Day 16 -- Fort Larned to McPherson, Kansas -- 90 Miles

Well, here I am, sitting in front of my computer, drinking my Dodge City Sarsaparilla, and just trying to remember what we did here in central Kansas to use up a whole day and only make 90 miles. Oh, wait. I remember now.

You may remember that last night we stayed in a municipal camp (photo left) located just a couple of miles down the road from our afternoon stop at Fort Larned, Kansas, where we had such a good time learning about the lives of the frontier horse soldiers back in the late 1800s.

Our camp was constructed back in 1930 thru the joint efforts of several community organizations in the town of Larned, located just a couple of miles further up the road, including the Rotary Club, the Lions Club, and the Boy Scouts of America. Back then they called the grassy area Pawnee for its proximity to the Pawnee River, and they planted trees, built picnic areas, and layed out a couple of miles of nature walks. In more recent times the town of Larned added a dozen RV pads complete with water and electrical for those traveling folks who might want to stay the night. The park, called Pawnee Camp, was far enough off the highway to allow you to enjoy the peacefulness of the setting.

Enter the Davis family RV dragging a seriously dislocated exhaust pipe. Though it might have proven more serious without the help of a fellow camper, the exhaust pipe problem turned out to be no big deal. We just needed a power hacksaw and a length of Bungie Cord.

Thanks to the fact that we were only one of two rigs in the whole park, our evening and sleeping hours were the ultimate in tranquility. This morning, having rested completely, we were anxious to get on the road again since the previous day we'd only driven 64 miles. Even though most people agree it's the journey, not the destination, we did have a date in Kansas City to spend some time with my old shipmate before he flies the coop for his own upcoming RV vacation.

Pawnee Camp does not have sewer hookups, you may remember, but they do have a dump station which we made use of on our way out.

Our next stop, we had already decided, was the Santa Fe Trail museum which was supposed to be located somewhere nearby. Turned out it was just a mile down the road, so our initial trek eastward didn't last long. But we did have a good time at the museum. Though it didn't concentrate enough on the Sante Fe Trail to please me, there were aspects of the museum experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. As many museum settings have done in recent times, the museum supporters have arranged for endangered buildings from around the area to be moved to the museum grounds for protection. We were especially interested in visiting the sod house, which we had not experienced before. They also had a hillside dugout home, which I personally wanted to see very much since my mother's mother was born in one near Cleveland, Utah.

We got to see a great variety of exhibits, both inside and around the grounds. My favorites were the horse-drawn freight wagons since it's my area of study right now. They had a railroad station, a school house, and a log cabin outdoors. And they had a couple of warehouses full of vehicles, which included several decades worth of automobiles, and a great many pieces of farm machinery, most of which we couldn't identify. The tan car to the right is a Roosevelt, a car you don't see very often.

After spending our morning at the museum we really needed to get serious about finding someone to help with a permanent solution to the rig's tailpipe problem. My plan was to continue heading east in the general direction of McPherson, but watch for a welding shop or street-side mechanic that I could talk into an hour's work for a reasonable fee. But we drove through several small towns, sometimes going in circles, but nothing appeared to be open. I was beginning to get worried since I knew the Bungie Cord would eventually burn through and we would go back to having a problem.

Finally, in the town of Lyons, we stopped at the edge of an ACE Hardware parking lot. By then I had decided to fix the darn thing myself. I went inside and discussed the problem with the first available sales person and together we came back outside, measured the distance between the tailpipe and the bracket, then retreated back inside to see what they had that could be used to attach the flippy-floppy tailpipe end to the stationary, but now useless, bracket which is welded to the frame. My new friend, the ACE Hardware guy, and I walked up and down aisles looking for just the perfect solution, and he made several suggestions. But in the end I chose an ultra sturdy piece of cable, normally used to lock up bicycles, since it had two loops at the cable ends. I figured those loops might be very helpful if I also purchased a very large bolt, two flat washers, one lock washer, a beefy nut, and then put the whole thing together into a nice composite after wrapping the six feet of bicycle cable around the stationary bracket and then around the tailpipe (see last photo on the page).

Turns out that my design seems to work perfectly and we may just leave it like that until we return home. I am a tad concerned that the missing two feet of tailpipe, whose job it was to direct carbon monoxide OUTSIDE the confines of the rig, might cause CO2 to get into the interior while we are driving, but so far that hasn't been the case.

Once the tailpipe problem was fixed and we had some lunch compliments of the ACE Hardware parking lot, we then went in search of a Walmart as we needed groceries. I also I wanted someone in the Walmart's tire section to check the pressure in all seven tires, especially the right rear dualies which definitely looked like they held less air then the left side. I could, of course, check this myself, but I wouldn't be able to remedy the situation should that be required.

Thankfully, Walmart proved way easy to find and before long Concetta was scooping up veggies inside while I sweet-talked one of the tire jockeys into checking all my tires and bringing them all up to spec. Turned out that I was wrong, by the way, and all the tires were within two or three pounds of each other except the spare which the very helpful youngster topped up for me. I offered to pay Walmart for the service. I even offered to tip the young lad who helped. But they turned me down on both requests. Funny thing was, who should I spend time with while I waited for the tires to be checked, but a local guy who was a good welder. Had it not been so late in the day by then, I probably could have hired him on the spot to fix the tailpipe. Oh, well, sometimes life is like that.

So, though we had accomplished precious little today, and had spent most of our time searching for things we couldn't find, we were determined to make a few miles before we slept. So, once the groceries were loaded we set out in an easterly direction on Route 56/96 toward either McPherson or Hutchinson, Kansas, whichever happened to offer as a good camp for the night.

When it turned out that Hutchinson had only the fairgrounds to offer campers, we decided to stay in McPherson since it claimed to have a great site just on the eastern fringe of town. Well, once in McPherson we unleashed the aid of our brand new GPS and the little magic brain told us, in essence, "No problem. I'm on it." So it was, that fifteen minutes later the brain told us we were arriving at the desired address. We looked, but only a vacant field met our gaze. So we drove down the road a fair distance and into a church parking lot. There we reprogrammed the brain and set off again. This time we got to see the vacant, weed-covered field from a new direction. But no RV park was in evidence.

