Day 53 - Appomattox to Williamsburg, Virginia

Stop me if you've heard this -- Today I got to visit a place that I've waited most of my life to visit: Appomattox Court House, Virgina, the setting of perhaps the most famous surrender in American history. Yes, I know what you're thinking, "enough with the Civil War already!" You're probably saying, "How about a nice arboretum or aquatic park for a change?" But in my brain it's all about the country's history. I haven't a hope of turning that thought process off. Once I've eliminated one famous location from my list, ten more start nagging at me to come visit.

Riding around in a motor home, assuming you're not listening to some cheesy detective novel on disk, gives you loads of time to discuss with your partner the hows and whys of the universe, and, indirectly, our individual lives. Why did we develop an interest in history instead of biology? When we went to the library as kids, how come we came home with books on priate ships or famous inventors, rather than on animal husbandry or astronomy? Neither of us know. Personally, I don't remember my mother or father steering me toward any particular subject, or, for that matter, even taking note of what subjects I was pursuing. I think Concetta experienced the same sort of ambivalence. So how did it happen? How did this burning desire to "live" history come about?

It's long been my opinion that there is some master consciousness that somehow a select few humans are able to tap into and experience the continuous thread of human existence. If you saw the movie, "Patton," with George C. Scott, you know what I'm talking about. There's a famous scene where Patton says, "It was here. The battlefield was here. The Carthaginians defending the city were attacked by three Roman Legions. Carthaginians were proud and brave but they couldn't hold. They were massacred. Arab women stripped them of their tunics and their swords and lances. The soldiers lay naked in the sun, two thousand years ago; and I WAS HERE."

So, do people who just LOVE history have the ability to experience the whole scene in their heads? Can they hear the bugles blow, the cannons roar, the thunder of a ten thousand feet tramping toward victory or defeat? Personally, I think they can -- and do. I think that's why Concetta and I must seek out these opportunities to listen to the heartbeat of history that thunders so loudly in our ears. When we look out across a battlefield, we can see the soldiers advancing, the colors waving in the morning breeze. We can see each and every face beneath the forage cap as they pass by. It's there, right in front of our eyes, and it's impossible to resist.

Now while Concetta plays a few stanzas of "Carry Me Back to Old Virgnny" on her Ipad, I will tell you about our latest visit to the past. This morning we were camped just two miles west of the location of one of the most momentous events in the history of the north American Continent, the surrender of Robert E. Lee and his army of Northern Virginia to the cigar chomping military genius, General Ulysses S. Grant.

The event didn't come about easily. Lee's army of 30,000 men was seeking the shelter of North Carolina where they hoped to link up with the Army of the Tenessee and hold on a few more months. But their route to the south was blocked by Grant's army. Lee kept heading west hoping to break through at some point and escape.

However, little by little Lee was being encircled by Grant's much larger army. Moving west was Lee's best bet, but on that front he faced a small group of union cavalrymen. As he ordered his troops to push forward into the Union cavalry, testing their strength, he and General Grant indulged in a series of letters and counter letters. General Grant asked Lee to surrender before men were killed needlessly. Lee stalled, asking for more clarification.

What Lee didn't know was that Grant had sent a secret communication to General Wright who was some thirty miles to the northeast of the Appomattox area. Grant told General Wright that if he could hurry up to reinforce the Union western flank they could end the Civil War right there.

Miraculously, General Wright marched his troops around the clock for the thirty miles and arrived on the scene just as the Union cavalry on the western flank was being forced to fall back by the Confederate thrust. The Union had, in effect, bottled up Lee's 30,000 troops. General George Armstrong Custer had, at the same time, captured three trainloads of Confederate supplies that had come down from Lynchburg to Appomattox, supplies that the Confederates desperately needed to survive and fight on.

At that point Lee saw the handwriting on the wall and sent a letter to Grant asking for surrender terms. The two men and their staffs got together at George McLean's house in Appomattox town and penned letters to each other outlining and agreeing to the terms of the surrender. The Confederates had to lay down their long guns, abandon their cannons, and agree to fight no more for the Confederacy. Grant, in his turn, allowed the 30,000 Confederate paroled soldiers to keep their side arms, if they had any, and to also keep their mounts if they owned them personally. On that day the boys in gray were free to walk home, unmolested by any Federal authority.

The events that took place beneath our feet some 150 years ago did not, in fact, end the Civil War. Other Confederate armies continued to fight for up to seven months longer. Lee's army was only the first army to surrender, but the end was inevitable and Grant's liberal parole terms were used for subsequent surrenders throughout the south.

Fortunately for Concetta and me, the personnel at Appomattox Court House National Monument are not only very knowledgeable, but quite enthusiastic about their jobs. We asked one ranger, who was detailed to explain events at the George McLean house where the opposing forces met to discuss surrender terms, whether he would be interested in moving to, for instance, Grand Canyon Nation Park. He instantly said, "Oh, no. I love it right here and the Civil War is my passion." Now that's dedication, even though I didn't think park rangers got to pick their venues.

