one of them. So far, there are only a few positives to owning this thing: 1) We have a permanent place to store the small amount of personal stuff we still have; 2) I finally have a piano again, and 3) we have some nice friends in the park. We can appreciate the fact that, if we must own something that resembles a house, this is about as basic and low-maintenance as one can get. It is unfurnished, however, and we still have a few minor repairs to make that were caused by the hailstorm last April.

After resting up a bit, we hit the road toward Branson, where we were to meet our friends from Arkansas--Larry and Carolyn. We had an uneventful trip and began a ten-day stay. What we didn't know was that some old friends from earlier years of RVing were going to be there, too!  Imagine our glee when we met up with these folks; they represent years of friendship and millions of laughs:

From left to right are Ed, Bob, Denny, Jackie, Janet, Marilyn and Sandy. Ed and Marilyn are off the road now, but the others are part-timers. It was wonderful to see them again, as we don't cross paths as often as we once did. One thing that hadn't changed was our ability to laugh and tease each other unmercifully. Seems like surprises like this make them even more special.

Of course, we had already purchased a number of entertainment tickets with Larry and Carolyn, as we had planned the trip long in advance, and we had the added pleasure of having dinner with their son, Scott, wife Melissa, and their grandson, Gabe:

One could get the impression that all we do is eat out at restaurants in Branson and, well, that wouldn't be far from the truth. We did take in some shows, the best of which was the unbelievable spectacle at the Sight and Sound Theater:

There's one more show that we always see when we visit Branson--The Hits of the 50s and 60s--that has been playing here without interruption for 19 years: 

We notice that they are now beginning to include music from the 70s--as those who come for the 50s are ever dwindling in number (that would be our bunch). It doesn't matter how many times we've seen the show, it always gives us a nostalgia high. Corny? Maybe; but ask me if I care.

As I write this blog, we are preparing for our departure to Fort Worth tomorrow, where we will be staying for more than a month while I recover from my first knee replacement surgery. I am using the same surgeon who replaced my right hip and who replaced Sandy's knees. With those successes, we have great confidence in him. I'm not exactly looking forward to the surgery and the therapy afterward, but I am looking forward to getting behind me the pain and instability that has gotten progressively worse as I have obviously outlived my joints.

I can't help but look behind and ahead as I approach my 75th birthday. I find it fascinating that I seem to think more of the past much more than I used to--probably because so much more of my life is behind me than is ahead. I feel blessed to have lived during those years--especially during the fifties and sixties, when there were still vestiges of the Mayberry-type lifestyle. When I was growing up, crime was almost unknown. We didn't lock our doors at night, and we usually left the car keys in the ignition. With our bicycles, all outdoors was our world, and nobody ever feared harm from some perverse individual. The only rule we had was to be home for supper. Our neighbors watched out for us, but it really wasn't necessary. We prayed in school and proudly stood for the flag with our hands over our hearts. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that our beloved country would turn into the dystopian, perverse cesspool that exists today. And I know when it began: 1963, when prayer was forbidden in schools. Little did I know that the year I began to actualize my aviation dream would be the year my country began its downward slide into who-knows-what. We pray daily for our loved ones, who will have to look for the good and run from the bad as they navigate the storms.

On a more positive note, attaining an advanced age without life-threatening illness or loss of mental faculties (some may question this) is indeed a blessing, of which we are ever mindful. It is odd that I don't sense in my mind that I am old. I don't notice any lessening of, say, my ability to drive a car, fly an airplane or play the piano. I'm sure my reflexes are probably not quite as good as they once were, but it seems impossible to have attained 75 years--it all went by so quickly!  There are a few annoyances--like the incessant medical appointments to obtain medication refills and yes, I do forget a few more names than I used to, but I never was very good at that.

What is important is to thank the Lord that Sandy and I have been privileged to live--both as individuals and then as one--for all these years. So many are not afforded that privilege. 

I will keep you posted on the progress of the surgery, which is scheduled for November 8, and the recovery process.  Not a few of you will have this in your future, I'm guessing.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

 

Christmas Comes Early For Phannie!

 At Red Bay Acres RV Resort, Red Bay, Alabama...