At this point we decided that the Good Sam book must have listed the address incorrectly and we called the park to obtain the correct one. But the voice at the other end of the line told us, "No, you have the correct address. All you have to do is drive further east then your GPS is advising and you'll see us."

"Great," I said. "We'll give that a try."

"Only one problem," the voice said, "we're full up. Not a single space open."

I starred at the phone in disbelief for a moment, then I said, "Well, can you recommend another park?"

"Only ones I know are on First Street," he said, "and there's another one on Kansas Street."

I thanked him and rang off. I looked at my watch. It was already after 4:00 p.m. and Hutchinson was probably twenty miles away at least. "Guess we have to try and find one of the two he suggested," I said.

Concetta agreeed, and so off we went in search of First street. We had already seen the numbered streets when we arrived in town, and knew about where to search. But we still wandered a bit before we stumbled over the park on First Street. Oddly, the park was bounded by both First AND Kansas streets, so the guy at the RV park to whom we had spoken on the phone didn't realize that there was, in reality, only one park.

It was at this point that Concetta remembered having read about our intended camping place on First Street. "It gets a rating from past users that runs from dismal to totally unacceptable," she said.

Still, since we had very little choice, we went ahead and pulled into what turned out to be called the "Mustang Properties" RV resort and went in search of a vacant space. We saw no office as we wandered the park, so at one point I just stopped opposite a parked 5th-wheel and went up and knocked.

The chap who answered the door told us where to pay if we wanted to stay and we rolled over there only find it closed. So, we went back to where I'd talked to 5th-wheel guy, selected a spot nearby, and went ahead and got set up. Later we walked down to the office, wrote a check, then dropped it in the provided night slot. Hopefully the manager will put two and two together and figure it all out.

And there you have it. Since we're on the northern edge of the RV park, and all the very best places have been usurped by long-term residents, we have a front-row seat for whatever drag racing goes on this evening on First Street. We've already seen a half dozen contenders warming up so far. But other then that, the water, electricity, and sewer seem to work normally. The cable TV is non-functional, though I tried hooking into the connection next door as well as our own. But who wants to watch political commentary anyway?

Tomorrow we plan on drifting down to Hutchinson after we do some laundry. We read there's a cool salt mine you can visit down there. But for now, the tail pipe is fixed, the rig is gassed up, the tires are happy, and we've stocked up on food. What more could you ask? So, in closing, I wish you Happy Traveling!

Day 15 -- Dodge City to Fort Larned, Kansas -- 65 Miles

Over the course of owning this motor home I've had to affect a number of fixes and improvements: the builders, bless their hearts, used screws that were woefully too short when they installed the overhead track for the folding bathroom door; they put no obstructions on the kitchen shelving that might dissuade breakable dishes from cascading onto the floor under turbulent driving conditions; they made it so inconvenient to get items from under the banquet seats that I just had to tear out the single-piece of plywood used as a base under the foam cushions and install a two-piece model that would allow "flip-up," easy access that didn't bang into the window valance; the reading lights over the bed were so inadequate that you had to light a match to see if they were lit. This necessitated installing powerful lights that you could actually read by. The list goes on, of course, but you get the picture. I suspect that even brand new rigs present the same problems.

Today as I was backing the rig onto the elevation blocks, a task I've done dozens of times, I kept hearing a crunching/dragging sound. Knowing full well that there was nothing behind us (we'd just pulled in after all), I went on attending to the task at hand and ignored the intermittent crunching/dragging sound. (advice: never ignore anything) Well, when I finally applied the emergency brake and got out to see how I'd done with the leveling the first thing I encountered was the end of my exhaust pipe laying on the ground, partially pinned by the weight of the rig.

Of course I let slip a barrage of expletives designed to let anyone know who might be listening that I had just screwed up royally. Not sure how an appendage that should have been mounted to the floor of the RV came to be on the ground, I did something I have not had to do thus far on this trip: get out and get under. Once down there on the thankfully dry grass, I immediately saw the problem, even though I didn't understand it. The rubber-mounted steel rod, which was welded to the exhaust pipe and designed to attach itself to a steal bracket on the RV frame, had decided to divorce itself from the mounting. This of course caused the very heavy tail piece of the exhaust pipe to immediately pivot down and land on the ground.

It appears that the stress of the tail piece landing on the ground did not cause undo harm to the rest of the exhaust system, though I won't know that for sure until an expert sees it. The crunching I had heard during my setup procedure was the sound of the rig actually running over -- more than once I fear -- the poor tail piece because now it's decidedly more flat then before.

I tried to move the tail piece away from the rear tire, but to no avail. An exhaust pipe on an RV is at least twice the diameter and gauge of steel as a regular exhaust pipe. This heavy piece of pipe stubbornly refused to budge even a quarter inch which might have allowed me to drive to the nearest town after tying it off the ground in some fashion. But since it wouldn't move at all, I had a big, BIG problem. I checked the tool box for a standard hacksaw, but found nothing but a tiny hacksaw made for cutting small bolts and such.

But then I remembered that as we pulled into the camping area, I had caught sight of a white pickup nestled under a tree off to our right. It had some sort of commercial logo on the door. The driver of that pickup, I decided, constituted my only hope of getting myself out of my predicament, especially since we were basically alone in the municipal park where we've stopped for the night. Seeing no other options, I set off toward the pickup.

The driver glanced in my direction and saw me coming, but went back to watching his computer screen, probably hoping that I would just pass right on by and leave him alone. But once I was standing a few feet from his lowered pickup window and had offered a cheery, "Howdy," he looked up and smiled.

"Howdy," the driver said.

"I don't suppose you have a sturdy hacksaw on you," I said.

"I can do better than that," he said, and he opened the truck door and stepped out.

"Really?" I said.

"Yep," he said, and he reached up and grabbed a tool satchel off the bed, rested it on the fender, and dragged open the zipper.

I watched in rapt attention as he drew out a power hacksaw, sort of a nice small one, and showed it to me. "Think this would do the job?" he asked.

Up to then I had decided that there was probably no way that he'd loan me a tool of any kind, especially if it belonged to his employer. I figured that he would insist on coming over and cutting it himself, or at least come with me to watch over the tool. But no. He inserted a battery in the grip and said, "Here you go."

And so it was that in less time then it has taken me to write about this adventure, I had come back to the rig, scooted underneath, sawed off about two feet of the exhaust pipe, Bungie-corded the remainder from frame to pipe, and was walking back to return the tool."