We listened to a ranger who had memorized all the letters that had been written between Grant and Lee in the final days. He didn't just know his material, he knew it cold. That's the kind of history lesson that can really get you fired up! Later, we listened to a docent who took on the character of the daughter of the town tavern owner. She told us just how the events in her home town affected her and her family. It was riveting!

I think both of us could easily have stayed at the Appomattox battlefield all day, but the road was calling yet again. With a big sigh we loaded up and headed once more for the open road. There was more history to experience, more places to tap into the thread of historic consciousness in this huge historic land of ours. We're headed now for Colonial Williamsburg, so we'll have to be shifting gears a hundred years and start thinking like a colonial patriot. We can't Wait!

If you're planning on visiting Appomattox, you should know that most of the buildings are either reconstructed or are heavily restored. The George McLean house, incredibly enough, had been at one time completely disassembled and sent to the Smithsonian Institution. Eventually, the National Park Service got the bricks back and reassembled the house. Still, the setting for the several days of battle as well as the meeting between Grant and Lee is as historically accurate as can be accomplished and all the structures exist on their original locations. If you're one of those history-oriented humans who can hear the voices of long-dead heroes, you won't be disappointed at the Appomattox Court House National Monument. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. The voices tell me so!

Day 52 - Charlottesville to Appomatox, Virginia

Tonight we're sitting in a big open field in the town of Appomattox, Virginia. The sky to the east of us is painted in broad brush strokes of purples and pinks and muted blues. Earlier, the sunlight on the assembled RVs was so startling that I grabbed the camera and dashed outside to grab a shot before the "magic hour" faded into twilight and night settled onto our camp. While I was out there, I ended up talking to a nearby neighbor and his wife about RVing and all the inherent joys and complications one encounters while motoring across our vast country. That's the best thing about RVing: the telling of tall tales; the reminiscing; the comparing of solutions; the giving of advice. I just love every single minute of it.

We had high hopes for today since the first thing on the agenda was our long-anticipated visit to Thomas Jefferson's home at Monticello. Everything looked in apple pie order when we got up and broke camp in Charlottesville. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and we pretty much knew exactly where we had to go.

The Charlottesville KOA where we camped yesterday afternoon lay only a scant eight miles from Monticello, so we knew we'd be there for the very first tour of the day. Though our GPS refused to "acquire a satellite" all the way up Route 20, we didn't really care. We did have to use some intuition when the roadside sign said "turn right" for Thomas Jefferson Parkway and the GPS seemed to be saying to go straight. But the little unit came to its senses when we turned the way we knew was correct.

Once in the parking lot at Monticello we discovered that the spaces were pretty slanted and I opted to put the passenger side front wheel on a block to try and level the coach a bit. But that was easy. Then, with tremendous enthusiasm, we set out for the ticket agent's desk. Arriving there at about 8:40 or so we discovered that one doesn't just arrive and expect to buy the necessary tickets. No, Monticello is too popular. "You're lucky," the clerk said. "I have just two tickets left for the 9:00 a.m. tour. TWO! I wonder if she saw me gulp.

But, of course, we only needed two, and before long we were standing with about twenty other members of the 9:00 a.m. group. There were no tickets left for the upstairs tour, but that didn't bother us. The downstairs tour was going to be just good enough, since it came with unlimited access to the grounds, the gardens, and the servants quarters beneath Monticello.

The good news is while we waited for our official guide I was able to snap a couple of photos of the house from the east side. The bad news is, the longer we waited for our guide the worse the sky looked. Before we were ready to go into the house for our tour the sky had transformed into something quite gray and foreboding. The guide, once she arrived, kept going on about the beauty of the blooming tulip gardens, but by the time I was near the tulips the light was so flat that I didn't even bother to shoot them. It was very disappointing.

The interior of the house WAS very interesting, and our guide did her best to acquaint us with all the fascinating components of Jefferson's innovative design, but I longed to be out in the yard shooting the gardens. In fact, no photos are allowed in the house, though I was able to shoot in the basement areas where the beer and wine were stored, and the kitchen (photo right), smokehouse, and privies were located.

But wait, the news was about to get worse. As Concetta and I strolled around the grounds after the official tour I heard one of the docents telling one of her cohorts that they expected rain in approximately forty-five minutes. Well, that put a new complexion on the whole thing. We still wanted to visit the vegetable garden on the south side of the mountain. If we wanted any photographs of that important feature, we had to get moving.

Fortunately, we were able to cozy up to a group getting a tour of the veggie garden and were able to learn a few facts and grab a few photos. Thomas Jefferson was a meticulous record keeper and so today we know precisely what he successfully grew, what he failed at growing, and where the various seeds came from.

Today's garden is grown right where Jefferson grew his garden, and the docents have labeled on wooden sticks (photo below) the exact seed name and date at which Jefferson first grew that particular seed type.

