The RV Sabbatical Journal

written Thursday, November 20, 2008
Maumelle COE near Little Rock, AR

The day started clear and cool, and we were looking forward to our first exploration since coming down with colds the past week or so. The objective was to drive a scenic route on small back-country roads in a generally northwest direction from our camp to the area referred to as Toad Suck. It’s along the Arkansas River and about 24 river miles upstream from Maumelle Park. The same destination using Arkansas’s finest country roads would be over 40 miles away.

The first place we stopped was Pinnacle Mountain State Park. There we learned about the geology of the area. The center-piece of the park is a 1,011 foot high conical shaped peak that dominates the surrounding landscape. The river level is about 300 feet above sea-level, so the peak rises about 700 feet above that. (I know, not much of a “mountain”, but it was fun nonetheless.)  After a quick stop at the visitors center where we learned of trails that lead to the top of the peak, we headed off to the trailhead for the West Summit Trail.

A sign at the trailhead said it’d take about two hours to complete the trek so we headed off (and up) at noon. At first, the trail was a well used path of crushed rock and dirt that ascended at a manageable rate. They’ve broken the trail into 10 segments and installed small signs numbered from 1 (near the bottom) to 10 (at the top) which allow hikers/climbers to monitor their progress. At about the half-way point, the slope increased proudly and the path changed to a primitive stair-like climb from one boulder to the next. The trail is well marked but it was still necessary to make personal decisions about which precise route to take. You’re basically climbing up a pile of huge rocks, hopping from one to the next, following a general path to the top.

The hike/climb was a test for muscles that hadn’t been used lately. Rubber-legs and all, we made the summit after about 50 minutes. We soaked in the view, the warm sun, the cold wind, and took a passel of pictures. The trip down was quicker and allowed different leg muscles to get their workout too. It was a good hike on a perfect day.

Since the assault of Pinnacle Mountain wasn’t in our original plans, we hadn’t taken any sustenance except water. By the time we were back on the road starvation was becoming a concern. I thought we’d surely find something along the remaining route to Toad Suck. But that was not to be. This part of Arkansas is very rural.

We proceeded up Hwy 300 through Roland, Monnie Springs, Little Italy, Wye, and Bigelow. The road was winding, hilly, and pleasing to the eye. But food was in short supply on that route. It wasn’t until we were at the foot of the Toad Suck Lock & Dam where we found a small convenience grocery to ease the now-screaming pangs of hunger.

The Toad Suck area is near Conway, AR., a significant town of about 50,000 people. All the action must be in Conway, because there’s little going on in Toad Suck. In fact, other than the Lock & Dam, a COE campground, and the convenience store, things pretty much suck in Toad Suck. We did stop for some pictures, including the requisite photos with the “Toad Suck” sign, before pointing the car in direction of home. Due to the lengthening shadows we chose a quicker but more frantic route down I-40 on the east side of the river back to Little Rock.

I-40 was a mob scene. It was packed with traffic, much of it semi-trucks rolling at 75 and 80 mph… cars going faster. Are lower fuel prices liberating people to drive as fast as they can, while they still can?  Poking along in the slow lane at 70 we had made it over half way back when, suddenly, the Blazer’s engine just quit — abruptly and completely decided to stop running! Man-oh-man! What’s wrong now?

Regular readers know we call the Blazer our “Toad” (we tow it… towed… Toad… get it?). We speculated that the Toad didn’t find anything humorous in going to Toad Suck, and, hearing what we both had to say about the place, decided to give us a little demonstration of dominance… a reminder of how critical a Toad can be to our happiness and well-being. We’ll always remember that it was on the day we visited Toad Suck that our Toad sucked.

What would we do without cell phones? After bailing out of the Toad and getting ourselves well away from traffic, it took only a few calls to arrange a tow. Call it “good karma”, or going with the flow, or luck, we actually felt fortunate that the Toad stopped breathing when and where it did. Considering the much less accessible places we were just earlier today, the time of day it happened, and the flow of events that brought us to a group of people (tow truck operator, mechanic, rental car company) that were concerned, helpful, personable, and professional, things could have turned out far worse.

Despite my initial concerns, I agreed to have the tow truck driver take us to a mechanic he works with not far from where we broke down. Even though the clock was well past 5pm, his normal closing time, the mechanic worked at diagnosing the Toad’s problem. But even if he found the problem, parts wouldn’t be available until Thursday and we’d have to find a rental car for a day. I found an car rental office not far away and the mechanic had one of his helpers schlep me over to pick up a car.

We got back to the bus-house about 7pm, where Dar had put a pork tenderloin and vegetables in the slow-cooker earlier in the day. So, despite a hic-up in the daily plan, we still had an excellent, albeit well-done, hot dinner waiting for us when we got home.