If you read the last post, you learned that Phannie was on her way to Red Bay to get new carpet in the bedroom and her annual "well-woman check," as Sandy puts it.  (For guys, that's getting the oil changed in Phannie's engine and the generator, as well as a changeout of all the fuel, oil and air filters, as needed. For a woman, I think it's an entirely different thing, but I'm afraid to ask.)

Bay Diesel's shop in Red Bay; nothing fancy, but number one on my list for performing repairs:

As part of the annual check, Bay Diesel also tests the condition of the engine coolant, and it was found on the verge of needing to be changed. Well, we can't have Phannie running around "on the verge" of something, so that will also be done at 7:00 a.m. in the morning. Yes, I looked at a clock with hands on it, and there are, indeed, TWO sevens on it. Well, there aren’t really two, but there may as well be. We rarely have anything to do with the one through which we sleep in the morning; I had even forgotten about it altogether. As a result, we have, among the frenzy of hand-wringing about this ungodly show-up time, been thinking of ways to accomplish this and still get a little shuteye. We even thought about having Phannie towed there while we were in bed, but this would probably wake us up in the process. We think we've come up with a plan that will involve all sorts of short cuts in our normal departure routine, and who knows what we will leave behind or undone? We'll let you know how it goes.

Red Bay, in case you didn't know, is a little town built around the idea that working hours for just about everyone is 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. This is several hours before we become coherent so, for us, it's like being in Switzerland or somewhere. The reason for these working hours is that the giant Tiffin factory employs almost everyone in town, including husbands and wives, and somebody has to go get the kids at school. To accommodate this, the whistle blows at 3:00 p.m., and there is a mad dash to the schools.

Okay, I'm digressing, as usual; back to the subject of the post I go. Everything went perfectly at MS Solutions with the carpet. We finally have new bedroom carpet that will be much less likely to show every blemish and piece of dust that got near the old light-colored carpet:

 

This new addition was so inspiring that we decided to change out the center-aisle rugs throughout the coach:

In this photo, you can see the old putty-colored carpet that remains in the lounge area. We can't wait to get it changed. Keeping it clean--especially since going fulltime--has been the bane of our existence. I think when they remove it, we're going to have a bonfire. No, that's not a good idea--the smoke may be toxic!

Well, we were on a roll, so to speak, with the new carpet. We checked into the newest, nicest RV park in Red Bay--Red Bay Acres--and began to think about more well-deserved upgrades for the old girl. 

One thing jumped out at us--Girard Awnings had just built a new RV awning factory and installation center next to our RV park, and wouldn't you know that Phannie just happened to need a new door awning, She had been without one since the old one decided to pop out and become a winglet a few years ago. You can read about it here:  https://mills-travels.blogspot.com/search?q=door+awning.  This seemed like a sign!  I traipsed over there and found they were more than happy to sell me a new door awning...and I could even show up at the much more humane hour of 12:30 p.m. Now, this was more like it! I showed up on  time, went to lunch with Sandy. Our sandwich, with the awning as dessert, was a paltry 1500 bucks or so. An Alka-Seltzer helped a bit, and at least Phannie had a new door awning:

The old awning:

The new awning:

When the door awning first went kaput, we thought it wasn't that big a deal, but after a few rainstorms when we needed a little protection from the elements and sometimes needed a break from the hot sun, we decided it was worth the (gulp) price.

The Girard factory:

Phannie's in the bay for her awning while Sandy and I have an expensive lunch...

But were we through yet? Oh no, we've left earth's orbit! We had always been a little disappointed in the original lighting provided on the outside passenger side of the bus, which was, in reality, almost useless. And then, along came the digital age, and we couldn't help but notice that the newer coaches were being adorned with all sorts of LED light strings that even illuminated the ground underneath. Then we noticed they would change color, giving an effect that, well, may be appealing to some, but disco was a long time ago, and we old fogies were perfectly okay with white. Not wanting Phannie to be left lightless in her golden years, we ordered a string of LEDs under the awning and a set under the passenger-side slide, giving a nice effect at night, especially when we have outdoor guests. What we didn't realize was how sophisticated the system is. After installing it, the technician showed us how it was operated not by a switch, but from my cell phone! Not only that, it will also change colors, mimic a sunset, and even do a disco effect--flashing in rhythm to whatever rock tune I might have going on the phone!

