Day 44 -- Tonopah to Carson City, Nevada -- 237 Miles

Day 43 -- Kingman, Arizona to Tonopah, Nevada -- 314 Miles

No narrative. Sorry.

Day 42 -- Tuscon to Kingman, Arizona -- 307 Miles

Nothing to report today since all we did is drive. But I did take the photos below when we stopped to stretch our legs on the run between Tuscon and Kingman, Arizona:

Day 41 -- El Paso, Texas to Tuscon, Arizona -- 320 Miles

Since the push is on to get home as expeditiously as possible, we stopped today only to grocery shop, top up the gas, and eat lunch. Consequently, we didn't visit any interesting attractions, and I never even got the camera out. Our target destination today was the city of Tuscon, and we handily made it by 4:30 p.m. after starting our 320-mile run in El Paso, Texas, at 8:05 a.m.

At lunch today in the city of Lordsburg, New Mexico, we made our evening camp reservations by phone, but we had no idea what the camp would be like since we'd never stayed there before. Little did we realize that the camp had been set up specifically to cater to the famous "snowbirds" who come to Arizona from the very coldest and snowiest states in the union to escape winter's worst.

It soon became obvious when the KOA counter person issued us camp spot number 1639 that we would be keeping company with more RVers than we have in the last ten camps combined. And that's not all. The camp has its own restaurant, fitness room, game room, fireplace sites, and miniature golf course.

And even that is not all to be seen at this Shangri-la of RV parks. Over many of the longterm campsites, perhaps those which cater specifically to snowbirds, the camp owners have erected sun-filtering, steel slatted roofs to ward off the winter sunshine presumably! I guess it's also possible that some of these long-termers simply stay here year-round and would need the slats in the 120-degree summer months.

Anyway, since I did drag out the camera and take photos of this camp before the sun went down, I thought you might like to see what "fancy" looks like in the way of RV camps. Enjoy!

Day 40 -- Big Spring to El Paso, Texas -- 344 Miles

Today was the BIG PUSH to get across Texas as fast as possible and expedite our return home since the snow started falling there. Since there's no heat on in the house we're a little concered with how the pipes will fare if they experience even colder temperatures.

As you know, if you've been reading our blog for any length of time, we usually try to keep mileage to about 150 miles a day. Sometimes if we can't quite find a camp where we need it to be, we'll push it up to 200 miles. Beyond that distance, it's just too tedious.

However, the distance from McKinney, Texas, where we visited with family, to the Texas/New Mexico border totalled just under 700 miles, a mind-numbing figure for our tolerance for long days. Still, towns in between seemed to be few, and we couldn't really find many camps advertised.

So yesterday when we left Mckinney we ended up driving 315 miles, and today we wracked up another 344 Miles to reach El Paso. Tomorrow we will probably have to do another 340 miles to reach Tuscon. It's not something I'm looking forward to, but if we get an early start it is doable.

The worst part about high-mileage days is it prevents us from visiting any off-the-highway points of interest. Today we passed the Museum for the Pecos, which I feel we would have enjoyed. The history of Judge Roy Bean, known as "The Law West of the Pecos" in the 1880s has always been interesting to me.

Still, even though we didn't get to visit any fascinating points of interest, we did get to witness one of the most fascinating cities we've ever seen, albeit from our RV seats, as we passed through the Midland/Odessa metropolitan area of Texas.

If you're unfamiliar with the Midland/Odessa area, you probably have not been paying attention to what insiders are calling the Permian Basin oil deposit. For a discussion of the Permian basin, I turned to Wikipedia: "The Permian Basin is a large sedimentary basin in the southwestern part of the United States. The basin contains the Mid-Continent Oil Field province. This sedimentary basin is located in western Texas and southeastern New Mexico. It reaches from just south of Lubbock, past Midland and Odessa, south nearly to the Rio Grande River in southern West Central Texas, and extending westward into the southeastern part of New Mexico."

"It is so named because it has one of the world's thickest deposits of rocks from the Permian geologic period. The greater Permian Basin comprises several component basins; of these, the Midland Basin is the largest, Delaware Basin is the second largest, and Marfa Basin is the smallest. The Permian Basin covers more than 86,000 square miles (220,000 km2), and extends across an area approximately 250 miles (400 km) wide and 300 miles (480 km) long."

"The Permian Basin lends its name to a large oil and natural gas producing area, part of the Mid-Continent Oil Producing Area. Total production for that region up to the beginning of 1993 was over 14.9 billion barrels (2.37×109 m3). The Texas cities of Midland, Odessa and San Angelo serve as the headquarters for oil production activities in the basin."

Personally, I've been pertty worried about the anti-oil attitude of our present government. It seemed to me that they were on an accelerated path to destroy our oil industry. But after riding through Midland/Odessa, Texas today, I'm feeling more confident that our oil industry is NOT down for the count and is going to outlast our shortsighted government leaders.

Today, we saw dozens and dozens of brand new buildings, housing every imaginable form of business, lining both sides of the Interstate for miles. Many of the businesses obviously catered to the oil business, such as those that provided drilling components. But most of the businesses couldn't be tied directly to drilling.

For instance, there appeared to be litterally thousands of work trucks of all descriptions, from pickups to large flatbed mainenance trucks dashing hither and yon on the frontage roads. And lining those roads were the dealers to sell them. There were dealers providing the tractor component of tractor-trailer rigs. There were other dealers selling the trailers or vans that could be pulled by those tractors. We even saw about three dozen brand new oil tanker trailers sitting in just one spot on the south side of the Interstate.