In addition to veggies, Jefferson also grew several types of fruit, as well as numerous types of grapes. These products are largely restored and grown today. Marking the boundary between the grape vineyards and the veggie garden is wonderful solarium where Jefferson would go out to spend time with the garden, whether it be summer or winter. The solarium was designed with windows on all sides so that he could take advantage of the breezes with the windows open, or, in winter, he could close the windows and the structure would be warm like a garden hot house. We loved it.

When we where through enjoying Jefferson's mountain-top home, we visited his grave site where many members of his extended family are buried (photo below left). In fact, anyone can still be buried at Monticello if they are descendent from one of Jefferson's two surviving daughters. The cemetery is a very peaceful place, tucked away down slope from the main part of the estate, and shaded by numerous trees.

From the cemetery, Concetta and I walked the 1/3 mile path down to the visitor center and dropped in on the twenty-minute film of Jefferson's life, then went next door to the museum devoted to his many talents and inventions. I especially liked a section on a specialized roof that Jefferson designed to go over his "basement" work areas where a patio was designed to cover some of the rooms. He had tried to conquer much the same problem as I had tried to conquer when I built my sunroom, so I was impressed with his solution. In Jefferson's design water needed to drip through the patio deck, but be shed from the roofing underneath so it wouldn't damage the ceilings of the basement rooms. His design looked perfect to me.

Much to our surprise, when we exited the museum the promised rain had finally arrived. Rain was sloshing down like we were standing under a waterfall. Fortunately, we were just steps away from the gift shop where we hoped to score a few books on Jefferson for our collection. By the time we had accomplished that mission, the rain had abated and we were able to dash to the RV and get under cover again.

After eating lunch right there in the visitor center parking lot, we headed down the mountain toward Route 20, and a trek south towards the Civil War battlefield of Appomattox. I knew what lay ahead was a very tough drive in the rain along a particularly narrow road, but I also knew that Appomattox lay no more than ninety minutes away and I thought if we took it easy we could get there okay.

The very first thing that happened when we'd only been on the road for a quarter hour was we rounded a bend and encountered a long line of traffic stopped for an auto accident. We were listening to a book on tape by Elmore Leonard, so we just sat back and enjoyed the wait. Before long, the crash was cleared and we were on our way. At times it rained very, very hard on the drive to Appomattox, but the scenery was wonderfully rural and intensely green.

By 3:30 p.m., our trusty GPS had lead us to the front door of our RV camp, we had paid our fee, and had set off to visit the Confederate Museum which we had discovered, of all places, right across the street (photo lower right). The museum was wonderfully new, and thoughtfully constructed. Though we're beginning to weary a bit of displays of Civil War uniforms and weapons, this museum in Appomattox is just so well done we loved it. Here they concentrated on the human story throughout. I especially like the areas where you could learn everything about a particular soldier, from enlistment to his last days. We learned about soldiers who were killed, of course, but we also learned about soldiers who went on to become statesmen and prominent businesspeople after the war. Yes, they had the uniforms and weapons, but the human story was the linchpin of their efforts. It was just great.

Incredibly, when we looked out the museum's windows as we prepared to exit, the sun had burst forth in all its glory. How amazing! Short hours before it had been raining so hard the RV's wipers had trouble clearing the water even when set to "high." Now the day promised no more rain and perhaps a beautiful sunset.

Deciding that we needed to stock up on groceries while the weather was dry, Concetta and I set off for the nearby Walmart, which ultimately made dinner a little late tonight. Still, as I type this account, dinner is over, Concetta has had her shower, and I'm doing the finger dance on the keyboard. Everything is darned right with the world, damp though it may be.

Tomorrow we hope to spend the morning visiting the Appomattox battlefield and whatever that might entail. After lunch we intend to head east from here and visit Jamestown, Colonial Williamsburg, and perhaps the Cornwallis surrender site over on the Atlantic coast. Crazy, I know, since it might appear to some that we're traveling in circles, but hey, who cares? We're just having a ball, and that's all that matters. N'est-ce pas vrai?

Day 51 - Ashland (Richmond) to Charlottesville, Virginia

Wow! We finally found a KOA that isn't located on a major Interstate where the truck traffic sounds so close it's like you're sitting in the cab with the drivers. Though we managed to "squeak" into the Ashland KOA last night without reservations, we couldn't wait to get out of there. Just too noisy.

On the other hand, tonight we found a tranquil little KOA off Virginia Route 20 that's so quiet and secluded you'd have to call it wilderness. Even better, the site is completely level so I don't have to use the drive-up blocks, which always makes my life easier. They put us on the edge of some forest land, just feet away from a small gully, and the setting is just about perfect (photo left).