This was hardly what I had in mind, and I can see visions now of my daughter watching her 74-year old father rockin' out to some heavy metal with disco lights in the background. I would probably never see her again!  (I have to admit that, in learning how to use the system, I accidentally turned on this feature, and I was frantic to get it turned off and back to white. I can just see Sandy trying to explain to the EMS attendants what I was doing at the time of my collapse.)  Here is a non-disco photo of the lights as they will be run unless I mess it up again:

Who knows what Phannie thinks of all this bruhaha?  She probably feels like Ethel Merman with a new necklace! No matter, the old gal has been good to us, and she deserves some special attention.

An unexpected plus was the surprise arrival of Don and Linda Cochrane, with whom we have been socializing for the past few days. They are always a lot of fun, and Don seems to have an inexhaustible supply of stories--as all of us pilots do. It's been enjoyable for a couple of old pilots to do "hangar flying" if not the real kind. So far, I think the lies have been kept to a minimum.

We will be headed back to Texas with a couple of stops with friends along the way before going back to Hondo. After that, we will be heading back north to Branson, where we will spend a couple of weeks with friends before my first knee surgery in November. But more on that later.  Here's hoping you will all stay well and happy until we meet virtually again!

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

  

Medical News Not So Good, But We're On the Road Again Anyway

 At Downtown Riverside RV Park, Little Rock, Arkansas...

First of all, I cannot help but recall the terrible attack in New York 20 years ago. I grieve for those who were lost, for their families and for the impact it had on our country. 

Furthermore, I have done my best to mitigate my utter dismay at the current Washington administration by refusing to watch or read any news that is biased toward these troglodytes through broadcasting or writing obvious disinformation or censorship. Getting my news from trusted and unbiased sources has made my attitude much better, and I throw fewer things at the television. 

My dear friend Janice scolded me, with good reason, for the occasional long lapses between my blog posts. My standard excuse is that our lives are not all that exciting if we're not traveling and seeing new things that may be interesting to readers. 

I tend not to ignore Janice, as that is something to which she is not accustomed, and it usually doesn't end well. Furthermore, she is usually right about most things and has the uncanny ability to make you think she's right even on those rare occasions when the facts or truth change. (See what I mean? I can't even acknowledge that she has the capability of being "wrong.")

Janice and Dave are now dear friends whom we met while they were RVing, and we have many in that category, including Debi and Ed, with whom we had a lovely dinner recently. I wish I could name them all here, but they have showed up in this blog at one time or another.

I am, obviously, getting ahead of myself. The last blog post described our sad departure from Colorado and friends Jackie and Steve for Dante's Inferno in Texas. (Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, as there was no fire falling like rain, as in Dante's observation of hell; in fact, there was no rain at all.) But we had gotten accustomed to the perfection of our Colorado climate, and I can't help but whine about leaving it. (Before you judge me, you should know that I'm an only child, and only children have special needs...which I translate, roughly, into 'whatever I want.')

Special needs or not, we had to get back to our doctors for post-op checkups for Sandy and a pre-op checkup for me. Some of the news was not so good. Most of Sandy's surgeries were successful. However, the operation for numbness in her hand was a failure. The surgeon is now looking for other causes; she will need a neck MRI next. My knee surgeon, who first thought I would be a candidate for partial knee replacements, has informed me that an MRI showed my condition to be too advanced, thereby indicating full replacements will be necessary. That will be coming up in a couple of months.

Before getting this news, we spent a few days at our place in Hondo, where we changed out our summer wardrobe for the upcoming winter. Being a guy, this takes about 15 minutes for me, since I don't carry many clothes in Phannie anyway. However, for Sandy, it's more like restocking a Nordstrom's, except it's never to her satisfaction. I can't tell you how many swap-outs there were...some of them swapped more than once. 

When I point out that I have only about 18 inches of Phannie's closet rod (she has the rest), she explains that it is different for women--there are so many variables and so many rules for attire that don't apply to men!  When I remind her that we're retired and nobody really cares what we wear, I get "the look."  That's when I find something else to do.