"Do the job," he asked as I approached his window.

"And how," I said. "Worked like a dream."

After that I offered to buy him dinner, a price that I considered ultra cheap since I was in a pickle that I simply could not have gotten out of in any reasonable fashion.

He shook his head, getting out of the truck once again. "Nope, not necessary," he said.

"Well," I said, "how about if I at least pay for a case of beer or something for your break at work?"

He finished putting the tool back in the satchel and turned to face me. "Nope," he said. "Just not necessary."

After that we introduced ourselves and he told me he lived in Wichita and asked where we were from. I told him and then we talked a few more moments about nothing special. Finally we shook hands and parted company. Both of us, I think, came away from the encounter happier, he for having rescued a fellow human being, and me for having met someone who was just one more super nice guy and fellow traveler on the road of life. And that, dear readers, is what life is really about out here on the Kansas prairie.

Earlier today we spent the entire morning visiting the replica of 1870s and 1880s Dodge City, Kansas, which is located just on the west end of the city. We didn't really have high hopes of it being anything but hokey displays, tired old manikins in western outfits, and rusty, worn-out western scrap metal that they identify as "antiques." But let me just tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, they did have the ubiquitous gift shop full of future garage sale items that we sometimes think we just have to have to commemorate our visit. But the museum proper was simply OUTSTANDING! The mock frontier town, where they often hold re-enactments of frontier gunfights for holiday crowds, sort of serves as the public outer wall for one of the most complete and professionally-done museums we've ever seen.

Many of the shops are actual recreations of frontier shops. But to the north of the frontier shops, and under the same common roof, lies the rest of the museum displays. You'll see everything from dry goods and printing equipment to genuine Native American artifacts and military equipment. These things and dozens of other displays are expertly woven into the overall museum experience. We were just awestruck the whole time and we certainly would recommend this stop to anyone who travels this way.

In the afternoon, after traveling just over an hour northeast from Dodge City, we stopped at historic Fort Larned and managed to use up the rest of our traveling day. When we finally left the Ranger's theater and artifacts display area it was 4:00 o'clock and we had already landed on cocktail hour without any clue as to where we were going to camp for the night. Almost as an afterthought, I dashed back into the museum and asked the ranger if she knew of a something nearby that would accommodate a thirty-one foot RV. Fortunately she said, with the extension of her arm to the northeast, "just drive three miles down the road outside the Fort and you'll run into Pawnee Camp."

And that's how we ended up here for the night. There is one other sign of life just to our south, a travel trailer with a multitude of kid's bikes piled around it. When we drove in we saw no signs of life at the trailer and we figured that no one was home. So far that remains the same, though quite a few other humans have drifted into and out of the camp in the last couple of hours. I think it's basically teenagers looking for a private place to study "nature." But in effect we have the whole park to ourselves for the night. There is no sewer connection here, but we do have water and electricity, which is pretty darn nice.

As you might guess I took a huge number of shots of both frontier Dodge City and Fort Larned and a few of those shots appear here. You probably can guess that if I can hang out in the old west for an entire day it's the next best thing to breathing for me. Thankfully, I married a woman who likes it as much as me.

Concetta is saying I need to clear the table so she can get on with dinner, so until next time we both wish you the very happiest of travels!

Day 14 -- Liberal to Dodge City, Kansas -- 85 Miles

Today turned out to be a whirlwind of a day full of pleasant surprises and warm connections with some truly fascinating people. Bright, sunny skies accompanied us the entire day without even a hint of rain, and the Kansas prairie was just wonderfully scenic and inviting.

Our very first adventure was with Dorothy of OZ fame, and we finished up with the notorious Dalton Brothers outlaw gang who, when just in their twenties, decided to knock over two banks at once in unsuspecting Coffeeville, Kansas, and, as sometimes happens, bought themselves a one-way ticket to Boot Hill when the townsfolk turned out to be smarter than the gang had anticipated.

We got started early with the Land of OZ museum, which promised to include Dorothy's Kansas house, as it was located in the same town as our evening camp, Liberal Kansas. We were a bit skeptical of the attraction as some visitors had given it rave reviews, and others definitely had not.

I was more interested in the fact that the museum next door to OZ was named for the famous Spanish explorer of 1541, Francisco Vazquez de Coronado. You may have heard of Coronado sometime in your life as he is the one who searched in vain for the lost seven cities of Cibola. Cibola was supposed to be comprised of fabulously wealthy native cities where the streets were paved with gold. His expedition, which included hundreds of soldiers and Native American guides, lasted two years and traversed some 4,000 miles of the American West. In the end, no cities of gold were found, and Coronado returned empty-handed and in debt. Since I have been a student of treasure tales since I was a youngster, I figured I couldn't go wrong with Coronado.

My expectations were immediately heightened as we pulled up to park, as right across the street stood a statue of Coronado in a thoughtful setting and amidst well-tended landscaping. After photographing the statue, we stopped at the adjacent visitor center to talk about what we should see in Kansas and enjoyed a good deal of personal attention from the resident volunteer. We discovered that the visitor center map, upon which people were encouraged to place pins in their home towns, held NO pins from Carson City! In fact, only two other pins could be found in the whole state -- one in Elko and one in Ely. We were amazed to see that no one had visited from Las Vegas, where the majority of Nevadans live, let alone anyone from the western part of the state.

Moving on we headed for what promised to be the Cornado Museum, located in a beautiful Italianate-style mansion just across the street. Unfortunately, once we arrived at the museum we soon discovered the museum was devoted mostly to life in Kansas and had nothing to do with the struggles of Francisco Vazquez de Coronado. Oh, well, we made the best of it, and the resident ladies, who insisted on granting our every request for information and assistance, made the visit all the more pleasurable.

Once we had finished every nook and cranny of the museum, a youngster of about 16 volunteered to give us the official tour of the Wizard of OZ building and Dorothy's house. Though Concetta and I remained skeptical for a time, the charming guide who first led us on a tour of Dorothy's house, then walked us step by step down the yellow brick road (inside a large metal warehouse), really gave all she had to her performance. Everything from the lethal, witch-killing house, to the 3-D image of OZ himself, was just as it should be. We were told that one woman coordinated the construction of OZ and the work was performed in six short months.