Today was just a darn nice day in northern Virginia. Last night we camped about an hour south of Fredericksburg, Virginia, and so we had to endure some time on the Interstate this morning as we headed north. But after we exited onto Route 1, just south of Fredericksburg, things got better fast. We'd only been on Route 1 a few minutes when we saw the sign for the Fredericksburg battlefield site, and just a few minutes after that we had pulled up in the parking lot of the visitor center and were watching the very informative video about the town and associated battle.

The resounding defeat of the Union army at Fredericksburg was a tremendous black eye for the northern government in December of 1862 when not much had been going right. Robert E. Lee's presence 50 odd miles south of Washington D.C., with an army of 85,000 men, was certainly a thorn in President Lincoln's side. It's no wonder that Lincoln and his generals wanted Lee gone. General Ambrose Burnside, George McClellan's replacement, and the 120,000 men of the army of the Potomac, were nominated to push Lee south again.

But the Confederate Army was very firmly in possession of the high ground west of the town of Fredericksburg and the Rappahannock River. They'd arranged their cannon on the top of Marye's Hill so that they could shoot down on anyone trying to move across the river, through the town, and up the hill towards them.

Below the crest of the hill ran a road that was "fenced" on both sides with a stone wall. The eastern part of this stone wall formed an excellent bit of protection for Lee's riflemen and they would take full advantage of it (photo lower left).

Much blood was shed as Burnside and his huge army tried building bridges across the Rappahannock so they could cross to Lee's side. This proved to be a deadly undertaking when Confederate snipers on the west side of the river peppered the bridge builders mercilessly. Eventually, it is surmised, General Lee decided to allow the Federals to cross the river. Figuring to draw the Union army into his carefully laid trap, he withdrew his troops up Marye's Hill and waited for Burnside's army to cross the river and enter the town.

But when the boys in blue tried to move out of Fredericksburg, across the hundreds of yards of open fields, and then up Marye's Hill, the Confederates created a living Hell of cannon and rifle fire that killed wave after wave of the Union troops. Over the three day battle, the Union army suffered 12,653 casualties (1,284 killed, 9,600 wounded, 1,769 captured/missing). Two Union generals were mortally wounded: Brig. Gens. George D. Bayard and Conrad F. Jackson. The Confederate army lost 5,377 (608 killed, 4,116 wounded, 653 captured/missing).

Nowadays you can walk the stone-lined road where the Confederates held back the Union advance and listen to the birds singing. You can climb the grassy hill that overlooks the battlefield where Lee's Cannons once rained deadly shrapnel down upon the lines of blue to such murderous effect, and nothing but gentle breezes and stillness are there to greet you. There are some 15,000 boys buried beneath the grass up there, only 3,000 of whom are identified. As with so many battlefields we have visited, from General Custer's Little Big Horn, to Fredericksburg here in Virginia, we found ourselves gazing at the headstones of the fallen and wondering if man will ever quit going to war. We don't think he will.

Our next objective, after visiting the Fredericksburg battlefield, was Thomas Jefferson's home of Monticello in the town of Charlottesville, Virginia. In the same fashion that your humble scribe has been just over the moon about finally getting to see long dreamed of historic places like Fort Sumter and Fredericksburg, Concetta has wanted to see the house and gardens of Monticello. Fortunately, I worked the logistics out earlier so that there was only an hour's drive or so between Fredericksburg and Charlottesville. This made it easy to get here after spending the morning at the battlefield. Tomorrow Monticello opens at 9:00 a.m., and believe me, we're going to be waiting at the gate when that happens. From our guide book it looks like the price is pretty stiff, but how many times do you get to visit with Thomas Jefferson, one of the most important and well-known fathers of our country.

After Monticello, assuming that we can tear ourselves away in any timely fashion, we're going to visit yet another of the country's most historic places: Appomattox Court House. I thought that since we visited the spot where the Civil War began -- Fort Sumter -- it would only be fitting to visit the place where it ended. That place where the Confederate army threw down their rifles and swords and set out to walk home after four disastrous years of conflict, most of it taking place in their own home states and towns.

Day 50 - Raleigh, North Carolina to Ashland (Richmond), Virginia

As we were leaving the Raleigh museum yesterday afternoon we realized that there was much more to see. Regina, the helpful docent, had done much to fill out our knowledge on North Carolina. Still, we wanted more. We knew we needed to come back the next day. But where to park? I wasn't really comfortable parking in the residential neighborhoods, and it probably wasn't fair to the local residents since I took up two spots.

Then I had an inspiration. I asked a parking attendant who happened to on our route back to the rig if he, or the woman eating peanut butter dipped apples beside him, knew where a person might park a motor home in downtown Raleigh if they wanted to visit the state museum. They looked at each other a moment and then back at me and shook their heads.

Okay, I thought, this is nuts. A little further along, we saw another chap. This one was standing beside a fancy orange and white parking control golf cart. Realizing that if you don't ask, you don't get, we went over to talk to him. Turned out he was he was in charge of the parking lot where buses normally park when school children are transported to the museum. I asked him the same question. He looked thoughtful, but in the end he gave us the same answer as the two earlier attendants had given.