After spending several days at Hondo and visiting with friends Karen and Richard, including eating a good Chinese meal, Sandy went shopping in San Antonio. It seems a couple of her winter selections didn't have the right blouse or pants or something...more clothes!  

Before you find me asphyxiated with a pillow over my face, I should mention that Sandy made a real effort to weed out the clothes she didn't often wear and were not her favorites; we gave a rather large amount of these to charity. I don't know how it happens, but even after this purge, there is little evidence that the quantity has changed. Oh well, she has an uncountable number of wonderful traits so, if she's going to have a vice, let it be this.

We had only four days in Houston and, among all the doctor visits, we barely had time to see Mindy, Tyler and the kids. However, since we have to return soon for the medical stuff, we will try to be more accessible.

Okay, fine, you say; so what are you doing in Little Rock? Well, we're on our way to Red Bay, to get some new carpet in Phannie's bedroom and to have her annual service done at Bay Diesel. Tonight, we are staying at the Downtown Riverside RV Park for one overnight, where I think most RVers have stayed at one time or another. Unfortunately, the I-30 bridge over the Arkansas River is being rebuilt, and getting to the park was one of the more complicated experiences I have had in Phannie. Fortunately, a park manager called me ahead of time to give me explicit instructions, which I followed closely, and after what seemed like going through an endless maze, I found it, just as instructed. Had it not been for that call, I'm sure we would still be searching for the entrance to the park. Following are a couple of photos, the first one showing the bridge girders being replaced:

Below is the older bridge on the other side of the park, with some views of the construction barge and a bit of the park on the river:

Oh, by the way, this park is no longer a Passport America park but, with a Good Sam or FMCA discount, it is still a very reasonable 31 bucks.

Well, I hope you're happy, Janice. I will try to be a little more diligent about posting, although I'm still not sure how interesting it is to talk about rather routine matters. Okay, I already know what you're going to say: "Your medical condition is not a routine matter!" 

One thing I do know is that age catches up with everyone, and the things that we once could do with ease sometimes becomes difficult and painful. That's why I encourage everyone to live their dreams and don't put it off. We are thankful that we took that approach, and we can truthfully say that, regardless of what limitations may befall us, we have no regrets. We did it our way, and we're thankful that God let us have those years.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

 

Saying Goodbye to Gunnison and Good Friends

 At the Gunnison KOA, Gunnison, Colorado...

It has been all too short.  Knowing that we're leaving this beautiful and cool place and the friends with whom we've been traveling has dampened our spirits--even a fascinating visit to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park was not much of a perk-up.

Nevertheless, I must include some photos of this park, which we've not visited before and didn't know entirely what to expect. First of all, these photos probably afford the least adequate sampling of the sights to which one has access in person.  It is, of course, a canyon, much less immense than the Grand Canyon, but completely different in the sheer rock cleavage through which the Gunnison River flows.

It is a place where my jealousy was complete of those whose young limbs carry them through trails where the elderly dare not go. We will not be able to see the sights they see, but our views were more than satisfactory. The nearly black vertical stone walls rise about a half-mile from the river below--twice as deep as Royal Gorge. It is said to be a part of the Gunnison Uplift--as geologists know it, and the park information dates it back 1.8 billion years or, roughly, the geologic age of my knees.

One thing is for sure: we will be returning to see more of this, poorly represented by these photos:

If you look closely in the photo above, you can see the Gunnison River, which is running very shallow due to the long drought in the west.

In the photos above and below, the striations in the rocks are very interesting. 

The photo above was a purposely overexposed so that the striations on the far rocks and the colorful lichen on the near rocks would be more evident.  Speaking of striations, how about those in the photo below, located at one of the turnouts named "Painted Rock." You can also see the Gunnison River from a better viewpoint.

Okay, I know what you're thinking:  Rocks, rocks, rocks. Well, I think the incredible diversity of the formations of the area offers even a non-rock hound a small taste of what eye-popping views can be had here. We even found out that there is an entirely different part of the park that we didn't even see. It is also one of the best areas ever for star-gazing, due to the high elevation and absence of ground lighting. For these reasons and more, we vow to return.