Granted, if you're taking kids through the OZ recreation they are going to be thrilled beyond measure. Still, it turned out to be quite a pleasant experience for us, too. Some of the art work was indeed better than others, but the overall effect of the fairy tale come to life is just very, very impressive. I would not hesitate to recommend stopping to anyone with children in tow, and I would not discourage adults from stopping, especially if you're interesting in the recreated "Dorothy's House" that they say is an exact replica of the movie house. We found it charming as well as educational as we encountered a number of furnishings in the house that we had not seen before.

As you might guess, it took all morning to finally roll out of Liberal. Our next stop was Meade, Kansas, named for the famous military genius who defeated General Lee at the Battle of Gettysburg. Our plan was to roll on toward Meade, have lunch there or somewhere scenic along the road, then visit the house in Meade where the Dalton Brothers lived before they decided to "one up" the James gang and try robbing two banks at once. Here's what Wiki says: "Bob Dalton had ambitions. He would, he claimed, beat anything Jesse James ever did—rob two banks at once, in broad daylight. On October 5, 1892, the Dalton gang attempted this feat when they set out to rob the C.M. Condon & Company's Bank and the First National Bank on opposite sides of the street in Coffeyville, Kansas. They wore fake beards, but one of the townspeople recognized them.

The gang specialized in bank and train robberies. During the attempted bank robbery in Coffeyville, Kansas in 1892, two of the brothers and two other gang members were killed; Emmett survived and was captured, tried, and convicted. He was paroled after serving 14 years in prison.

The oldest brother Frank had been a Deputy U.S. Marshal, but was killed in 1888. In 1890, Gratton "Grat", Bob, and Emmett turned to crime after not being paid as lawmen. Their middle brother William M. "Bill" Dalton also had a career as an outlaw, but he rode with the Wild Bunch. The gangs were related through their mother to the Younger brothers, who rode with Jesse James. The Daltons were active later and independently of the James-Younger Gang."

I was especially anxious to see the Dalton "hideout," really just the family home, in Meade because in October of 1969, while I was driving east to begin my enlistment in the Naval Air Corp in Chicago, Illinois, I stopped at the Dalton family home. I really, really wanted to see if things had changed at all after all these years. Turns out things HAD changed. In 1969 all you could do was photograph the exterior of the house and I don't believe a tour was offered. Now, not only can you tour the house, but the "escape tunnel" that ran from the house to barn, which was located down-slope toward the creek. The tunnel has been refurbished and opened to the public so you can enter the tunnel at the visitor center and pop out in the house basement fifty feet away. The tale goes that the gang could more easily sneak into the barn under watchful eyes then they could the house. It all sounds a bit fishy to me, but then it still makes a good story.

Just inside the door of the visitor center we met Mark Ferguson, the manager/curator of the Dalton Hideout Museum. I happened to ask Marc a question about the 1920s brick landmark building that the town of Meade was enthusiastically tearing down on main street. Well, THAT was a topic near and dear to Marc's heart for sure. From that moment on he and I became fast friends. We talked for at least twenty minutes about the destroyed building and all it's history going back decades. From there we branched out into history and historic preservation in general, as well as a half dozen other topics in history that we both enjoyed. Meanwhile Concetta was off on her own, viewing the displays, and waiting patiently for her talkative husband to run out of steam.

Concetta and I did manage to tour the visitor center museum, the escape tunnel, and the Dalton family home nearby before leaving. But as we left I told Marc that of all the docents that spend their time bringing history to life for visitors, he certainly is by far the best I've ever seen. We traded business cards, shook hands, and said goodbye. But someday I hope to run into him again.

While touring the Dalton House we chanced upon a couple who somehow or other fell into talking to us about vacations, and from there into motor-homing. I know Concetta was rolling her eyes, but I was off again on one of my favorite topics. The couple had been considering buying a rig, but didn't really know who to talk to about the experience. After the quarter hour we spent together acquainting them with our current trip and our other adventures cross the country, I think they may just be sold on the idea. I hope they give it a try as it's just the very best way to see America.

The balance of the day was spent in some very pleasant traveling from Meade to Dodge City, Kansas. We chose Route 23 north from Meade as the docents at the Coronado Museum thought we'd encounter the fewest number of 18-wheelers that way. Well, we did see a few, and doing so was a tad unnerving at times since Route 23 is so narrow and flanked by soggy, deep ditches. But the vistas were just magnificent with the green, rolling countryside bordering both sides of the road, the forests of snow-white wind turbines, and the tiny red-roofed farm houses keeping us company.

At one point we encountered a massive swath of the most yellow flowers we had ever seen, and it was something of a challenge to switch course and access a muddy dirt road for a camera angle. Once again I had to climb onto the roof of the RV to get my shot.

I would have liked to have chosen another road to get a better angle on the shoot, but that road was even more muddy and Concetta was against it. Roadside America is so very fascinating that if one stopped to shoot everything that came along, one would never get anywhere. Even so, I encourage you to go out and see for yourself. We wish you Happy Travels.

Day 13 -- Dalhart, Texas to Liberal, Kansas -- 113 Miles

Well, I'm not sure if we've left the rain clouds behind permanently, but today on our sojourn across three states in the center of the country we encountered not so much as a drop of precipitation. This is surprising since this morning when we got up it was sort of foggy and rather ominous-looking. But it wasn't raining, so packing up the various hoses and equipment didn't leave me looking like a drowned rat.

Our intention this morning was to visit the XIT Ranch Museum which got good write-ups in the tourist guides. We left camp just after nine, hoping that the museum would be open when we arrived. Turns out that it opened at 9:00 a.m., which meant we were good to go. We found a perfect place to park the rig just around the corner in front of the town library and we were soon immersed in the history, not just of the ranch, but of northwestern Texas in general. Let me just say that this museum was one of the nicest we have ever encountered. The director is a professional, and both the layout of the museum and the carefully-selected content reflects that fact.

Every single aspect of life in the Dalhart, Texas, area was displayed, from the accoutrements of the XIT Ranch cowboys, to the correspondence from WWII soldiers trapped by the Japanese in the Philippines. We saw all manner of items from farm and ranch life from the earliest eras to the present day. There were displays on hat making, on cheese making, on local fauna, on photography, on weapons, on wheeled vehicles, on everyday home life, on saddle making, and even on home-built airplanes.