By the way, the mechanic did find the problem before we left but, as expected, parts would have to wait until morning. It looks like a problem with the ignition system — an electronic module that controls the coil and spark to the plugs just up and quit. It looks like Toad will be back on the road by Thursday afternoon.

T

Friday, August 29, 2008 — near Three Lakes, MI

I paused during my walk this morning, something I don’t like to do as I’ve always heard pausing a workout reduces the aerobic benefits and the training effect. But I had to stop. I can’t remember when I last had this experience.

During the past week or so, I’ve been trying to get myself back into my old routine of early morning exercise. And I’ve been pretty diligent about it so far, having crawled out of bed, slithered sleepily into T-shirt, shorts, and shoes, and stepped boldly into the fresh morning air for 7 of the past 8 days. I used to run but my creaky knees don’t respond well to the pounding anymore. So I’ve convinced myself that, really, I can get all the aerobic exercise I need by walking. Not a slow stroll down the garden path… oh no.  I like to walk fast… at least 4 mph and sometimes faster… and do it for the better part of an hour. Throw in a few hills and the old ticker is really beating away. The semi-pained smile on my face is the result of a mental image of arterial sludge from last night’s brownie delight desert dissolving — melting — away.

This morning’s walk felt immediately different from the others this week. Stepping outside, I became aware of the stillness of the morning. A layer of morning fog was hovering overhead, in the treetops, but I could see clearly at ground level. This vaporous canopy seemed to muffle the sounds of the woods and the surrounding world. There was no wind, none. It was dead-calm. There was no traffic, none. My own footsteps on the asphalt were deafening and seemed to pollute the natural silence of the place and the moment. There’s an urge to stop, just for a moment, and savor this experience. No, that would lessen the benefit of my doing this in the first place, wouldn’t it? But how often does one notice and experience complete, nearly total, silence? Com’on, just stop, right here, in the middle of the road… you can do it!

So I did. I stopped right there, standing on the centerline of Petticoat Road, and heard nothing. Nothing! Ears attuned to sounds generated by people and civilization don’t hear the sounds of nature without some effort. Slowly, as I stood there, I began to hear my own heartbeat. Then a flutter of wings as a bird moved. The canopy of fog which I first thought was muffling all sounds was now seeming to amplify the occasional nearby sounds of nature. There was the thunderous crack of a twig snapping in the woods — maybe a deer taking a cautious step. Then, more birds greeting the morning. I made a small slow step forward — that urge to keep going for exercise’s sake — and my knee creaked. In the spaces between those various small sounds, there was as total a silence as I’ve ever heard. A nearly complete and utter lack of any sound whatsoever.

We’re conditioned, I believe, to be in awe of the really big things — fireworks get bigger and louder, amusement park rides get higher and faster, Hollywood keeps us coming back to the next film by making the explosions bigger, the car crashes more dramatic… you get the idea. But this morning I was in awe of the littlest thing you can imagine… silence.

T

October 19, 2007 — Nappanee, IN

That was it… just 2.2 miles! That’s how far we were from the tornado that touched town on the east side of Nappanee last night at about 10:30pm… and, let me tell you, riding the storm out in the bus was like the old “E” ticket rides at Disney.

We were aware that heavy thunderstorms and tornadoes were a possibility last night… we even watched one line of storms come through. That first line kind-of split, with some of it going west and north, and the rest of it going east and north. When I went to bed about 9 or 9:30pm, there was another line of storms coming, but it looked weaker and like it too might split around us. Unfortunately, I was wrong and it built to much more.

About 10:15pm, I was awakened by the heaviest rain we’ve experienced since living in the camper — an absolute deluge. The heavy rain was accompanied by high gusty winds too. The camper was a’rockin and a’rollin and I was starting to get a little concerned. The intensity built even more and then, vaguely, through the din of the storm, I heard the yowl of the city warning siren. I thought, oh sh**, I hope Dar didn’t hear that… but she did. And her eyes were as big as baby-moon wheel covers on a ‘57 Chevy. “What do we do?” “Where do we go?” “It’s too late, we’ll just have to ride it out here.” There’s a little space between the closet and the bed on Dar’s side, and she slid out of bed and filled that space. She was wedging herself in so when the storm picked us up and tossed us around, she’d have some chance at surviving. I, on the other hand, became very philosophic and fatalistic… if my number’s up, it’s up! If it’s not, it’s not! So why worry too much about it. Besides, what’s the chance that a real tornado will actually touch down right here in Nappanee, especially in October when we have almost no tornadoes, ever? Right? Right? After just a few minutes at peak intensity, you could feel the storm subside. Dar, who has ESWP (extra sensory weather perception), said “It’s over”.