On the construction side, there were all manner of businesses providing the materials needed to build all the new buildings that housed the burgeoning number of small businesses. Businesses offering electricians, sheetmetal work, boiler and HVC work, plumbing related, hydraulics related, and, well, you name it and it was there.

But the part that amazed us the most was the veritible "explosion" in the number of dwelling units for all the workers who have moved to Midland/Odessa to work in the oil business and the various support businesses. Every single block contained a subdivision of tiny houses of all descriptions, prefab apartments on wheels and on foundations, or sophisticated apartment buildings three and four stories high. There were also RV camps for those who brought their own housing which were tucked in behind many of the newly-constructed businesses. We even saw three HUGE, four-story apartments that were being constructed on an elevated steel girder system that, presumably, would allow the entire apartment building to be relocated at some point if the need arose.

Naturally, getting through Midland/Odessa was a bit hairy because of the crush of traffic and all the work trucks merging onto the Interstate. But we didn't really mind as we were getting to see an American economy going gangbusters that was simply too good to miss. All too often on our travels we see countless towns where the economic viability vanished years ago. Seeing Midland/Odessa was a very welcome change.

By the way, the photos of Midland/Odessa were not shot by me, but were captured on the web in order to provide some visual backup for my narrative.

Day 39 -- McKinney to Big Spring, Texas -- 315 Miles

First of all I'd just like to say that we've just set up camp here in Big Spring, Texas, and the outside air is cool and sweet and DRY!!! Over the past half century, Concetta and I have grown quite accustomed to our lovely dry air in Nevada. But for the past three weeks we've been traveling in the southeast, and we've experienced nothing but moisture-laden air.

Tennessee, the Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and most of Texas are like one giant sponge. Sometimes it rains in these states like pouring water out of a boot. But most of the time the water is just hanging around like the invisible man. We suspect that you could slice a cubic yard of air in any of these states, wring it out into a basin, and survive for a good week in the driest of deserts.

Unbeknownst to us when we picked out Big Springs as our probable stop for the night, and called in a reservation, we didn't realize that the camp would prove to be a climatic heaven on earth. The camp is pretty rustic and the Internet sucks, but we don't really care. The desert air is so wonderful we may just decide to stay here until spring.

But first let me tell you about the years we lost off our lifespan today while trying to navigate our rig out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Looking at the map this morning, it all seemed so easy. We were camped in McKinney and, in my opinion, all we had to do was drop south a few rural miles after leaving our camp called Sugar Hill RV Resort and catch the east/west arterial labeled Route 380 on the map. Once on Route 380, we could drive swiftly west and catch Route 35 and 35W going south. Finally, we would leave Route 35W and head west to Interstate 30/20 for El Paso. It all looked so simple on paper.

Here's what really happened: we trusted Concetta's iPhone to guide us, and the attention-demanding lass in that tiny machine decided that the easy way was just boring. So for the next hour she stair-stepped us down every rutted country lane that claimed any proximity to McKinney, Texas.

We had rutted pavement and potholes. We had steep roadside dropoffs. we had all four cardinal directions fed to us making us think we were actually going in circles. We even had a collection of roads where repaving crews were limiting traffic to one direction at a time. Finally we had had enough, and we dug out the tried-and-true super duper GPS with a screen half the size of a loaf of bread and put that lady to work.

Fortunately, the large-sized GPS quickly got us on Route 380 which had been lurking just a few miles south of where we had been playing ring around the rosie for an hour, and we sped off in the correct direction.

Now that all the fun and games were behind us, we certainly thought that our troubles were over and we could navigate our way out of the insanity of metropolitan Dallas without further adieu. But that was not to be. All too soon we came upon more constuction work going on and unfortunatley right in the middle of where we had to catch Route 35 south.

Still, we made it finally to the onramp and the GPS set our course south -- and right into a super collossal remodel of the entire west Dallas freeway system. Immediatley all the lanes became as narrow as they could make them, and it wasn't long before we just knew we were in for it.

By the time we got out of the west end of Dallas we had missed at least three turnoffs, narrowly avoided construction debris scattered in our lane by some fool in a beatup pickup truck, and had to reverse direction at least twice. All I wanted to do was pull over somewhere and have a good cry. But there was nowhere to pull over.

The sad part is that we left camp at 8:30 in the morning and by 10:30 we were still trying to escape the melee in the center of Dallas. Back in 2016 we tried driving through the middle of Dallas and the horrifying experience was so traumatic that we haven't gotten over it yet.

Finally we managed to bumble our way to Interstate 30/20 west, and I glanced at my watch to confirm that, yes, it had taken us over two hours to drive perhaps 40 miles just trying to LEAVE THE CITY!

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. Because we had a little trouble finding a camp on the Internet or in our Good Sam book, we decided to try and get half way to El Paso, if possible. That decision brought us to Big Spring, Texas, about 315 miles from last night's camp. Our day turned out to be long, but we did find a fairly nice place for lunch just off the Interstate where I took the photos herein.

And that's it for now. Concetta and I wish you many exciting adventures of your own on the highways and byways of our beautiful country.

Day 37 -- Monroe, Louisiana to Longview, Texas -- 152 Miles

Yesterday got started with an all too customary trip to the tire store. Fortunately, I found a Firestone dealer who told me he had just the tires I wanted. Only problem was he couldn't work on the rig until 11:00 a.m. since he was booked up with appointments until then. So, having no real choice but to take the offered appointment, we cleaned up our camp, left some money in the RV camp office box, and motored over to the dealer to hang out in their parking lot.