Concetta and I both were taken by the photographic display of local life during World War II. This is the period when women had to assume most of the roles on the farm previously handled by men. They plowed fields, gathered scrap metal, grew Victory Gardens, fixed machinery, repaired buildings, they did in fact take on just about every role on the farm. Even though I might have once congratulated myself with the great luck I've had with vegetable gardening in Nevada, these women in northwest Texas were growing Victory Gardens that were an acre and more in size. I felt humbled to say the least.

Once we had finished our museum experience, we set our course northeast toward the Oklahoma Panhandle and beyond into Kansas. Taking Interstate Route 54, we got rolling about 11:00 a.m. and the going was largely uneventful, though the ribbon of asphalt on Route 54 was just a tad on the neglected side. Today the 18-wheelers didn't bother us much and there were frequent turnouts so that they could pass without getting overly irritated with our 60mph pace.

Our new GPS, designed for motor home travel, told us that we could find the next Walmart in Guymon, Oklahoma, and so when the voice said, "Turn here," that's what we did. Then, we spent the better part of an hour stocking up and filling the fridge for the next few days. If you've ever had to live out of an RV fridge, you know what I mean when I say you have to plan pretty darn carefully and buy only what will fit.

I also picked up a few things I'd had thought of for the rig, including some reflective stickers for the rear bumper. Since the bumper is black, I thought it might be a good idea to brighten it up a bit so people can see it more easily while they're texting and driving.

We didn't do much picture-taking today, as most of the northwest Texas/Oklahoma Panhandle/Kansas prairie is kinda featureless. We didn't even see any of the cattle feed lots like we did yesterday. At one point this morning, while we were touring the XIT Museum, one of the docents told us that the feedlots we had seen held more than 70,000 cows waiting to become dinner. We had figured out on our own that there were a TREMENDOUS number of animals out there beyond the white fences, but 70,000???? We found that figure just amazing.

At one point today we were looking for a nice shady place to pull over and have lunch. When we reached the next town, which happened to be Texhoma, I spotted a really cool building a couple blocks off the highway. At the next street that intersected Route 54, I turned, and we soon found ourselves in the parking lot of an elementary school. The cool old building (that I forgot to photograph) dated to 1920, which the school administrator was more then happy to divulge when he came knocking on our door out in the parking lot.

Administrator Steve didn't really have any problem with us taking up six spaces in his parking lot, he just was wondering first of all, what we were up to outside his office window, and second just how to pronounce the word "Nevada." He told us his secretary, a Nevadan herself, had previously informed him that it was pronounced as if the first "a" were like the "a" in "ladder," and not like the "a" in "saw." He was willing to believe her, he said, but as long as we were handy he thought he'd just get further verification.

We had a nice time talking linguistics with school administrator Steve, and before long he apologized for about the third time for interrupting our lunch, we shook hands for the second time, and he retreated back inside the school. Soon after we wrapped up our lunchtime break, and cruised back to Route 54.

Once we crossed into Kansas, the GPS led us to our RV park for the evening, a slightly down-at-the-heels little refuge called "Seven Winds." Heretofore, we had read some fairly glowing reviews by other RVers who, I suspect, were either related to the owners or had been hired by them to write glowing accounts. Still, the utilities were handy, the site was level (no blocks needed this time), and the price was downright cheap. You wouldn't want to count on their WiFi as they are still using Tengo, a hosting site that was substandard years ago.

The best thing is that Seven Winds is on Route 54 bypass, which means that the trucks are staying out on the main highway and it's downright quiet here. The road is so vacant that Concetta and I took our walk this afternoon on the shoulder of the road and got about 5,000 steps accumulated while seeing perhaps a half dozen vehicles the whole time. Here's the neat part about our walk: with each and EVERY vehicle that passed -- pickup trucks mostly -- the driver made a special point to wave at us. You would have thought we were in our own neighborhood where everyone knew us. We had the same thing happen in Dalhart, Texas, this morning. It appears that the folks in this corner of the world are just the most friendly that you'd ever want to meet.

Once we were back from our hike, I worked on applying the reflective stickers to the rear bumper. What do you think? That's Concetta modeling the rear of the coach. I know the rear tire cover needs replacing, but so far no luck in finding just the right one. We'll keep looking 'till the right one comes along.

Well, Concetta and I have had our cocktails, I've had my shower, and we just finished dinner. Off to the west we've been watching the lightening flash every few seconds and the thunder is muffled, but certainly audible. We hope the storm is moving toward Nebraska or somewhere far away.

The sunset in the west was so beautiful that I grabbed the camera and dashed out to the road to grab a few shots. One of the other campers joined me and we both stood there oohing and awing and firing away. Once back in the RV, we could hear the thunder getting closer and very soon the pitter-patter of rain drops began. Then, just as we've experienced so many days on this trip, the skies opened up and poured fourth a bounty of water that Nevada could only dream about.

But despite the fact that WE don't seem to be able to outdistance stormy weather, we wish YOU Happy Traveling!

Day 12 -- Tucumcari, New Mexico to Dalhart, Texas -- 94 Miles

Rain, rain go away, come again another day. And I'll let you know when. Yes, it rained last night in Tucumcari, New Mexico. It didn't just sprinkle, it rained hard enough to turn our camp on Route 54 into a squishy mess. But hey, we're pretty used to it by now since we've had rain pretty much since day one. You'd think the rain would keep the rig sparking clean, but most of the time it does the opposite. There's so much mud splashed up from the water rolling off the roof, down the sides, and bouncing off the saturated ground that it looks like we've been four-wheeling in a Tennessee backwoods bog most of the time.

We had planned on getting the rig washed this morning, you may remember, but the TV weather girl was predicting intense rain for the Oklahoma panhandle along our intended route of travel, so we passed on having a clean RV. Instead we decided to look for dinosaurs since our camp host told us Tucumcari had a pretty nice museum on the subject. But when we got to the museum it wasn't quite open yet, so off we went in search of the local history museum a couple of blocks away. In that quest we were more successful since the history museum opened an hour earlier.