"Any way we could park here?" Concetta asked, sweeping her hand around the near empty bus lot.

He turned and surveyed lot and stroked his chin. "No," he said. "I can' let you park here." Then he appeared to get an idea. "just a minute," he said. "Let me talk to my boss."

A few minutes later he came back and said, "Okay, follow me."

He took us over to a vacant spot, about twenty feet by forty, tucked up beside the adjacent state office building. The spot was not meant for buses, but I suspect that in heavy traffic days, where there are too many buses for the available parking spaces, the attendant probably squeezed one or two in there. He pointed to the space. "I can let you park here," he said. "But you have to be here by 8:30 or 9:00 a.m., or you might not be able to get in with all the buses in the way."

"That sounds great," I said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Walter Hill," the man said, and we shook hands. "We'll be here, Walter, and we thank you very much."

Walter's smile stretched from ear to ear. "You're welcome," he said. "Happy to give you a hand."

And so it was that by 8:15 a.m. we had driven in from the Umstead State Park, backed the rig into position beside the building, left our business card under the wiper, and had gone off in search of some coffee. We managed to find a pretty upscale coffee shop a couple of blocks away, and had some very nice coffee and flaky croissants with apple butter. Then, since we still had a half hour or so before the museum opened, we visited the North Carolina State Capitol building (photo upper left). Though most state officials have moved into larger quarters and out of the Capitol, just as in Nevada, their Governor still occupies the 1840s-era building along with about twenty-five of his staff members.

Concetta reminded me to mention that three of our presidents came from North Carolina: James Knox Pope; Andrew Jackson; and Andrew Johnson (photo of their statues upper right).

The Raleigh museum is a very, very nice facility, and their staff, as I've related, is quite helpful and knowledgeable. We spent a very pleasurable couple of hours there this morning. We concentrated on early North Carolina history, including their problems with pirates, the slave trade, the Colonial period, and the Civil War era. Concetta zeroed in on a man who was giving a demonstration on the industry that revolved around pine resin. Pine resin has many different uses, a sealant, a glue, and varnish for a few. It is distilled into oil of turpentine, which is used as a solvent, and as a paint thinner. There are medicinal uses of pine resin, or pitch, as well. The docent, whose interest was in nautical uses, pointed out that the pine sap or resin was used extensively by the shipping industry and the military to seal the bottoms of ships.

I'm always amazed by the inventiveness of Americans. They can find uses for everything, and often turn those uses into a business.

The most interesting display today belonged to the man known as Carbine Williams, who, while in prison for a crime he may not have committed, more or less invented the light-duty carbine rifle known as the M1 that was used in WWII. According to Wikipedia, "Williams was found distilling illegal moonshine, and was held responsible for the death of a federal officer during a raid on his still. He was sentenced to thirty years hard labor. He cycled through the prison system, until a firm, but compassionate warden, H.T. Peoples allowed him to work in a prison tool shop. There he invented the gas system for his famous rifle, and eventually was released from prison in 1929 and worked with Winchester Firearms on development of the M1 Carbine" (his prison-made rifles shown in photo right).

When we got back to the parking lot, there was Walter standing guard over the RV. Everything was A-Okay. We took the photo (bottom right) and slipped him some cash for his lunch. We shook hands a half dozen more times, wished each other well, and we rolled out of the parking lot headed for the open road about 11:00 a.m. We wanted to get out of Raleigh before the lunch-time traffic picked up. It had been a grand morning and it was nice to have made a new friend.

The rest of the day we just motored up Interstate 95 and listened to our Robert Crais mystery on the disk player. We stopped for lunch on a semi-deserted side road, but kept to the schedule this time with nothing to distract us.

So we were able to get into camp early this afternoon, though I thought it was going to be iffy at first. Our destination was the KOA in Ashland, Virginia, which is just north of Richmond. When we arrived we discovered that the park was nearly full as Richmond was hosting some sort of NASCAR races. When I asked if we could stay two days the clerk said, "Well, no."

Okay then. We'll just have to find somewhere else. Tomorrow we're headed for the Civil War battlefield of Fredericksburg, Virginia, followed by Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, and then, if it's not too late, Appomattox Court House. Hopefully we'll find a camp over by Monticello to stay.

Only one bit of bad news which I discovered when I went to set up camp tonight. When I went to the rear of the coach to crank down the rear jacks, I discovered that when we left the bus parking lot this morning the dip leaving the lot was a bit too deep for us and one of the jacks was bent all to heck. So, this afternoon I had to remove it and somewhere along the way I'll have to find a guy with a torch to heat it up and bend it back so I can bolt it back on. Until then we'll just have to jiggle.