If this sounds like Deja vu all over again, it is. On this trip we purchased two new tires in Dandridge, Tennessee, two new tires in Statesville, North Carolina, and now two new tires in Monroe, Louisiana.

And it looked like the Monroe Firestone shop was ready to do the tire installation around 9:30, which would have been wonderful. But the puney hydraulic jack the store had on hand didn't have a hope of lifting the rig off the ground. So we purchased the tires, then headed off down the road to a discount tire store which purportedly had a decent jack. So now we're waiting again.

Though I wasn't at first pleased with the look of the discount tire store, nor the cadre of very young employees, as it turned out the store and the employees were fantastic. Great care was taken to make sure we had what we needed and just after 11:00 a.m. we were able to hit the road again quite satisfied with the job that was done for us.

It turned out that though the outer tire of the passenger-side dualie was destroyed, the inner tire was still in great shape. This tire became the new spare as our existing spare was twelve years old and not safe to use, nor serviceable at modern tire shops.

There were a couple of dings in the steel wheel where the ruined outside tire was removed, but the technicians said they weren't significant and could be banged back into place. Before long both the new tires were mounted and balanced and replaced on the rig. The jack was removed and we were ready to go.

Most of the day went pleasantly enough. We stopped for lunch at a roadside rest in Louisiana, then continued our journey west toward Dallas, Texas, where my neice, Sherry, and her family live. Fortunately our trip was largely uneventful, though a couple of times traffic was reduced to one lane because of pretty significant 18-wheeler accidents.

At the end of the day we found an incredibly nice camp in the Texas town of Longview, though we checked out a couple of really unsuitable camps before we found Fernbrook. The first one we rolled into was so dingy and rundown that I immediately turned around and left before anyone noticed us. The second would have been okay, but it was completely full with long-time tenants. Permanent tenants has become commonplace in most camps.

Fernbrook, on the other hand, tops the list as one of the most modern and pristine we've seen on this trip. All the sites have widely spaced and level concrete pads. The streets are all paved and not the dirt or gravel we see so often. The laundry facility was large and modern. Seeing that the laundry was basically empty, we lost no time in gathering up things in need of washing and dashing over there once our camp was set up.

And that's it for yesterday's events. Since we got such a late start back in Monroe, we didn't try to stop at any historic sites. Fortunately we didn't really see anything to drew our interest.

Day 36 -- Meridian, Mississippi to Monroe, Louisiana (extra 30 for getting lost) -- 240 Miles

Today started out heavenly and ended up the day from Hell. Leaving Meridian, Mississippi, under partly cloudy skies puncuated with filtered sunlight, we just had the best time cruising Interstate 20 enjoying the fairly light traffic and a continuation of the beautiful fall colors on the forests that flanked our route.

Our plans for the morning were to travel Route 20 to Vicksburg, Mississippi, then leave the Interstate to spend a couple of hours at one or more of the museums to be found there. Stopping just a half dozen miles outside the city, we did some Internet searches and decided that the museum we'd like to visit was the one that displayed the Union gunboat, Cairo, from the time of the Civil War.

The Cairo was the very first vessel sunk by an electrically detonated torpedo (mine) causing it to sink almost immediately. The USS Cairo was one of the very first ironclad warships. On December 12, 1862, it was steaming up the Yazoo River north of Vicksburg on a mission to destroy Confederate batteries and clear enemy obstructions from the channel when it struck the torpedo. Amazingly, there was no one hurt when the torpedo detonated, but the Cairo was soon on the bottom of the Yazoo. The crew was rescued by nearby boats.

To quote the pamplet, 'Armed Ready for Action,' by Helen Schwartz, "USS Cairo was one of seven vessels of the same design built specifically to cruise the Mississippi river and its tributaries. Those seven warships were designated city-class gunboats. Cairo, Carondulet, Cincinnati, St. Louis (Baron de Kalb), Louisville, Mound City, and Pittsburg, were named for cities and towns along the upper Mississippi and Ohio Rivers."

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"The city-class gunboats were state-of-the-art warships in 1861. Cairo and her six sister ships combined several features that enabled them to change the strategy and tactics of naval warfare on the western waters and impact the duration and outcome of the Civil War. Steam propulsion, iron armor, rifled artillery, a dual rudder system along with a recessed paddlewheel, and the physical characteristics of a riverboat were combined to bring increased protection, maneuverability and firepower as well as give more consistent mobility to these gunboats."

"But now the gunboat was on the bottom of the Yazoo River in 36 feet of water. Over the years, the gunboat was forgotten, and her resting place was slowly covered by a shroud of silt and mud. Protected by this protective ‘cocoon,’ Cairo became a time capsule in which her priceless artifacts were preserved in a largely oxygen-free environment. Her whereabouts became a matter of speculation as members of the crew had died and local residents were unsure of the location."

"Starting in the mid 1950s interest began to grow in launching a search for the nearly century old relic. In 1960 one of the Cairo's canons was located and eventually the entire wreck was found. In 1964 efforts were underway to lift the hull with large cables, but this effort succeeded only in damaging the fragile timbers. Finally, the wreck was lifted from the river in three separated sections and taken to Vicksburg."