I'll leave you with the last photo I took at the park, showing the northwest exit of the Gunnison as it leaves the canyon heading westward to Grand Junction, where in empties into the Colorado River. The smoke-caused haze in the background didn't diminish much the beauty of this magical place:

We are also sad to say goodbye to some of the best traveling partners ever.  Here are Steve, Jackie and their French bulldog, Jill, at our Gunnison RV site.  You never know, but you may find us here again one of these summers.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Good Grief! It's Time to Catch Up

 At Gunnison KOA, Gunnison, Colorado...

At the beginning of summer, you may recall that we were delayed about a month in our usual escape from the Texas heat because Sandy had the nerve to require a bunch of surgeries. I thought briefly about proposing that the surgeons go along with us at our usual departure time and do the operations en route, but I figured that bumps in the road and mountain curves might give them a little trouble. It would probably not be helpful to slice opon the wrong thing...just sayin'.  However, I guess I could park on the side of the road if they came to a critical part...

Now, for you literalists out there, that was a joke; everyone knows that surgeons don't do stuff like that. I didn't think about checking with veterinarians, though; they might have enjoyed a little mountain scenery. (When Sandy reads this, she will have even more reason to institutionalize me, if the last post weren't enough.)

Okay, that's enough silliness. When we began this trip back in July, our mission, among others, was to find a scenic place at high (and cool) elevation where we could return each summer. I suppose we have been subconsciously doing this for years, but we still hadn't found the right place. Jackie and Steve met up with us in Dolores, Colorado, a small town in southwestern Colorado about ten miles from Cortez. Its elevation is nearly 7,000 feet, which would meet the "cool" criterion, and nearby Cortez is large enough to provide some civilization. Dolores's only suitable RV Park--the Dolores River Campground--was very nice, but too far out of town for reliable cell phone service; so, scratch Dolores.

Cortez was also a contender, and they have a very nice RV park that would be quite suitable, but its elevation is only about 6,000 feet, which would be a the low end of a coolish altitude. Cortez is less than an hour's drive from larger and very touristy Durango, which is at about the same elevation. The problem there was the monthly rentals of RV spaces--$2,100 versus about $600 at Cortez. We don't mind paying a little more for places we really like, but that seemed ridiculous. A plus in Dolores was that we were near good friends Bubba and LouAnn, who spend a part of each summer in Priest Gulch, only 20 miles or so from Dolores. We had a great time visiting with them.

While in the area, we took a little side trip to Mesa Verde National Park, which Steve and Jackie had never visited. We were more than happy to make the trip again, as the drive to the cliff dwellings is quite scenic. Unfortunately, the main area of the cliff dwellings was closed for repairs, but we saw enough for our friends to enjoy the visit:

We had planned to move on to our next destination, Montrose, where we could again access the beautiful towns of Ridgway, Telluride and Ouray--places we had visited from Dolores, but just didn't spend enough time there. 

Before leaving Dolores, we suddenly thought of a detour that needed to be made: In our conversations with Jackie and Steve, we learned they had never seen Four Corners or Monument Valley, so we insisted that we go there, because they would probably never be closer to those iconic locations. So, ever easy-going and agreeable, they followed us, driving westward into the Utah desert and the heat that awaited us. But this would last only for a short time; we had seen both places before, so we imagined ourselves as efficient tour guides, about which Steve and Jackie seemed happy. That enabled us to see the important sights fairly quickly, so we could then retreat back to the cool Colorado mountains.

Because of our previous visits, we have a number of photos a long way back in the blog, but I'm going to try to include some here that are a bit different. You'll have to bear with me, as there will be a number of these, and some folks get a bit antsy if you post too many. However, we may not come this way again either, and we are including these mostly for ourselves and our record of travels.