Concetta and I have visited museums from the California coast to the Southern Carolinas, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico. So we are usually able to tell in the first five minutes whether a museum's operators know what they're doing or not. The Tucumcari museum turned out to be one of those where a group of citizen docents have volunteered to try and integrate each and every donated item from the local townsfolk into a comprehensive and logical set of displays. The great danger in a policy like that is the docents don't have a mechanism to rotate displays or otherwise reject anything for inclusion. They simply display EVERYTHING! This results in a jumble of items so closely packed that it's very difficult to pick out any one item to study. Some items are museum quality and some are definitely not. Fortunately, the outdoor displays were better, though the farm tool area was also much too crowded with almost no individual tool being labeled.

Still, by the time we reached the Tucumcari museum the sun had broken free of the cloud banks and it felt good to get out in the sunshine and fresh air, at least while we were touring the outdoor exhibits. Once we left the museum I wanted to find the Tucumcari train depot that we had noticed initially as we drove into town yesterday. I found the following web info on the depot:

"Tucumcari is a town created by the presence of the railroad, with the founding in 1901 solely the result of railroad activity in the area. In that year, a connection was completed between the Southern Pacific at El Paso and the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific at Liberal, Kan. This put Tucumcari on a major transcontinental line.

In 1926, a new depot building was constructed in Tucumcari and the depot became the symbol of the railroad as the economic driver of the community. This building was a source of great civic pride, and every resident could connect their life in some way to the railroad. Train watching was a popular pastime and many residents today recall with fondness the hours spent watching the activity in the rail yard.

In 2002, the Union Pacific gave the depot to the City of Tucumcari. In the years that have since passed, the City, in partnership with Tucumcari MainStreet Corp., has invested $1.8 million in restoration of the building, and plans are being made to use the venerable structure to house a railroad museum.

As New Mexico prepared to celebrate 100 years of statehood, Union Pacific brought the steam locomotive No. 844 to the state, and Tucumcari planned a festival event to coincide with the train's arrival. More than 200 citizens took advantage of the opportunity to ride the train."

Shooting the restored mission-style depot this morning was pure joy! The sky was so blue and the clouds so white and fluffy in the background, that the cream-colored depot walls just "popped" in the foreground. The only thing that perhaps takes away from the depot experience is the sad state of repair in which most of the surrounding buildings can be found. Of course the buildings are largely commercial and probably never received very good care. But in order to make the expenditure of $1.8 million on the depot pay off the town certainly will have an uphill battle in refurbishing the surrounding neighborhood so as to provide a quality environment for tourists to visit.

It wasn't until around 11:00 a.m. that we began to think about leaving town. We had decided to take Route 54 that leaves the historic Route 66 near the east edge of town and trends in a northeastern direction toward the tiniest northwest corner of Texas and the tip of the Oklahoma Panhandle. Since much of Texas is being pummeled by torrential rain, my hope was that staying well to the north and west of the rain clouds we might just stay dry today. So, we set off along Route 66 to find a gas station. After many minutes, and pulling a u-turn in the middle of a four-lane highway on the west side of town, we finally found one to the south of Tucumcari near Interstate 40. If you want gasoline on Route 66 you are just wasting your time. Even though we must have driven by at least two dozen former gas stations from one end of town to the other, we saw only one place dispensing gasoline. And that one, which came in concert with a mini-mart, could not have accommodated a 31 foot RV.

I remember when the American public demanded four different gasoline stations on each intersection in any given town. Union 76, Shell, Texaco, Flying A, Chevron, Atlantic, and many more vied for our attention on any given corner. And that most delightful of American inventions, the "Gas War," made comparison shopping for gasoline a must. And if one company irritated you for some reason, you could just cut them out of your life without any repercussions at all.

Back in 1973 I took a class at the University of California Santa Barbara on the Santa Barbara Oil Spill of 1969. The whole class was designed to study that one event. The class even got to don hard hats and take a boat out to a real drilling rig in the channel to see the process up close and personal.

The company that spilled the oil in the channel was Union 76. So it was that never again did I purchase a gallon of gas from Union 76.

Well, Tucumcari must have had every conceivable brand of gas being sold on main street at one time. Now each and every station is something else. Mechanics shops proliferate in the old derelict stations. Antique shops, flower shops, and fast food joints abound. Some stations even appear to be someone's personal junk collection site or ersatz residence. Sadly, many more are just abandoned, probably because they have pollution issues with the underground tanks and no one dare purchase the property.

Once we did manage to score some gasoline for the rig we found our way to Route 54 and headed for Texas. I had expected that on the rural, two-lane Route 54 we wouldn't see any 18-wheelers, but in that we were disappointed. The route, though decidedly rural, must be the commercial route of choice for the big boys as most of the day they tended to pile up behind us as we tooled along at our usual 60mph. Of course, the speed limit was only 55mph part of the time and they still wanted to pass us. The rest of the time it was 65mph and they were often desperate to get by. Meanwhile whole "convoys" of the heavy-haulers boomed by us going toward Tucumcari.

The most incredible thing we saw today on Route 54 were cows. Yes, cows! But these cows are not peacefully grazing the tall grass as we've seen them in all the rural areas from Nevada on. No, these cows were in V-A-S-T white-fenced enclosures that stretched to the far horizon on both sides of the highway. We rolled past them for several minutes before I decided that I just had to stop and at least try and capture the enormity of our future dinners on the hoof. Once out of the truck I decided I just couldn't do any justice to the tens of thousands of accumulated beef, so I climbed on the RV roof and shot from there.

We encountered no more excitement after that photo op and before long we had reached the Texas town of Dalhart. Though it was early in the day and we had lost yet another time-zone hour, we determined that there were no more RV camps in reasonable driving distance, so Dalhart became our afternoon destination of choice. Once we had set up the rig we found that it was still early enough to work on our daily 10,000 steps so off we went for a walk. At some point we voted for circling the block, not realizing exactly what that entailed, and it was not before we had accumulated three miles that we once again found ourselves at the park entrance. For some reason we still only got 9,300 steps, but it felt like twice that, let me tell you.

Once back in the RV, Concetta began work on dinner while I set about penning this account. Outside, the sunlight was afternoon-soft and inviting, the sight of which made us happy that we had indeed dodged a bullet. NO rain had fallen on us since last night. Then, suddenly, the sunlight was extinguished like someone had flipped a switch somewhere and almost immediately we heard rumbling off in the distance. Then, in the time it took for Concetta and I to exchange glances, it began to pour. It rained so hard that we couldn't see out the windows for several minutes. This went on for perhaps half and hour, and then, miraculously, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. We joked about the motor home that pulled up next to us just at that moment because before the owner could get out and begin to set up his rig the rain had stopped and the sunlight returned as if it returned just for him.