"In 1972, the United States Congress enacted legislation authorizing the National Park Service to accept title to the Cairo and reassemble the remnants for display and preservation in Vicksburg National Military Park. Delays in funding halted progress until June of 1977, when the Cairo was returned to the park and partially reconstructed on a concrete foundation near the Vicksburg National Cemetery."

Today Concetta and I had the pleasure of visiting the reconstructed wreck at the Vicksburg National Cemetery Museum grounds. The massiveness of the ironclad is what strikes you first. To quote Helen Schwartz again, "Cairo weighed 888 tons fully loaded, which is 1,776,000 pounds. Her iron armor contributed 122 tons of that weight while her load [canons, stores, coal, and crew] provided 376 tons. Yet Cairo drew only six feet of water, which enabled her to navigate the shallow watercourses of the Mississippi and its tributaries."

We were not only able to photograph the immense vessel, we were actually allowed to go aboard in some places. When onboard you can more clearly view the canons, boilers, and the mechanics of the paddle wheel. We were also able to walk completely around the vessel as it sits in a sort of craddle beneath a giant tent that protects it from the elements.

Inside the small museum we were able to view the myriad of archeological finds from the boat. Everything from weapons of all sorts, to everyday living essentials were skillfully displayed. The Museum devoted to the fascinating boat certainly proved to be well worth a visit

By the time we retreated to the RV it was lunchtime. Little did we know at the time that while we sat enjoying our noonday meal fate was busy plotting quite a different kind of afternoon for us. It actually all began before we arrived at the museum when Concetta programmed her iPhone to choose a route to the Vicksburg National Military Park where the Cairo was on display.

At first I ignored the directions when we were approaching the area as I actually SAW the Visitor Center and pulled into the parking lot. Unfortunately, not only was the iPhone not happy with our choice, but once at the Visitor Center, I could not see a path that would take us to the boat. I did see what I thought was the correct road, but there was a chain baring access.

So, I backed the rig around, and headed back to the entrance. From there we let the iPhone take us to where it thought we needed to go. Unfortunately, after turning this way and that way on a series of tiny residential roads, we ended up facing a weed-grown wooden bridge across a creek.

The bridge clearly said "NO TRUCKS" and stipulated a weight limit of 10,000 pounds. Concetta and I looked at each other, then looked at the bridge. "What do you think?" I asked her.

Concetta just shook her head.

So, with a sigh, I put the truck in gear and sped quickly across the old bridge. We didn't hear any sounds of splitting timbers, so we continued up a steep hill and around several more twists and turns, and finally we arrived at the museum site just in time to see two tour buses descending a hill in front of us, obviously having taken the correct route.

So, after lunch, we decided to not leave via the road on which we had come, but to leave the way the tour buses had come. In retrospect, we would have been better off taking the tiny, winding road with the ancient bridge, for as we ascended to what we thought was the way out all we did is get completely lost in the rolling hills of the Vicksburg Civil War battlefield.

To our amazement, the entire battlefield is adorned with monuments, and statues, and dozens of metal signs denoting where every single unit was located, both Union and Confederate. The road wound around this way and that with no clear direction being offered by the iPhone.

At one point we thought we where headed the right way because the iPhone insisted that we were. But at the end of the road we reached a dead end complete with a gigantic tree that looked as though it might thwart any attempts to manuever around it. Happily I was able get turned around and we retraced our steps to try another route.

But there was a bigger problem brewing. While navigating the route to the giant tree on the tiny park road, I moved aside to let a car pass and accidently clipped the edge of a culvert with the passenger side rear tire. As we continued searching for the route to the entance gate, the tire lost all its air and we were running on only the inside tire of the pair.

When we finally found our way through the park maze to the front gate, we were so happy to be out, that I neglected to check the condition of the tire that had clipped the culvert before proceding. This oversight came back to haunt us before we'd gone very far.

Since the Military Park lay quite close to Interstate 20, we were soon zooming west toward the Mississippi River bridge. But because I have become quite sensitive to the rig's behaviour at speed, I suspected that we had a problem. By the time we passed over that mightiest of American Rivers, I had begun to look for a place to pull over.

Fortunately, we only had to travel a very few miles and the Welcome Center and rest stop for Louisiana came into view. I pulled in, parked, and got out to view what I knew was not going to make me happy. Sure enough, the sidewall of the brand new tire purchased in Tennessee had a shredded sidewall and we had instantly become stranded.

Our current highway rescue service is the same as our auto insurance, and so we picked up the phone and called the Allstate Emergency Roadside Services. Within seconds a nice chap with an East Indian accent took all my information, located our rest stop on his map, and had called a local Vicksburg tow service to come rescue us.

In a little over an hour the tow truck operator had arrived, assessed the problem, and exchanged our shredded tire for the spare. The spare was a little low on air, so once we were on the road again we set our course for the nearest truck repair business where a great guy named Jake filled the low tire and sent us on our way.

But Fate was not done with us yet. It was around this time that I noticed that the running lights that I had just repaired the day before were again not working. Yesteray I thought it was a cracked reflector that was letting in water when it rained. I replaced that reflector, replaced the fuse again, and all the lights worked fine. But that didn't keep the fuse from blowing today.

I told Concetta that we needed to find a camp pronto so we wouldn't be out on the highway after dark with no taillights. So Concetta asked the iPhone for camps in the vicinity and it came up with one called "Sand Lick RV" located just ahead.

Here Fate was about to have great fun with us. The iPhone said that we needed to go to the town of Rayville and get off the Interstate, so we did that. Then it said we needed to go north just 11 miles on Route 425 so we did that. Then it said turn right and go four miles west on Route 134 so we did that. Then it said turn right and go four miles up Route 138 so we did that, too.