Before we get started with Monument Valley, let's talk a bit about Four Corners. Its distinction, of course, is that it is the approximate point on the earth (there is some disagreement among geologists about the exactness of the site's location, but they are probably the only ones who care) where the states of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah meet--thusly forming "four corners." It is a place where you can literally touch the ground in all four states, using your hands and feet. We, of course, were much too dignified to get down on all fours to do that (not to mention that we would need to summon EMS to get us up). With our physical limitations in mind, we decided that each of us would merely stand in a different state:

In the photo, Steve is standing in Arizona, Jackie is in New Mexico, Sandy is in Colorado, and I am in Utah. Is it a bit cheesy? Well, perhaps, but almost everyone knows about Four Corners, so it would be unthinkable for Jackie and Steve, who have traveled as much as they have, to admit they had never been there. It's sort of like being a Texan and saying you've never ridden a horse. 

Since our last visit, the monument site has been massively upgraded. It is located on Indian land, and the Indians sell various trinkets around the perimeter. Nowadays, what used to be tents are now rows of brick sales stalls.

Okay, let's go forward to Monument Valley, made famous by Director John Ford, who shot many western movies here in the 1950s and 60s, many starring John Wayne. Who hasn't seen one of the westerns with the huge monuments in the background? We parked at Goulding's RV Park, as usual, and took a tour provided by the Goulding complex. Following are a series of photos, all of which are somewhat different from the earlier ones in this blog. Here's one I didn't have in previous posts. It's the cabin used by John Wayne when making all those movies. Gotta admire such simple requirements of a movie star of his fame:

In regard to the photo above, I spent a good deal of time going back through thousands of photos to find this original of Highway 163 leading from Mexican Hat to Monument Valley. This one looks so much better than the one I edited and posted years ago, that I decided to replace it, too. However, my photography skills are inadequate to capture this iconic scene as it should. I wish my brother-in-law, Rick, a skilled photographer, could have been there to do it justice.

It was essential, of course, to pose Sandy at perhaps the most well-known view in Monument Valley, with the East and West Mittens and Castle Rock in the background.

No matter which way you look, one has to be amazed at the grandeur of the monuments and the immenseness of the territory they cover:

To me, one of the rocks below resembles the stately head of an Indian.

The monument below is named Elephant Butte. It takes a little imagination, but you can sorta make out his trunk on the right side of the rock.

The next one is named Snoopy Rock. It's a little easier to see the dog's face on this one:

How about this one? Easy to see Jesus standing on the rock blessing the monuments:

The next photo was taken at John Ford's Point. It is said to have been Ford's favorite area to do filming. I wish you could see the whole panorama around the rock jutting out where Steve and Jackie are standing; it is breathtaking. No wonder it was John Ford's favorite filming location. The three vertical rocks in the upper left corner are known as the three sisters. I'm betting that one of them doesn't get along all that well with the other two:

I really like the immense vastness depicted in the photo below. It was taken from the viewing deck outside The View Restaurant at the Navajo Tribal Center. The restaurant, unfortunately, was closed at the time of our visit.

The photo below is named Camel Rock; it gets its name from the two humps on its back:

And now, for perhaps the most photographed view in Monument Valley, taken from the viewing platform at the Navajo Tribal Center:

And so ends our visit to Monument Valley, Steve and Jackie seemed thrilled to have seen it in person, which is really the only way to appreciate the grandeur of the place. I will leave you with this photo of a rock formation near Mexican Hat, Utah (mentioned earlier), from which the town gets its name:

Conditions were not ideal for photography on this trip, but considering the haze of the smoke from the fires in the western U. S., they turned about about as well as could be expected.

From Monument Valley, we drove to Montrose, where we revisited Ridgeway, Telluride, Ouray and Silverton. We just couldn't get enough of the scenery around those places. I won't include photos from these locations, as they appear elsewhere in the blog (just search for the cities). I've got to try to conserve some space, because this post is getting pretty long as it is. I should have tried to catch up our trip a little sooner.

Now we've made it to Gunnison, Colorado which, at 8,000 feet elevation, is the coolest spot yet. Get a load of the temperature a little after noon today. The outside temp is the one on the left:

I'll have another update from here as we explore the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, but our time in this cool fairyland is growing short. We will soon be heading back to Texas, and I can assure you the temperature will be nothing like it is in Gunnison. Yes, Gunnison may be a contender in our quest; who knows?

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Sometimes You're the Bug, Sometimes You're the Windshield

 At Dolores River Campground, Dolores, Colorado...