So, tomorrow we have another museum to visit, this one on the famous (if you're a cow person) XIT ranch which, as the web puts it, "...was the largest range in the world in the 1880s under fence and it all laid in the Texas Panhandle. Its three million acres sprawled from Lubbock, Texas, northward to the Oklahoma Panhandle, in an irregular strip that was roughly 30 miles wide." This museum should be something pretty new for us as neither Concetta nor I have ever paid much attention to cattle ranching. So perhaps we'll learn something totally new. Stay tuned tomorrow to see what that might be. Until then, we wish you Happy Traveling!

Day 11 -- Santa Fe to Tucumcari, New Mexico -- 177 Miles

Okay, I know we set the GPS to take us to the southwest. Did someone sneak into the RV and reset it to Alaska when we weren't looking? This morning it was so cold I thought there was just no way we could actually be in New Mexico. It just had to be somewhere much closer to the frozen Alaskan tundra. Getting all the fittings and uncooperative, half-frozen water hoses to behave was a real challenge. Getting it all done before I needed rescuing was nip and tuck. Then, we had to get the propane filled which called for more standing around in the cold while the filler guy struggled to get the propane hose to marry up with the tank fitting encumbered by his heavy gloves. By the time we left the park I had to insert my fingers into the RV heater outlet to thaw them out. Who says you can't thaw and drive at the same time?

Our destination today was pretty simple: go wherever it promised to be warm. But as we ate breakfast this morning and watched a mixture of rain and snow pelting the ground outside the window, the prospects looked slim to none. But we had high hopes, and by 9:30 a.m. we had filled our propane tank and we're headed south to pick up Interstate 25 which promised to take us all the way to Las Vegas. Wait, What? Yeah, that's actually Las Vegas, New Mexico, where we hoped to be able to photograph another of the Fred Harvey properties (remember Fred from yesterday's blog?) that has recently been purchased by an investor.

We arrived at Fred's old "Castaneda Hotel" which dates to 1898. I looked around on the web for more info and found the following: "A northern Arizona hotelier, who restored La Posada in Winslow, has purchased the century-old railroad hotel in Las Vegas, N.M. Allan Affeldt said he bought the 25,000-square-foot La Castaneda earlier this month for $400,000.

The mission revival hotel was one of the first of the Harvey Houses, Fred Harvey's chain of hotels and restaurants that furthered tourism development in the Southwest. La Castaneda in 1899 hosted the first reunion of Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders from the Spanish-American War.

'The town has been waiting for this for decades,' Affeldt said. 'After World War II, Fred Harvey closed most of their buildings and they were sold off or torn down.' Las Vegas leaders had long feared La Castaneda would be torn down, but Affeldt stepped in just as he did at La Posada, a 1930 Harvey House that had an uncertain future two decades ago. With his wife, artist Tina Mion, Affeldt bought La Posada in 1997 and together they transformed it into a tourism and cultural attraction with an acclaimed fine-dining restaurant and a wealth of historical artifacts.

The hotel has been closed since 1948 but a bar has operated out of the building on Railroad Avenue, near a restored depot. Las Vegas, with about 14,000 residents, has more than 900 historic buildings. La Castaneda, designed by Frederick Roehrig, had about 45 rooms, small by today's standards, so they will be combined into about 25 suites. Affeldt figures it will cost about $3 million to restore the property, which is more than the cost of building a new hotel of a similar size."

So we hoofed it around the soon-to-be-restored, Castaneda hotel, the already-restored railroad depot, then we set off to explore the old part of town. But it was still pretty cold and we shot a few photos of interesting street-side subjects, then retreated to the rig. Since it was approaching lunchtime we decided to seek out one more Fred Harvey property from the late 1800s, a one-time health spa hotel that had quite a bit of bad luck since it burned to the ground TWICE! We didn't have any intention of actually visiting the third-attempt hotel since it has now become a school for international students called something like "United College of the World." But we hoped the grounds would be a great setting out our dinning room window for our lunch break.

Well, the school turned out be be quite a long distance from the front gate, so we just had our lunch sitting in the parking lot for the security folks. Didn't really matter as it was snowing lightly at the time and the school was shrouded in mists and snow flakes.

So far we hadn't done too well with our plan to find warmer climes, so after lunch we headed southeast toward Tucumcari, New Mexico. We took New Mexico Route 104 and it turned out to be wonderful. We saw only two other vehicles in the first 45 minutes of travel. Eventually we did see more traffic, but over the entire rest of the afternoon we saw no more then a dozen trucks and cars, and more then half of them belonged to the New Mexico Department of Transportation. Had me wondering if Route 104 was New Mexico's version of Nevada's loneliest highway in the state.

The further south we traveled the more sun we encountered. Still, we literally ran the cab heater ALL DAY LONG, and were finally able to turn off the heat just before we arrived at our camp for the evening. I had forgotten that Tucumcari was located on the historic Route 66 of days of old and the first thing we encountered when we turned onto the main street was a motel/cabin court all decked out with vintage cars and pastel-colored units. Naturally I had to pull over, grab the camera, and sprint across the highway. For nearly the first time the whole day the sun was out in force and I was able to get some nice shots.

Just up the highway from our camp this evening is a company that washes RVs for a buck a foot. That sounds like a deal since our rig is so dirty from all the rain, snow, and muddy slush that we plan to take it over there after breakfast and let them spruce it up a might. Of course, after we had walked over to inquire about prices, walked around the camp a bit more to get more steps, and then retreated inside to start our computer work, the rain starting up once again -- as if to say, "I'll show you who's in charge of RV washing around here.

And there you have it. Tomorrow we plan on exploring Tucumcari a bit. We hear there's a dinosaur museum as well as a railroad museum to be explored. Rumor has it we may head toward the corners of northwest Texas/southwest Oklahoma after that, but you know us. We could end up just about anywhere. So, until tomorrow, we wish you Happy Traveling!

Day 10 -- On foot in Santa Fe, New Mexico -- 8,158 steps

Well, the ice-covered landscape that I could see out the RV window this morning at 6:30 a.m. didn't portend well for our planned photo shoot with Lucas later this morning. And sure enough, Lucas popped around just before we were scheduled to leave and begged off. I didn't blame him. It probably seemed to him, as he stood shivering on our front steps, that a day of college homework was going to be much more productive after all.

But hey, that didn't mean Concetta and I would wimp out and spend a nice gray day playing Scrabble. The thermometer I keep down in the forward locker underneath read 37 degrees when I got up, but by the time we were ready to seek out the nearest bus stop for our trip to Santa Fe's old town, I think it had zoomed up to 45 degrees. That's just a perfect temperature for visiting museums.

Thanks to explicit instructions given to us by our RV park hosts, we knew exactly where to board the bus for the trip to Old Town, and where to exit on the return trip. Just to be safe I told the driver where we hoped to go and he confirmed that we had, indeed, boarded the correct bus. He even gave us the cheap round-trip fair since we were obviously senior citizens. I bit my tongue after that declaration, but since it saved us two whole bucks, I decided not to complain about being profiled.

True to the bus driver's promise we were deposited about 30 minutes later just off the main square and in two minutes we were ready to tackle the nearby New Mexico History Museum. I was a tad put off just inside the front door as the very first thing that met my eye was a chopped '50 Merc in phosphorescent blue to the right of the entrance, which was set off by a hot-rodded 1931 Model A Ford on the left. "Jeeze," I found myself thinking. "I certainly hope that our much anticipated visit didn't involve viewing a couple of hours of popular culture instead of the old stuff that we love."

we had arrived at the museum about 10 minutes before the official opening time so had to cool our heels a bit. But once the official hour arrived we presented ourselves at the front desk. "Anybody here a veteran?" The clerk asked.

As I have become so used to doing, I rattled off "Three years Naval Air Corp, 1969 to 1972," expecting that she'd tell me she would need a letter from the Secretary of the Navy or at least my DD214 separation document if I didn't have an official ID on me.

But NO! She smiled, handed me two tickets, and said, "That will be no charge and thank you for your service. Please enjoy the museum."

We thanked the clerk kindly and walked away sporting big happy smiles. Now that's more like it. Despite the vandalized antique iron in the entrance, things were looking up. And then for the next two hours we were just in New Mexican history heaven. We learned about the Spanish conquest of the southwest in the 1600s, the Indian revolts under Spanish rule, the Old Spanish Trail, Mexican independence, the American Conquest in 1846, the little-known American Civil War battles fought in New Mexico, the coming of the railroad, the advent of the tourist industry, and just oodles of other things from the Navajo code talkers to the nuclear tests.

After two hours we beat a retreat from the History Museum and went in search of some authentic Mexican food for lunch. Now I have to tell you that I am no big fan of Mexican food. Other then a meal we had in Albuquerque in 1977 that came complete with sopapillas to die for, I can't ever remember having a Mexican meal that I would be tempted to rave about. But TODAY! Today we found the Thunderbird Bar and Grill, upstairs on the plaza, and those folks definitely knocked our socks off. I had the mole chicken enchiladas and Concetta had the fish tacos. Both dishes came with vegetables, rice, and beans, but nothing like I had ever seen before. The rice was extremely fresh, the vegetables were crispy and hadn't been cooking since Memorial Day, and the beans were not the refried variety that tends to settle in my stomach and complain for a week, but were pinto beans and were yummy.

After lunch we headed back to the History Museum for a lecture on the history of the Harvey restaurants that were once a fixture along the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad in the 19th century. These restaurants were the idea of Fred Harvey who was the very first person to conceive the idea of a chain of restaurants, not just in the U.S., but world-wide. Since it took days and days to travel across the country in the late 1800s, and because it was always difficult to find fresh food on such long trips, Harvey conceived the idea of a chain of eating establishments that would eventually be located about every 100 miles along the rail line. Trains would make a forty-five minute stop and the passengers would have to rush in and get served as quickly as possible.

In time the Harvey restaurants became famous for their great food, their great coffee, and, perhaps most notably, their cute, young "Harvey Girls" to serve you at the counters. There were strict codes of conduct for the Harvey Girls which forbade them getting pregnant or married while an employee. The girls were paid $17.50 a month (approximately $444 in 2016 dollars) to start, plus room, board, and gratuity, a generous income by the standards of the time.

Of course there is lots more history to the Harvey operation and I encourage you to look at least the short version on Wiki. Fred and his heirs eventually owned 84 facilities which included both restaurants and hotels. They branched into dinning car service on the railroads and even into non rail-related restaurants. Our guide told us that the Harvey company still exists today.

Concetta said that the Docent who told us about the Harvey Company liked to talk even more then me. So it wasn't until a quarter to four that we left the History Museum. But since we still had well over an hour before our bus ride back to the RV park, we decided to tour the local Harvey Company (restored) Hotel (photo right) that was located just off the square. I wish I had enough space to show you a few photos of the place. It was really impressive.

As it approached four o'clock we decided with our last hour that we would visit the local art museum, also located just off the square. I thought the art was pretty neat until we got to the display on the history of stringed instruments. OH MY GOD! They had some really, really fine instruments on display, from the earliest primitive lutes and parlor guitars, to the most "splang-de-dang" Fender Strat and "to-die-for" Martin acoustic. AND, though our time was short and the detailed story-board connected with each and every instrument was long, we tried to at least look at all of them.

But to make the visit complete, I wandered over to a corner of the massive room full of guitars and such and found a guitar, just sitting on a guitar stand out in the open, which had a sign that said, "play me." WELL!!! That did it. I spent the time we had left before we had to go find the bus stop just a strumming away, making my un-practiced fingers sore, but making the artistic side of my brain very happy. Concetta snapped a photo just to show.

Once back at the bus stop we had a somewhat longer wait in the cold then we had anticipated using the incorrect information provided to us by the morning driver. But no matter, eventually the bus came and picked up what turned out to be a capacity load of humans for the ride "home."

And now, we're back in the cozy confines of our traveling domicile, the heat's cranked up to seventy, the showers are out of the way, and tomorrow we'll be headed.....well, somewhere. I'd like to go someplace warm, but I'm not really sure where that might be. So until we meet again, I wish you Happy Travels.