At this point, all we could see in every direction was farm land. There were no people, hardly any cars, and the whole expanse around us felt pretty lonely. So when we had done the 4 miles on Route 138 we began to get a bit skeptical. The iPhone then said that we needed to turn right and drive toward the tiny village of Collinston which came complete with a "Speed Trap Ahead" sign in some farmer's field.

When we got to Colliston, the main street was sort of stair-stepped, which made it hard to keep up with the iPhones commands. But we soldiered on. But when our electronic navigator told us to turn left down this dusty track into the woods just outside of Colliston, we called it quits and turned around. The device had just sent us on a twenty mile wild goose chase.

Naturally by this time I was in a cold sweat that we would not be able to find a camp before dark. Hastily we retraced all of our steps until we got to Route 134, then we turned west in the direction of the town of Monroe whose name I had seen on a highway roadsign.

When we got to Monroe, I pulled in for gas at a tiny convenience store and while pumping I asked the customer next to me if he knew of any RV camps nearby. He sort of scratched his head and finally told me no. But when I got back in the cab, Concetta had located a camp in Monroe that proclaimed it didn't have anyone in the office on Sundays, but that we might be able to find a place there.

It was getting toward dusk by then, and we hurriedly headed to Concetta's find before night fell. Naturally, Fate was NOT going to give up on the game quite yet. Just a couple of blocks from the camp, she threw a mile-long freight train in our path just to test how high my blood pressure might rise.

But somehow, when the train had passed, we managed to pull into the "Ouachita RV Park" just before the streetlights came on in the neighborhood. Quickly we found a vacant site, got set up, and breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief. Tomorrow we'll have to find a good tire dealer since I didn't want to drive too long on the spare or be without a spare to use in emergencies.

Day 35 -- Carrollton, Georgia to Meridian, Mississippi -- 240 Miles

Today it rained almost from the time we left camap and reached Interstate 20, until we left the Interstate 15 miles short of Meridian, Mississippi and rolled into the Toomsuba KOA. Needless to say, we didn't stop for anything but gasoline.

We did keep an eye out for anything of interest that might crop up on one of the brown signs denoting an approaching historic site, but the only thing we saw was for the Moundville Archeological Park, in Moundville, Alabama. Ordinarily we would have cranked the wheel right over and headed south to find Moundville. But today just didn't look like the best day for hiking up rain-slickened grassy burial mounds.

The worst part about having nothing to attract our attention off the Interstate is the complete lack of photographs. We simply saw nothing that looked good as torrents of rain flooded our windshield. We keep our speed at 65mph, but lots of folks sped by us at speeds I considered suicidal. But during the entire day I think we only saw one car that had skidded off the shoulder.

Still, just so you don't think you've wasted your time arriving at this blog, I'll post a couple of photos of our camp last night in Carrollton. The camp was called the "John Tanner Park" and was layed out on a wooded hillside which made things interesting when you looked for a level site. But still, camp was quiet and the setting was beautiful.

The guy in the photo at left is our nextdoor neighbor named Dan. Dan was an ex-military policeman and was the friendliest guy you'd ever want for a neighbor. He hailed from Alabama and had met with folks from two other RVs for a week-long campfest in the woods. I like Dan instantly and we had a nice chat standing in the road.

Day 34 -- Perry to Kennesaw to Carrollton, Georgia -- 200 Miles

There being no Internet possible at our campground in Carrol County, Georgia, I’m typing yesterday’s blog into Microsoft Word. Tomorrow, if the creeks don’t rise and we get closer to a cell tower, I’ll paste the blog contents into Blogspot, and you won’t miss any of the exciting adventures of the Happy Wanderers.

This morning our plans called for visiting a very large pile of dirt made by a tribe of prehistoric Indians. From our camp in Perry, Georgia, we had to drive about thirty-five miles north to the outskirts of Macon, Georgia, then head east on the Interstate 75 business bypass to the Ocmulgee Mounds National Historic Park.

Though the traffic was hair-raising in Macon, we actually found our way to the Park without any real difficulty, other than the need to transit several miles of construction chaos. It was when we finally pulled off the neighborhood surface street and entered the park that our problems began in earnest.

At first we motored along a beautiful winding road with nothing but a leafy forest full of fall colors flanking the grounds. Rounding a curve we came upon a sign announcing that the “Visitor Center” was just ahead. When we reached the visitor center, we entered the parking lot and almost immediately had to stop.

Though the parking lot could have accommodated our rig if we used about four normal car spaces, there weren’t many normal car spaces available. Nearly every space was taken by either cars or a very large school bus. Even more depressing, two more school buses were parked on the exit road to an extent that insufficient room was left for a large vehicle to pass.

We thought briefly about trying to squeeze in behind either the bus parked across a half dozen car spaces, or behind the other two buses parked illegally in the exit. But in the end, we decided to just skip the Visitor Center and go visit the mound that purportedly was located further down the road.

Of course we were actually unable to leave because the two illegally-parked buses had blocked the exit. Throwing caution to the wind, we just rolled up on the lawn adjacent to the exit road and passed the buses that way.

At that point all did not appear to be lost, for just ahead lay the mound and we could perhaps catch the Visitor Center on our return trip when the children had left.