Day 49 - Dillon, South Carolina to Raleigh, North Carolina

Today we tried to pack as much into one day as humanly possible, though not necessarily with fun stuff. First of all we jumped out of bed at the crack of dawn (as my parents used to say) and launched into making the coffee and setting up for breakfast. While that was happening, I stripped the bed, and threw all the bedding and all the bathroom towels and wash clothes into a laundry basket and headed for the nearby park laundry room. We hoped to get the last of the laundry that we had started yesterday finished before we left camp. knowing that it took about 90 minutes to accomplish this task, we decided we needed to start early. Hence the haste.

When breakfast and the laundry were finished, we broke camp about 9:00 a.m. and headed for the nearby Walmart to stock up on groceries before we left town. I had chanced to see our now personal shopping emporium while trying to locate our camp yesterday.

By just after 10:00 a.m., we had finished our shopping and were rolling up the on-ramp of Interstate 95. Our destination for the day was to be Raleigh, North Carolina. So far so good.

Along about noon we were just starting to get hungry when I spotted a historic marker indicating that there was a Civil War battlefield just four miles off the Interstate. Recognizing that the battlefield site would make a dandy lunch stop, we motored down the off-ramp and out into the countryside.

What we found was the site of the battle of Averasboro, North Carolina, where the north and south came together in one of the very last battles of the war in March 1865.

The museum grounds were perched on the edge of hundreds of acres of plowed fields, looking, I'm sure, very much like what the battlefield looked like 150 years ago. It was easy to visualize the two armies coming together, slugging it out, then going their separate ways. Even though the war would only last another month, boys were still having to die for their respective countries.

After our lunch under a spreading tree on the museum grounds (photo upper left), we went inside to tour the museum (photo upper right). Inside we met the most delightful docent in charge of the displays and he spent at least forty-five minutes explaining everything to us. Though we hadn't planned on spending quite that much time for our lunch break, the docent was so fascinating and friendly (photo left) that we didn't begrudge the time. In the end we toured the whole facility, bought a book and some souvenirs, and had a grand time. However, by the time we started back to the Interstate it was getting pretty late in the day.

So it was that by the time we got to Raleigh it was 3:30 p.m. and we had planned on visiting the state museum. Well guess what? The city of Raleigh doesn't provide anywhere for motor homes to park. After trying this spot and that spot -- including even a church parking lot that promised to tow if they caught you parking there -- we found a couple of adjacent spots in a residential neighborhood that looked pretty good.

As the sun sank lower and lower in the sky we hoofed it the couple of three blocks to the museum and went inside. Getting some rudimentary directions from the front desk, we started with the Native American room. And that's when one of the docents came rushing over and pounced on us. Bubbly and friendly, Regina Wright (photo right) immediately took it upon herself to introduce us to the state of North Carolina. She knew a lot. In fact, Regina not only told us about the history but acted some of that history out for us. She was amazing!

We soon came to realize that we had stumbled onto possible the very best person in all of North Carolina to give us a personal tour of the museum. AND, Regina was not only a walking history book, she WAS history in that she was a genuine niece of Wilbur Wright (several times removed, of course). You know, Wilbur the "first flyer" guy from Kittyhawk?

Well, by the time that Regina had regaled us with a myriad of stories about her home state, especially that of the lost colony of Roanoke, I was beginning to get a little worried about just where we were going to camp since the place I had picked out was still quite a few miles to the north. But thanks to Regina and her front desk cohort we got a couple of addresses to local parks.

And that's how we ended up at the Umstead State Park which came complete with, well, nothing but tons of nature. No water hookup. No electrical. No sewer. But it was cool and only cost $15.00. We got out our lantern and ran a generator for a few moments so Concetta could nuke up some food in the microwave. Since we had lots of warmups it really wasn't a big deal to have no amenities. In fact, we each got a good book and sat out at the picnic table with our Coleman lantern (photo left) and read until bedtime, something we hadn't done in years and years. It was great. And, had it not been for the fact that the park lay in the flight path of some busy airport (I didn't try to find out which one), the whole experience would have been like finding Eden.

North Carolina is, as is most of the southeast we've found, just like one big park. If you haven't been here, you should come see for yourself. And if you get to the state museum, be sure you ask for Regina Monique Wright. She'll do a great job telling you everything you need to know.

Day 48 - Charleston to Dillon, South Carolina

When you travel in a motor home, there are numerous things that get to occupy your mind that don't demand much attention when you're home. One of those things is the sewer. Now everybody has a sewer connection at home. Some of us have septic tanks, which sort of passes for a sewer. But most folks just have a pipe that runs from under their house to somewhere out in the middle of the street. You don't know how it all works. You just know that, well, most of the time, it just works and requires no intervention from you. Even if it doesn't work once in a blue moon, all you do is call the roto rooter guy and he comes out with his root-eating machine. He spends about thirty minutes, hands you a bill for $150.00, and you're back in business for another year or more.