I didn’t sleep much for the next hour or two. The storm did subside, but emergency vehicles with sirens screaming were going up and down the highway. And then the power went out. I know when the power goes out because my time/temp projection thing doesn’t project when the power’s not on, and I have to try to find my glasses each time I get up in the middle of the night so I can see what time it is. Morning approached slowly and in the dark.

Our wake-up alarm went off at 5am. Everything around us was dark. The power was still out. This isn’t a good sign that we’ll be able to get the last items on our list resolved and get this visit with Newmar wrapped up before the end of the day. But we had to get up and be ready. The power could come back on at any moment and they could be here for the bus right at 6am as scheduled. We just didn’t know.

At about 6:15am, our service tech pulls up and we invite him in. It was then that we learned the extent of the damage in Nappanee caused by the storm last night. Because the power was out, they sent anyone who made it to work home. The city and county had declared a state of emergency and asked all businesses to cancel operations for the day. But we lucked out as the small paint repair we needed done was actually done in the next small town to the west, Bremen. They were taking the bus there for painting and should have it back just after noon.

After a small breakfast we drove as close as we could get to the damaged area of town, then walked the rest of the way. It may have been an average tornado as tornadoes go, but the devastation is something to see. There were three RV or Mobile Home plants owned by Fairmont Homes that were heavily damaged or destroyed. A bunch of their finished inventory… brand-spanking new travel trailers… were picked up and tossed about. (There are pictures on our online photo collection.) In addition, a number of homes in a nearby subdivision were heavily damaged. I did get pictures of a small apartment building that was torn apart. Many peoples lives were jumbled up that day… but no one was killed or seriously hurt.

Our camper was finished about 1pm. We signed off on the work, went out to a celebratory lunch, and then drove to Elkhart to kill the afternoon.

What a day. Glad it’s over.

We head south tomorrow.

T

Thursday, August 2, 2007 — Mackinaw City, MI

Some answers to questions I had about the area… (the first in a series over the next few days or weeks):

Question 1) Is it pronounced “Mackinac” or “Mackinaw”? I grew up with it always being pronounced with the “ac” at the end, never the “aw”. But over the years I’ve run into people, mostly Michiganders, who insist that the correct pronunciation is with the “aw”. With our arrival in the area, I thought I’d clear this up for good — at least for me. There’ll always be hard-headed Chicago Bears fans that’ll insist on saying it wrong, as they do so many other words, but I wanted to at least understand the issue and make my own decision.

First, I talked with Dave, our waiter in a small pub/restaurant here in town. He grew up in the area and his Mom makes the best pasties (don’t ask now, that’ll be another post) around, so I felt he should be considered an authority on the subject. Now, to complicate the issue we have at least four things that are named similarily… Mackinaw City, the Mackinac Straits, the Mackinac Bridge, and Mackinac Island. Are they all pronounced the way they’re spelled? What’s the reason for the difference? It’s very confusing and this has got to be cleared up now. So, Dave says the correct pronunciation is with a “w” in all cases. He actually seem a little offended that any intelligent person would consider anything but “with the w” as correct. Ok, that seems like the end of the story, but I started to think that since Dave grew up and lives in Mackinaw City, and his Mom, who makes the best pasties around, still lives in Mackinaw City, and considering that Mackinaw ends with a “w”, maybe Dave’s part of a conspiracy to get the pronunciation of everything changed to that of his home town. Maybe even Dave’s Mom is part of the plot. Unlikely, but nevertheless, a possibility. I needed another authority on the subject.

The second authority was Julie the checkout girl/clerk/person from the IGA market right here in Mackinaw City. I know what you’re thinking… Julie’s from Mackinaw City too… she could be part of the conspiracy. True, but she had an honest face and was willing to talk with me on the subject, so that alone should be good enough… but she also had documented proof to offer. That proof was in the form of an article in the well-known Mackinaw Today Paper that is issued once each year. Reading from the 2007 edition of the paper, it says…

“The Indian name for the area, Michinnimakinong, was changed to Michillimackinac when the French arrived in 1715.” [editorial comment: I had had a suspicion the French were in some way responsible for screwing this up too.] “Even though the French spelled it with an “ac”, they still pronounced it “aw”. The British arrived and took over the fort in 1761 [without firing a shot I might add] and decided to change the spelling to “aw”, and eventually the name was shortened to Mackinaw. The French kept their “ac” though [stubborn little buggers, aren't they?] and everything north of Mackinaw City uses that spelling. Mackinaw City is one of the only references that uses the “aw” ending. So, regardless of the spelling, the pronunciation of “ac” is the same as “aw”.

So, there you have it! On good authority we can feel confident in pronouncing everything with the “aw”. It’s amazing to me just how much you can learn when you put your mind to it.

T