Imagine our surprise when a couple of minutes later we rounded and curve and were confronted with a sort of medieval castle portal, round in shape, through which we were expected to drive. Had our rig been shaped like an Oscar Meyer hot dog that idea might have worked. As it was, the rig was shaped more like a large block of cheese, and we suspected that we’d probably lose valuable sheet metal if we tried to squeeze through the round portal.

Now that the disappointment with the Ocmulgee Mounds National Historic Park was complete, we jockeyed the rig this way and that way until we had turned completely around on the two-lane road, then we said adieu to the unseen mound of dirt and made our way back to the Park entrance.

Thankfully, when we rejoined the Interstate 75 business loop, we didn’t encounter much in the way of construction, and soon we rejoined the main Route 75 component and were headed for Atlanta just ninety minutes away.

Our next intended visit, as well as our lunch stop, was to be the Civil War and Railroad Museum in Kennesaw, Georgia, just north of Atlanta. In this endeavor we were much more lucky. Though we at first entered the wrong parking lot located next to the museum, we eventually noticed that a much larger parking area lay just across the street where we had the most elegant and level spot waiting for us.

Within minutes we were standing at the ticket counter just chaffing at the bit to get a look at their most treasured possession, a 1850s vintage locomotive called "The General" which was used during the Civil War

The General was built in 1855 by Rogers, Ketchum & Grosvenor in New Jersey. The engine represented the now classic 4-4-0 wheel arrangement, meaning four smaller leading truck wheels, and four large drive wheels. She was a wood-burner and as such sported what was called a ‘balloon smokestack’ that included a mesh over the opening to discourage cinders being spread around the right-of-way.

The General spent its life on the 138-miles of rail between Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Atlanta, Georgia. The line was known as the Western and Atlantic and was constructed in 1836.

In January, 1856, the General was put into service hauling freight on the W&A and would eventually also earn its keep in passenger service. But the General would enter history as perhaps the most famous steam engine in America because of an incident that occurred on April 12, 1862.

On that day, 20 union soldiers and civilians, passing themselves off as southerners, infiltrated the Confederate lines, stole aboard a combination freight and passenger train pulled by the General, unhooked the passenger cars, and made off with the rest of the train.

The train had been stopped for a brief time to afford passengers an opportunity to grab a bite of breakfast before the train was on its way. So it was that the assembled passengers and crew of the Western & Atlantic were shocked as they suddenly saw their train pull out of the station and speed away.

The station where the General and her train of freight cars was stolen was in the town of Big Shanty, which was located directly across the street from the museum where the General is currently housed.

Most of the crew and passengers were so startled that they just stood and watched as the train pulled away from the station. But two men, conductor William A. Fuller and railroad Superintendent of Motive Power, Anthony Murphy set out on foot to catch the speedily departing train.

The Union raiders were supremely confident that if they stole the train, then cut the telegraph wires along the line to prevent the authorities telegraphing ahead to stop them, they could damage the rail line as they went without fear of apprehension.

Unfortunately, the raiders hadn’t counted on Fuller and Murphy. The two southern railroad men pursued the stolen train on foot, then with a barrowed handcar, and finally with three different locomotives over the 87 miles of the rail line until they eventually caught up with the fleeing raiders.

Though the raiders were somewhat successful in their cutting of the telegraph lines and tearing out rails, the constant pursuit by Fuller and Murphy unnerved them to the point that they simply couldn’t do the job that they had set out to do.

In the end, the raiders were caught to a man, and eventually suffered imprisonment or death by hanging. However, eight of the raiders did manage to escape imprisonment and make it back to Union lines. Six were eventually involved in a prisoner exchange. But James J. Andrews, the leader, and seven more of the raiders were hanged.

In modern times, the Andrews Raid has been portrayed in several films. The first film was known as “Railroad Raiders of ’62.” The second film stared Buster Keaton and was simply called “The General.” The third, and perhaps most famous of the films, was produced by Walt Disney and was called “The Great Locomotive Chase,” starring Fess Parker.

For my part, I have wanted to see the famous locomotive for many, many years. I traveled to the Atlanta area in the latter 1980s but missed seeing it. Concetta and I visited Atlanta in 2016, but we missed seeing it then as well. Additionally, I’ve never been able to see The Texas, which is the Western & Atlantic locomotive that Conductor Fuller and Superintendent Murphy were using in pursuit when they finally caught up with the General. The Texas resides in the Atlanta History Museum and was not on display when we visited there in 2016. Now that we've seen The General, perhaps a visit to Atlanta to see The Texas will someday be possible.

After our visit to the Kennesaw Museum, we traveled south and west toward Interstate 20 where we hoped to find a camp for the night. Though we arrived a bit late, we managed to find a very nice camp on a wooded hillside in the John Tanner Park in Carrollton, Georgia. Amazingly, our campsite was competely level, and the nearby neighbors welcomed us with smiles and waves. And though a little partying went on in the early evening at the neighbor's rig, by bedtime the camp had become one of the most quiet that we have experienced.

And when you hit the road on your own camping adventures, we wish you exiting adventures of your own. Ciao!

Day 33 -- Lake City, Florida to Perry, Georgia -- 217 Miles (includes side trip to Fitzgerald, GA)

Believe or not, we just paid 3.01 for gas in Perry Georgia! That's the cheapest gas we've paid in the month since we left home. We could have gotten the gas cheaper if we agreed to pay cash. Pretty amazing

Today we left Lake City and said goodbye to the rampant humidity in Florida. But even though we were eager to plot a course northward to escape to cooler, dryer temperatures, we passed legions of RV rigs headed south for the winter. I guess if you're coming from Minnesota or Wisconsin or Illinois, Florida looks pretty good, but to us it's like trying to breathe underwater with all the water in the air.