None of the above facts are pertinent to your RV. Whether it's a self-contained coach, or one that gets hooked to a tow vehicle, all RVs have one thing in common: they have sewage tanks under the floor and these thanks need constant attention. There's no such thing as letting "someone else" take care of it. If you own a recreational vehicle, YOU are the one for whom the buck stops.

I bring up this subject not just because we didn't do anything today interesting enough to write about (we didn't), but because it's a subject that comes up everyday, at least for me. For some reason the sewage tank has been acting up more this trip than in past excursions. I have not determined why this should be. But as that great philosopher, Shane Malloy, once said, "It is what it is."

It all started when we got to Lafayette, Louisiana. I went through my usual routine of pulling the valves open and letting the sewage drain into the flexible pipe that runs from the coach to the park's in-ground sewer outlet. While that is happening, I always hook a fresh water hose to the appropriate connection on the black water tank and force fresh water in behind the sewage to help things along a bit. But this time, after I had finished, I happened to be using the bathroom and noticed that the tank had not emptied at all. Soooooo.....I went through the procedure again. No luck.

It being the first time this had happened in three rather extensive road trips, I didn't have a clue what to do. So I hoofed it up to the park office and asked if they had some fix-it genius on call who might come take a look. Fortunately they did.

Lucky for me the fix-it guy came, he saw, and he conquered, and was gone in an hour or so. He gave me some good advice that, after all, is the intent of the posting this evening.

The first thing he told me was that many RVs have the fresh water flush point placed in the wrong part of the sewage tank to do you any good. It's located mostly to make it easy to attach a hose, not to provide any strategic flushing point. Nice.

The second thing he told me, or rather showed me, was a special clear plastic flush pipe that allows you to hook a fresh water hose into the outlet of the sewer, between the flexible hose and the permanent fitting on the coach. This allows you to force water up through the down drain, which can cure a clog should one occur.

The third tip he gave me that day was that I should fairly regularly put a couple of bags of cubed ice into the tank from above and let the cubes rattle around while you drive. This has the effect of knocking loose things like toilet paper that can solidify if not regularly and thoroughly flushed out each day.

I immediately adopted all these techniques. In addition I started flushing both in the morning before we leave camp, and in the afternoon as I'm setting up camp. This for the most part has eliminated my sewer problems and we all sleep better knowing that.

I realize that I have expounded at length in the past about parks and their sometimes bizarre sewer connection pipe locations and designs. While poor designs continue to irritate me, I now carry virtually everything I need to set up a sewer line in just about any situation. The components include: two six-foot lengths of plastic rain gutter to hold the flexible pipe at higher than normal elevations (see photo upper left); one accordion-style support for normal elevation use (seen in photo right); one twenty-foot flexible hose which works for most connection spans; one ten-foot flexible hose add-on piece for longer than normal spans; one heavy u-shaped yoke for use in holding the L-shaped end of the flexible hose firmly into the park's sewer pipe; several buckets of various sizes that can be used to elevate the flexible hose and hold the rain gutter pieces when necessary (photo upper left); and one fresh water hose used solely for connection to the sewer tanks.

There are a few other things I carry just because: this includes a brand new backup fresh water hose; a new set of quick disconnect fittings that I like to put on hose ends so I don't have to be constantly screwing and unscrewing hoses; a couple of pair of channel lock pliers for stubborn connections; deodorant tablets for the sewer tank (just in case); and a ninety degree sewer hose fitting that I might need someday but probably won't.

And that's about it. I may have forgotten something here, so if you have a question please let me know and I'll try and answer it. Messing with sewer hoses and such is not tons of fun, but is always a necessary chore to do correctly if you don't want to ruin your trip. Best to always give it your full attention.

Day 47 - All day in Charleston, South Carolina

We didn't have high hopes for today. It rained hard all night long and it was still raining when we woke up this morning. We figured if we wanted to leave the RV today we might have to hire a boat. This outlook was not improved when I peered out the window this morning and found that there was a giant pool of water right outside our door. (Can you tell how drowned the RV is at right?)

But things have a way of changing pretty quick in the south. Before we had finished breakfast we could tell that the sun was trying valiantly to poke its head out through the overcast. The rays weren't having much luck, but it gave us hope.

The rain had stopped and as the clock ticked down toward our departure time of 9:00 a.m., we began to take heart that maybe we'd be able to go into Charleston and not have to wear a full suit of fisherman's foul-weather gear to stay dry.

We had originally picked this park because they offered a shuttle into Charleston. Though not free -- the cost was $10.00 each for round trip -- it seemed like a better deal than having to call a cab. Even though the park was closest to the city, it was still some miles to the oldest part of town where all the attractions were located and would have been an expensive cab ride.

So, 9:00 o'clock arrived and we were quickly installed aboard a snug little shuttle bus and were off across the Ashley River to the Charleston Peninsula. Moments later we had been deposited at the downtown visitor center, had been furnished with the necessary maps, and were off on our next adventure.

Charleston is perhaps the first city that we have visited that handles the tourism business right. Yes, other cities welcome visitors with open arms, but they most often charge you for that welcome. Here in Charleston, all the downtown, hop-on/hop-off trolleys are FREE! Yes, that's right. You can ride any one of three routes that pretty much cover the historic section and you spend not one dime.

Therefore, rather than buy one of those expensive narrated tours, we just hopped aboard the trolley and, with our free map in hand, headed downtown to one of the marked attractions for our first adventure of the day. Our first stop turned out to be the Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon, which was built by the British in 1771.

I believe our guide (that's him on the right) said it was the last building built by the British in America before the revolution. The Exchange part of the name comes from the fact that the first floor of this two-story building is where traders came to buy and sell goods in the 18th century. Things like Indigo, rice, and cotton were commonly traded at the exchange.

The dungeon part of the name comes from the fact that the British used the basement of the building for a prison in the years 1780-1782. Three signers of the Declaration of Independence were once held in this damp and dimly-lit space.

Our guide said that other prisoners ran the gamut from pirates and other bad guys, to British deserters and runaway slaves. These former inmates, along with any and all revolutionaries the British could lay hands on, spent months and even years cooped up in the dungeon's brick-lined caverns.

Our ultimate aim today was to take the ferry ride out to Fort Sumter, which had been a destination goal of mine for the past fifty odd years or so. When the hour approached for our departure, we made our way -- again via free trolley -- to the wharf area to meet the ferry. About twenty minutes later we were headed downriver towards the famous fort.

Fort Sumter is located, more or less, in the bay formed by the confluence of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers. It's not the only fort in the bay, there are several others. All the various islands had fortifications at some point in history. However Fort Sumter was the only one we had time to visit today.

When we went aboard the ferry boat we chanced to sit with a charming traveler with whom we naturally started chatting. Turns out this lady hales from northern California, not far from where we live, and is traveling the country by herself in a fifteen foot van. She started her trip just about a week ahead of our March 5th departure and has covered almost the same territory as we. One of the best things about traveling is the folks you meet along the way. Just ordinary people out seeing the country, and, like us, just in awe of everything there is to see.

Though we had hoped for a bit of sun today, the skies remained cloudy and gray almost the entire day. Still, we really enjoyed the trip to Fort Sumter. A bit of sun would have been nice for better photos, but as the famous philosopher, Forest Gump, once said, "life is like a box of chocolates....." Once on the island we climbed around the battlements, took in the museum, and shot photos of canons and crenelated battlements and stuff. I didn't know that the top couple of stories of the fort had been reduced to rubble by action in the Civil War, mostly by Union gunboats. Basically now you have just the first level that contains some gun ports.

As impressive military fortifications go, Sumpter is not high on anyone's list. Still, I was nearly euphoric that I was finally getting to see the place that I'd wanted to visit since I was a new seventh-grader at Eliot Junior High School in Pasadena, California, and was perhaps the youngest member of a Civil War roundtable group composed largely of adults. I remember my math teacher, Mr. Schilling, sponsored me and another student, and we had great fun going to the meetings -- probably chauffeured by my mother -- and seeing all the vintage weapons the members would bring for show and tell.

When we were once more back on the mainland, Concetta and I grabbed a trolley and headed back to the trolley depot where we hoped to find a nearby restaurant since we hadn't eaten anything but a small yogurt since breakfast. The time was 2:30 p.m. We knew our shuttle was going call at the depot at 4:00 o'clock sharp to pick us up and take us back to the RV park. It was a tall order, but thanks to a bunch of skateboarders who gave us directions to the nearby restaurant district, we walked the necessary two blocks, dropped into a local bistro called "Joe Pasta's," and were back to the pickup point well within the allotted time frame. I even had time, in the interim, to buy a Charleston T-shirt for my collection.

The food at Joe Pasta's was not only good, but, in my opinion, was quite excellent. We started with the shrimp and artichoke antipasti with bread. After that, Concetta ordered the scampi with linguini, and I had the spinach lasagne. Naturally, though our time was swiftly running out, I couldn't resist the bread pudding with peaches. What the heck? We hadn't eaten all day.

Now we're in for the day, feeling pretty darn full, but happy with yet another exciting day on our whirlwind vacation. Concetta doesn't have to cook, so she's comfy in bed reading her book. I have plenty of time for the blog, it's not even dark yet!

Now no one in their right mind would devote only a single day to Charleston. We didn't even scratch the surface of what there is to see here. I'm sure we could spend a week just touring the museums, mansions, and Civil War-related sites.

But we can't stay. The open road is calling and tomorrow we'll be headed north up the coast. A couple of women on the shuttle today told us we just HAVE to do the Shenandoah Valley and other exciting places in Virginia. Colonial Williamsburg, Jamestown, Monticello, and Appomattox Court House. The list is long. So off we go and we won't look back. There's just too much to see in these wonderful United States.

Stay tuned.