I guess I will get the tale of this fiasco out of the way, as our dear traveling friend, Jackie, has probably already posted it on Facebook for all the world to see.

I didn't start the day thinking that I would be the subject of utter humiliation and the fiendish delight of, well, who knows how many others. It wouldn't have been so bad, except everyone who has a cell phone has a camera, and no idiotic event--especially with me as the victim--ever goes unrecorded.

It all began very innocently. I needed to take Mae to the nearest Honda dealer for an oil change and checkup, for which I made an appointment in Farmington, New Mexico--just over the Colorado border. For Sandy, the prospect of going to another city means only one thing: a new shopping opportunity. I am also aware, through experience, that our friend Jackie shares a similar rush at the thought of a new territory to mark with her credit cards. It was no surprise then, that Jackie and Steve, well, mostly Jackie, asked to tag along. That was more than okay with us, for it would make a rather long (one hour) trip much more enjoyable. 

This is when I became entangled in my first debacle of the day, although I didn't realize that a far more egregious one had already occurred, unknown to me or anyone else at the time. But more on that one later. 

Just before leaving Phannie, I decided to take our garbage bag to the dumpster, which lay some fifty feet away. Ever mindful of the need for efficiency (not to mention my abhorrence at the thought of having to make a few extra steps), I also grabbed in the same hand the case strap of my small, but quite expensive, Canon camera. I intended to drop it off at the car on my way to the dumpster.

Now, you may not realize this yet, but the accumulation of age is generally not friendly to one's short-term memory. I have certainly been aware of it for a while, even though this is my first time to grow old. On more than a few occasions, I have forgotten the name of someone standing in front of me whom I know as well as I know myself. This also extends to confusing the names of my wife and daughter--people whom I also know very well. These things are not easily finessed, and stumbling past the faux pas is usually painfully awkward.

And so it was that I passed by the car and, without stopping, made a beeline to the dumpster with trash bag and camera strap firmly gripped in my fist; I was certainly paying no attention to the item I shouldn't be clutching at this point. Instead, I was looking around and admiring the beautiful blue sky and enjoying the mild temperature. I was totally oblivious to the fact that my careful planning to avoid extra steps had already gone awry before the passage of even a single minute, due to my short-term memory failure.

Reaching the dumpster, which was, mercifully, almost empty, I lifted the lid and tossed in the items I had been carrying, paying little attention to the extra 'thump' as one too many items fell onto the bare bottom of the container.

By this time, the other riders had begun to congregate around Mae and, as I opened the driver's door, I somehow had the presence of mind to notice that my camera bag was not in its regular spot in front of the driver's seat. "This is odd," I thought, as it then dawned on me that I had a plan to drop it off on my way to the dumpster. It was at this point that I slowly turned to look at the dumpster that I had just left. Not wishing to confirm my suspicion quite yet, I made a hurried dash back up Phannie's steps--the extra steps my plan was to avoid in the first place. I was almost completely aware that the camera bag would not be there and, of course, it wasn't. It was a slow walk that I made back down the stairs to confront my friends and aware of the confession I had to make.  At the same time, I was wondering how I would retrieve the camera, as I couldn't possibly reach the bottom of the dumpster. 

After announcing my suspicion about the location of the camera, I shuffled back toward the dumpster, not unaware of the quite audible giggles behind me. Looking over the edge, I spotted it immediately and began thinking of a way to retrieve it without doing a dumpster-dive for all the other RVers to witness. Given the percentage of my agility--which may be a negative number as far as I know--my ability to get from outside the dumpster to the inside would require bringing in some kind of hydraulic lift--a noisy occurrence that would undoubtedly attract ALL of the occupants of the campground to bear witness. If only I had a cyanide capsule, I thought.

Then, I remembered that the camera bag had a strap that formed a small loop, and I began to think where I could find something with a hook! Alas, I had given up fishing eons ago, realizing that my consuming them in a restaurant was a far superior use of my time and the money I would inevitably spend on boredom therapy.

It was at this point that our traveling partner and tireless tinkerer, Steve, produced a steel rod about five feet long with a hook on the end--used to deploy and retract the awnings on his coach. I could have hugged him, but he was a Marine, and I have a low pain threshold.