As usual today, we had no definite destination for the afternoon and nothing in particular we wanted to stop and see. However, just before lunchtime we came upon one of the brown roadside signs annoucing CSA President Jefferson Davis had a memorial just fifteen miles off Interstate 75. Well, how could we resist that? We immediately took the offramp, made the necessary turn, and headed due east.

If you've been reading the blog for any length of time, you know that we have followed the life of Jefferson Davis for years. First we visted the White House of the Southern Confederacy and marveled at the wonderful museum there. Next we found our way to Appomatax Court House where the Southern Confederacy came to an end. Later we visited the retirement home of Jefferson Davis in Biloxi, Mississippi, which was by far our favorite of the three.

So today's visit to the Jefferson Davis Memorial in Georgia was just a natural succession in our quest for the history of Jeff Davis. The Memorial is located where it is in Fitzgerald, Georgia, because the site of the monument marks the location where President Davis was captured when the Southern Confederacy dissolved.

To quote the brochure that we picked up at the Memorial Museum, "When the Confederate President Jefferson Davis and a few remaining staff members crossed the Savannah River into Georgia on May 3, 1865, they were headed for the western theater of war where Davis planned to unite rebel forces and continue fighting for the lost cause."

"On May 9, 1865, they camped in this pine forest (where memorial now stands) not knowing that pursuit was so close behind. At dawn, they were surrounded by two independent groups of Union cavalry who were unaware of each other's presence. Gunfire ensued until the federal forces realized that had been shooting at friendly forces. Two Union cavalrymen died during the skirmish."

"President Davis was taken prisoner and held in Virginia for two years until released. Today a monument marks the spot where he was arrested. Also contained on the thirteen-acre site is a excellent museum, a short hiking trail, several picnic tables, and a group shelter."

After our visit to the museum and a long chat with the resident docent, John Hughes, we took a stroll over to the memorial. Photos were difficult in the museum because of the overhead lighting and equally difficult outside by the monument, part of which was in the sun and part in the shade. Being a thirteen-year docent at the museum, John was extreme knowledgeable on all things Southern Confederacy. He helped us put to bed the silly story that Jeffereson Davis had been caught in women's attire. Such was not the case, and basically was an early example of "fake news."

After our visit to the the memorial grounds, Concetta and I spent the next half hour having lunch in the rig before venturing out again onto the rural Georgia roads in the direction of Interstate 75 north. In the meantime we passed acres and acres of cotton fields, and I found myself wishing I could find a spot to snap a photo of the giant rolls of cotton that the growers wrap in yellow plastic before it's picked up by 18-wheelers for a trip to the processing mill.

We had only been on the two-lane rural road for a few minutes when we turned onto Rural Route 107 and almost immediately encountered a large number of the cotton rolls waiting for shipment. I immediately pulled off the pavement and onto the farmer's driveway and jumped out of the truck to grab a photo. Fortunately, no traffic was visible at the time, though some soon appeared. Still, I had my shot, and we pulled back onto the blacktop after the few cars and trucks had passed.

Our plan for the evening involved reaching Macon if possible before finding a camp. However, I told Concetta that we would stop for gas just as soon as we saw a station just off the Interstate. Just a few minutes later we saw such an offramp in the town of Perry just a half hour south of Macon, Georgia and we left the Interstate and rolled into the gas station.

While the gas was filling, I asked Concetta to see if Perry had any RV camps. The time was nearly three, and I thought perhaps that we could get off the highway a little early, and I could get a good start on the blog. When I collected my receipt and got back in cab, I asked about the potential for camps.

"You're not going to believe this," Concetta said, "but there is one just two minutes from here."

And that's how we ended up at the "Fair Harbor RV Camp" in Perry, Georgia. The park turned out to be big and had lots of empty spaces. I guess the folks headed for Florida somehow missed this one. Anyway, the internet sucked at first, but the camp is pretty and mostly quiet, though acorns keep thumping off the roof every few seconds.

And that's going to be it for today. Tomorrow we hope to visit an Indian Mound near Atlanta, and, if I'm lucky, perhaps we can visit a locomotive from the so called "Great Locomotive Chase" during the Civil War. If you're old enough to have watched Disney's version with Fess Parker, you know what I'm talking about. So Ciao for now, and we hope you have lots of adventures of your own.

Day 31 -- Naples to Melbourne, Florida -- 210 Miles

Today we were very lucky to catch up with a couple of really fine folks at their camp in Melbourne, Florida. Jim and Janice Rhode have been our friends for many, many years and were once residents of Nevada as well as California near Truckee. Janice Rhode was my very first unit supervisor when I left the Division Parole and Probation and went to work for the Department of Public Safety in their IT Division. In that same time period, Jim worked in management for the Nevada Highway Patrol. Since my job was to help employees of the various divisions under the umbrella of Pubic Safety, I would often visit Jim when he had computer problems.

Fortunately, when Jim and Janice learned our our plans to be in Florida, they invited us to cross from the Gulf side of the state to the Atlantic side and visit them at their camp. Once our camp was set up across the street from theirs, Janice fixed dinner for the four of us and we spent some wonderful after-dinner time talking about everything from grandkids and geneaology to Jim and my military service times. The four of us had great time and some great wine and we certainly appreciate them thinking about us.

Days 29 & 30 -- All day in Naples, Florida with relatives -- No Miles

Francesco and Giovanna Montisano on their wedding day, May 1940

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Day 28 -- Thonotosassa to Naples, Florida -- 170 Miles

Today it was Interstate 75 all the way until we rolled into Naples. We passed numerous park and nature preserve signs, but didn't see anything potentially exciting until we came across a sign for the Florida "Vietnam Veterans Memorial." That sounded like we should try and find the location so we exited the Interstate at the appropriate offramp and headed west.

Unfortunately, because Florida has lost a plethora of directional and other highway signs in the recent huricane, we did not see any brown point-of-interest signs as we traveled west into a residential neighborhood. Reversing direction we headed east, passed under the Interstate, and continued on for some miles. But again we saw nothing to indicate we were headed in the right direction.

Once again we reversed direction until we came upon a WinDixie grocery store. There we stopped, pulled into the parking lot, and found a nice spot away from the bulk of the parked cars. There were a couple of items I wanted, so while Concetta launched into lunch preparations, I went inside to see if I could locate a can of brake fluid, a box of cereal, and a couple of rolls of paper towels. The store had no brake fluid, but I did find my other two items.

Moments later I was back at the rig, only to find that while I was absent two large utility trucks had pulled up right next to us and were now just sitting there enthusiastically idling their motors. Well, as we've learned over the years, trying to have lunch while being serenaded by diesel engines and fumes is not very pleasant. So, I had to start our own engine and move the rig to a new location in the parking lot.

Once lunch was over, we were soon back on Interstate 75 and by 2:00 p.m. we were rolling through the front gate of our camp for the next three evenings. The camp we rented is one of those "upper crust" operations that charge a big pile of money and provide us with an absolutely immaculent pad for our RV. Everything in the park is either paving or layed out in gardens. All the RVs are kept clean and tidy, and I suspect that there's a park citizens group that does the policing if anyone dares to drop a candy wrapper somewhere.

Still, the park turned out to be just six miles from Concetta's sister, Phil's house, which should make it totally easy for Phil to pick us up and drive us to dinner or to visit other relatives.

There's only one problem with the whole idyllic picture: it's as hot here as the depths of the Amazon jungle. Even sitting in the rig with the air conditioner at max, the sweat was pouring off my face and dripping on my computer. I suspect that by the time three days go by, I will be five pounds lighter with all the moisture loss.

We did have one interesting experience just as we left camp in Thonotosassa this morning. I had asked at the camp office and been told that we could fill our propane tank just down the road at a local gas station. The directions were to "turn right out of the camp, turn right on Route 301 east, then turn left at the first light." Well, the first parts of the instructions were okay, but we needed another right to get to that gas station, not a left.

But once we had figured out that minor problem, we saw the gas station tank and drove over next to it. I jumped down and went into the mini mart to ask about a propane fill-up. That's when reality started to bend. The sign on the door said that Cuban cigars were available there, but the sign was in Spanish. When I entered the store, I knew immediately that I wasn't in Kansas. The whole atmosphere was decidely Latino. No problem, I decided, I spoke enough Spanish to get by.

I approached the counter behind which a very pregnant Latina girl was just having the best time talking and laughing with the customers as well as the other workers. Finally when I could get a word in edgewise, I asked if anyone was available to fill a propane tank. She sort of pondered the question for a moment, than at the top of her lungs bellowed out, the name "Mellita" and a series of Spanish words, few of which I recognized. I did however recognize the word "propane" as it came out in English.

With that, the Latina girl, who probaby was about 18 years old, went on laughing and yelling things at the other workers behind the counter while I stood there not really knowing what to do. Every once in a while she would bellow, "MELLITA" to someone unseen, then go right back to laughing and chatting.

I looked around at that point and sure enough an impatient-looking customer had come up behind me and stood waiting there for his turn. Finally, after the Latina girl had bellowed "MELLITA" for about the fifth time, a diminutive middle-aged woman appeared with a very young teenager in tow and headed for the door. Though I couldn't be sure, I think she signaled to me to follow

Once the three of us reached the rig, I could see that the middle-aged woman had the teenager in tow so she could teach her how to fill a propane tank. To say I was a little bit nervous is decidedly an understatement. Never before had I seen a female take on the difficult task of working with propane. But to see that same female attempt to teach a teenager using our rig as a training device had me holding my breath at times.

After I had watched the two of them try to attach the hose nozzle to our tank filler neck without success, I asked them if I could show them how it should be done. Our tank has a slightly uplifted input neck that almost always gives propane attendants trouble. Once I had the nozzle attached properly, both women thanked me, then they went on to accomplish a proper filling.

The tank filled, I dashed into the store, paid the bill, and was on my way out when I came across a bedraggled young black boy, in filthy sweatshirt and jeans, leaning against the wall of the store. Remembering that I had seen him in the store earlier counting out enough change for a vaping device, I fished five dollars out of my wallet and went over to him. The boy looked like he hadn't eaten in days, so I handed him the fiver, put my hand on his shoulder, told him to go inside and get something to eat. The tiny store also served up cooked food, and I thought the fried chicken looked pretty good. The boy mumbled something I didn't get, but the look in his eyes was plain enough.

And that's the end of the story. I probably won't be doing much blog writing while we're here schmoozing with relatives, so you may have to wait until we hit the road again on November 1st. So this may be "hasta la vista" for now, or I may think of something to tell you about. Who knows. But here's wishing you many exciting adventures of your own. Ciao!