AN EXTRAORDINARY LIST - PART 2

We joined an art class at a cool museum run by ex-patriot New York artists

We danced in fountains on a steaming hot day … aah!

We watched the sun set over the desert from our very own front porch

We faced a live scorpion in our cabin before it was released into the wild by Daddy

We traveled 650 feet underground into a salt mine

We touched the nose of a real stealth bomber (well, four of us touched it, William kissed it)

We stood under an Apollo rocket

We slept in luxurious bed and breakfasts, rustic cabins, high end hotels, low end motels, and slightly frightening motels

We found and fell in love with a kitten, then returned her to her mother

We rescued many turtles

We encountered a poisonous water moccasin and ran away

We faced vicious dogs

We bought mace to spray the vicious dogs

We rode along the Potomac on the Mount Vernon Bike Path

We visited the birthplace of Popeye the Sailor Man

We sat under swarms of hummingbirds feeding on sugar water and listened to the hum of their wings

We crossed the Continental Divide

We stood inches from a gorgeous tiger who chuffed at us – in greeting we hoped.

We zip-lined in the forest treetops and over a waterfall

We walked in the footsteps of Thomas Jefferson

We explored the world’s largest cave system in Mammoth Cave

We spent two nights in the Cooper’s Shop of a living museum village and had the whole place to ourselves after hours

We woke to the sound of mooing cows

We helped docents make sweet smelling headache bags and were thanked by receiving the gift of one that perfumed our car for the rest of the trip

We rode a real paddle-wheeler down the Ohio River

We were surprised with a visit from far flung relatives who traveled hundreds of miles to see us

We watched all four ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ movies

We drove along the splendor of the Blue Ridge Highway

We crossed the Ohio River on the last remaining free ferry

We ate the best crab cakes in Maryland (the hotel manager said they would be, and they were)

We bicycled across the mighty Mississippi River

We watched Daddy on television

After 3,713 miles, we crossed the finish to the cheers of friends and family

 

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

“It is good to have an end to journey towards,” wrote Ursula LeGuin, “but it is the journey that matters in the end.”

More than any other thing on this trip, that has held true for us.  We’ve never traveled more than 125 miles in one day, a couple of hours or maybe three on the freeway; but sometimes it’s taken us as much as ten hours to cover a meager 50 miles on the bicycle routes we’ve followed.  And that has come to be the norm for us.

Winding back roads have taken us past bison farms and waterfalls, rolling hills have had us all sucking on lollipops to ward off motion sickness, and ridiculously curving mountain trails have had us (well mostly me) grimacing as we picture Daddy racing along those downhills.

But most of all it’s the lives we’ve seen on those rural routes that have engendered some the most amazing conversations I’ve ever had with my kids.

I’ve had serious heartfelt discussions with my thirteen and nine year olds about the causes and results of poverty, about how hard it is to properly train a dog, about farming techniques and advances, about how businesses survive or fail, about why some schools start and end at different times, about the politics of everything, about why I don’t like celery (an experience with those strings at a very early age), about the profound influence of weather, about the causes of the Civil War and from there about the causes of other wars, about why I insist they brush their teeth two times a day, about terrorism both against and by the United States, about the plight of the Native Americans and its history, and about whether we’re going to find gas before our tank hits empty.

What we forgot during our journey on the roads less travelled is that most likely very close by there was a freeway on which thousands of travelers not so very different from ourselves were whizzing to their destinations at 75 miles an hour with nothing to inspire dialogue but the posts signaling each exit.  In the past few days our routes have more and more often taken us on those ten lane behemoths for at least part of our trip.

So lately we’ve talked about how much we don’t like highways.

We’ve slowed down and those super-handy, super-fast super-highways have become too supercharged for our mellowed sensibilities.

Oh, I know it’s one of those things that will fade in the next few weeks – probably, sadly, even quicker – but I’m a person who struggles against change so I’m feeling the need to make a gradual reentry into the fast paced world of northeastern suburbia.  The children, as children are wont to do, are handling the transition much better; and each reminder of the high-speed existence we’re returning to gets them more and more excited to get back to their normal lives.

I don’t know if it’s possible in the place we live, but I’m hoping I can bring a little of that byway unhurriedness into our day-to-day.  I’m not sure how to go about it, but I need to strive for it.  That’s definitely one of the life-changes I’m hoping to get from this saga.

Wish me luck.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

T MINUS TEN AND COUNTING

The final countdown has begun and I’m not all that sure I’m happy about it.

Oh, I’m thrilled at the thought of sleeping in my own bed, of homecooked meals, and of staying in one place more than two nights in a row.  I can’t wait to see our family and our friends and our cat.  But I have to admit I’ve loved these nine weeks of being in our little traveling family bubble.

No place we need to be except the next rendezvous for water.  No baseball or music lessons or yoga class to rush to.  No schedules to juggle.

Just us travelling from one hotel to the next.  From one small town to the next.  From one new experience to the next.

And my fears of family strife after being cooped up in a minivan together for the whole summer?  They never came to fruition.  In fact, I’ve watched my children play harmoniously in the pool for hours.  I’ve marveled at the imaginative games they’ve made up in parks.  I’ve laughed at the zany ways they’ve passed time in the car.

Right before my eyes they’ve become closer and learned the value of family, and especially of siblings.  If nothing else comes of this trip (and so much else already has), then I’d consider it an amazing gift to my family.

I know, though, that returning to the daily routines of school, work, and far too many activities is going to eclipse the few weeks we’ve had of unaccustomed togetherness; and I’m not really sure how, or even if, I can hold onto it.

And so I find myself back in the state of denial I began this whole saga in.  Only then it was denial that the adventure was going to begin.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANY MORE

Do you remember when I locked my keys in the car in Tribune, Kansas? You might not, but my kids (and my husband) haven’t let me forget it.

One of the things that amazed me during the forty-five minutes I waited for the County Sheriff to arrive and break into my car for me was the fact that in this town of seven-hundred and eighty, actually smaller than my high school, where everyone most definitely knew everyone else and where I was most definitely a stranger every single driver who went by either stopped to see if they could help or waved to me. Not a big wave. Just that lift of the hand off the steering wheel that says, “Hey.”

That’s when I became aware of the phenomenon, but it had probably been happening for weeks. Now I started really noting it. Everywhere we went - stopped at the side of the road to give Gene water, walking along a dry overheated Main Street, pumping gas - no matter where we were people waved.

At first it felt strange. I mean, why were these people greeting complete strangers? Was it a way of saying, “Hello, I see you. Don’t try anything funny.”? Or were they signaling, “Yes, I know you’re there. Keep your distance.”?

But it quickly became apparent that it was a signal of comraderie, of companionship, of commonality.

“Hey there. I’m here and so are you. Nice to see you.”

But it meant even more than that. It was reassurance.

“We’re in this together. Keep safe. But if anything happens, I’ve got your back.”

With the stilted self-consciousness of someone used to being part of a world that prizes privacy I began to return the wave, until it became second nature. Very quickly I found myself being the initiator as often as I was the recipient. And much as I value my solitude, I liked the feeling that I was never really alone.

Lately, though, I’ve seen a change. I’m the initiator of waves that are seldom if ever returned. And my greetings are met with quizzical glances, if not downright suspicion. We’re back on the sophisticated East Coast where easy friendliness is reserved for friends, family and acquaintances; and where strangers have to work their way into the inner circle.

In the past I may have felt a secret superiority and surreptitiously looked down my nose at the simplicity of the Midwest, but now I appreciate it. More than appreciate it. I miss it.

No wonder Dorothy worked so hard to get back to Kansas.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

THE DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

Sarah refuses to ride in Kentucky any more.  Gene would love to refuse to ride in Kentucky any more.  And I can’t say I blame them.

Let me digress.

About a week ago we ran into another Trans Am cyclist (I love using the lingo!) heading west.  She joined her warnings to those we’d previously heard and labeled exaggeration about the viciousness of the dogs in Kentucky.  But this time she showed us the scar on her leg that had required an emergency room visit and antibiotics.

That day I went to WalMart and bought out their supply of pepper spray.  You know, that stuff every parent wants their single daughter to carry when she moves to New York City, but that’s illegal to sell in New York, but that’s available everywhere in Kentucky.

At WalMart it’s sold in the gun department.

Imagine this Northeastern liberal pacifist who won’t even allow her kids to have toy guns, going into the gun department, and shopping right next to the holsters and sights.  It was a surreal and extremely disturbing experience for me.

First there were the feminine items – pink holsters, pink edged camo, pink knives, and best of all the pink guns.  Then there was the big unshaven guy buying ammo.  Then I had to pay next to the mother buying a rifle for her all of ten year old son.

I’m surprised I didn’t clutch my head and run screaming from the store, or worse yet confirm their worst fears about commie socialist tree-hugging New Yorkers by launching into a tirade about the dangers of easy access to weapons.

But I kept my outnumbered head, quietly paid for my pepper spray, and calmly walked out of the store.  Of course, inside I was lecturing vociferously as I sprinted away faster than an Olympic athlete going for the gold medal.

The very next day Gene had to use the spray.  And the next.  And the next.  Then came today, when he and Sarah were chased by a pack of three dogs.  As luck, or the canny hunting sense of animals left to their own devices, would have it the biggest went after Sarah.

And as any father would, Gene unloaded everything in the spray at him and they rode away as fast as their shaking legs would carry them.  But Sarah was really traumatized and was still shaking when I caught up with them twenty minutes later.

As I listened to their story my mind went back to the advice of the salesman at WalMart when I asked him about the safety of using the spray on a dog.

"Pepper spray, huh?" he said looking me in the eye before he matter of factly counseled, “I’d get a gun.”

Right now this New York commie socialist liberal tree-hugging pacifist protective mother is seriously considering his advice.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056