With great relief, I took the rod and, after about ten attempts, I hooked the loop on the camera bag's strap and pulled it up and out of the dumpster. Witness below my efforts, with Steve's help, to snag this catch which, in the photo, is in my left hand:

In the photo below, Steve and I are returning from the dumpster, victorious, and I couldn't help but be thankful that no crowd had assembled to watch this clown show.  It may be hard to see, but I am holding the camera bag, and Steve is holding the rod with the hook. Note the smiles on our faces:

However, this was only the beginning of a daylong embarrassment that you haven't yet noticed in these photos; I'll reveal it shortly.

After retrieving the camera, we hopped into Mae and had an uneventful drive to Farmington, NM, a nice-sized town with perhaps the most unappealing topography I've seen. I won't say anything more that's derogatory, because it may be home to some reader, and I am loathe to disparage anyone's home town. However, Melloy Honda was ready for Mae, and the service rep, Brandon, was perhaps the friendliest, most thorough I had ever met at a Honda service center. (Mae is always serviced at the dealer because she is special--just like Phannie.) I asked if someone could take the ladies to a nearby shopping center, and they happily did so, leaving Steve and me sitting at a table in the waiting room.

 After the oil was changed and their usual lengthy checkout completed (the service people found a nail in one of Mae's tires and patched it for free), I happened to look down at my feet. Steve and I had been sitting on taller-than-normal chairs at a high table, and perhaps because of this, I hadn't taken notice of the lower part of my extremities. Once I glanced down, I noticed this:

Horrified, I stood up, saying nothing, but surveying the waiting room to see if any of the other patrons were looking or pointing at my mismatched shoes. If they had been, they now had turned back to whatever they were doing, and I knew that Steve, Sandy and Jackie hadn't noticed, because the fun they would have had with me would already have been brutal. I finally determined that I was probably the only person of all I had encountered who noticed the mismatched shoes. 

It would not have been hard for me to make this mistake, by the way; I keep two pairs of shoes at Phannie's entrance, so as not to track dirt back into the coach. I had merely stepped into a wrong shoe upon my departure earlier in the day before the dumpster diving incident. If you look carefully at those photos, you will notice that my shoes are not the same.

I decided the best thing to do was to walk unsuspiciously to the bathroom and think. Then it occurred to me that my trying to walk unsuspiciously would probably attract more attention than merely walking there normally; so, that's what I did. This period of introspection in the restroom proved to be fruitless because there was obviously nothing I could do to remedy the situation. I couldn't walk through the dealership in my socks or barefoot; that would look equally strange. I obviously could not produce another shoe, nor could I wrap one of my feet in a bandage, as I had none of those, either. It quickly became apparent that I would just have to walk back to my seat and suffer whatever consequences were to befall me. And then, another surprise!

Shortly after I reseated myself, Sandy and Jackie returned from their shopping trip and joined Steve and me at the table. At this point, no one had yet noticed the mismatched shoes--not even Sandy, who is incredibly observant--to the extent that she could spot an extra nose hair on a chihuahua. She always checks me over before we go out, so that people won't think she is with some homeless person. But not this time. Finally, the waiting room emptied, except for the four of us. At that point, I stood up, backed away from the table, and expressed my shock at the total failure of their usual powers of observation. I had to ask, "Do you notice anything unusual about my attire?"

They checked me over for a second and then looked at my shoes, at which point they all collapsed in laughter, and that's when I became the windshield for the rest of the trip. I noticed that when we left the dealership, they were already seated in the car as I was paying the bill. Then, when we stopped at a really good Thai restaurant for dinner, they bolted from the car and went inside before I had even turned off the ignition. Some friends, I thought. 

Upon entering the restaurant, I noticed they had seated themselves in a dark corner, at a table with a low-hanging tablecloth, and I was instructed to keep my feet out of view at all times, which I would have done anyway.

I am relating this episode because, well, it was funny, something we will always remember, and the story of it will be told for the rest of my time on earth. Perhaps more importantly, it is a reminder to avoid taking ourselves too seriously and that laughter is, indeed, the best medicine. However, I will always wonder if I would have completely gotten away with this if I had just kept my mouth shut. I guess we'll never know.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood