TOUR OF THE SOUTH
April – May 2013
It is always hard to leave home. I like my house with all of its comforts and attractions. But I do find myself in a rut at times, on the borderline of being outright bored, so getting away I knew was the right thing to do despite the rest of the family being unsupportive of me following my dream. Sinbad and I left the house at eight A.M. and within the hour I was into it, enjoying the drive. I made a fuel stop in Livermore where I used the Gas Buddy app on the old iPhone my wife gave me to use. Using this phone and the travel apps was to be all new experiences for me. The app directed me to a Safeway store where I was able to get diesel for three ninety-five a gallon. I stopped for lunch on the road to Wasco and opened up a brand new jar of Planter’s peanut butter–“No stirring needed”. A pool of peanut oil sloshed on top of the peanut butter and I was unable to stir it in. As I ate my first stale rice cake left over from home (best-when-used-by date May 2012) I noticed the best-when-used-by date on the peanut butter jar was October 11, 2012! I had just picked this off the shelf at Safeway last week! It looked like I would be doing some grocery shopping sooner than I planned. We pulled in to the Boron, CA. rest stop at three thirty P.M. and called it a day after four hundred fifteen miles of driving, feeling good to be on the road again. I was woke up before six in the morning by a diesel rig firing up his engine right next to us and letting it idle for the following forty-five minutes. I gave up and moved out stopping in Barstow for breakfast and replacing the oily peanut butter at a Food For Less store. Heading east I had a hard time, yawning all the way. I finally gave in at a rest stop and took an hour nap feeling much better before dropping down into Needles and across the Colorado River into Arizona. I decided to not push it and packed it in at Kingman staying the night at Walmart along with a number of other RVers. A 2006 View (same as mine) parked next to us. They were from New Brunswick and he shared his transmission going out story with me, having just left the Las Vegas dealer who put in a new transmission only to have overfilled it with fluid causing the check engine light to come on. Now I would be wondering about transmission gremlins for the next eight thousand miles.
The following afternoon I had had about enough when we reached Holbrook, Arizona. In driving around the quiet little town I stopped at the visitor center/museum and asked the cowboy inside where I could park for the night. He suggested the rest stop on the edge of town (I passed it coming in and it looked promising) saying he didn’t think the local police would mind. “We don’t have any crime here and the cops don’t have much to do anyway.” So that was the plan until as I was walking back to the motor home I heard a train come through town blasting it’s horn through the intersection right by that rest area a mile or so distant. No, something else would have to be found. As I was putting us further from the train tracks I saw a sign to the local VFW. I pulled a U-turn, pulled into the parking area just as the lady was opening up shop and she said it would be fine for me to park overnight. This was a resource I must exploit in future towns. I could still hear the train horns but nowhere as bad.
Another long day of driving brought us into Albuquerque, New Mexico and after filling up at a Chevron at three eighty-three a gallon (this Gas Buddy app is saving me a bundle of money) we parked at a Walmart again providing shade for the drug dealers who pulled in next to us to do their transaction while I ate dinner. It was a pleasant day’s drive towards Texas until the wind turned on us near Santa Rosa, New Mexico where we had to beat head-on into it all afternoon.
I learned on the Great Plains Tour last fall that some of the quirky and oddball sites we seek out turn out to be duds. Well this one in Vega, a mural on the side of Roosters Mexican Restaurant and a metal Rooster standing out front, had about that much going for it. Also as in the past sometimes a site will have some other item more interesting or we meet up with a character. Here we met Martha. She had just pulled in for some Mexican food and seeing me taking a photo quickly deduced I was a tourist. She said I should go into town at Rourkes Hardware store for "It is the only hardware store on old Route 66 that is still owned by the original owners when Route 66 was all there was".
Next she asked if I was going to see the Cadillac Ranch and I said it was on my list. Well off she went telling me how the guy who built it is now in prison and had been there for five years now, something to do with his fondness for young boys and locking them up in a chicken coop. Long ago the guy's wife had gone off to France to study art, came back and all of a sudden he thought himself an artist and created Cadillac Ranch. She rolled her eyes and raised her hands up in unapproval of his so-called art. Then I was told he had dug all the cars up leaving holes behind, relocating the cars elsewhere and called the first spot the Cadillac Grave Yard. I had yet to see it so I couldn’t verify any of it.
Interspersed with all the information she was giving me of where to go and what to see I learned she was celebrating her divorce of five years from her rich passive aggressive not so bright husband of thirty-three years. He had thirteen million dollars in assets; she ended up with two plus million and...well all of this was coming at me so fast I was unable to comprehend it all let alone ask any questions that popped in and back out of my mind just as fast. "Men think women just want them to jump in the sack with them when what they really want is someone to have an intelligent conversation with. They should have a site on the Internet where men and women can meet just to have an intelligent conversation." Next she was telling I shouldn't go south into Deaf Smith County for “They'll pull you over as soon as they see you're from out of state. They'll make up a reason for stopping you. Their motto is Enter Deaf Smith County on vacation, leave on probation. If you're stupid they'll get you. But you seem intelligent so you'll be fine but they won't care for the hat you are wearing and tuck in your shirt!"
Then I learned all about the big cross in Groom on the other side of Amarillo. I said that it sounded familiar and that I had Groom circled on my map for some reason and... "Oh you have to stop for that. At one time it was the biggest cross in the western hemisphere but someone went and built a bigger one and..." I lost track about all she was telling me, unable to keep up, about this guy who built the cross, his wife who was rich and from the Bush family−not President Bush but some other Bush I should have known about. Interspersed were comments about conservatives and Christians but I would be okay because I am "...not from Los Angeles or Berkeley". She had already verified that fact with me from the beginning and why those two cities, as if they were somehow linked being four hundred miles apart from each other. I had to ask. "Liberals!"
I wished her well in her new-found freedom from marriage, thanked her for all the information and said in all honesty that it was fun talking with her and with that we said our good-byes. I went back into the motor home and tucked in my shirt. That night we splurged thirty two-fifty for the Oasis RV Park east of Amarillo. The hot shower was worth the inflated price.
The Cadillac Ranch with ten Cadillacs buried nose first into the ground did not impress me. I doubt nothing would have that day for it was bitterly cold with icicles hanging from the motor home and the Cadillacs and that relentless bone-chilling wind blowing across the plains. It made me think a lot about the pioneers and immigrants who came this way many years ago and endured these conditions without all the comforts the motor home provided. I tromped across the muddy field, took my pictures and hurried back to the warmth of the RV. The Carhenge of Alliance, Nebraska was a much better art piece also done with junk automobiles. Down the road from the cold Cadillacs in Conway, Texas was VW Slug Bug Ranch. This was a lesser attempt upon the nose-in-the-ground automobile art piece done with five Volkswagen Bugs. The buildings nearby were all vandalized and graffiti-covered as were the five sad VW shells.
On the other side of Amarillo was the town of Groom which had what once was the largest cross in the western hemisphere. Martha was right. I wasn’t expecting much there but it did have more than just the nineteen story high cross. There was a circle of life-size bronze statues depicting Christ’s final hours as he carried his cross to the crucifixion. It was well done and there also was a gift center where one could find anything they needed to fill their spiritual needs. Groom also had the Leaning Water Tower visible from I-40 as you drove by. The water tower was intentionally built caddy-wampus to catch the traveler’s eye. We ended our day at West 40 RV Park being run by an old man who was the third generation on the property. Any mention of his mother when talking about the dust bowl, or his grandparents who settled this land choked up the old guy and nearly brought him to tears. Good grief! I was interested in hearing more about his history but let it go as it seemed too painful for him to re-live. I struggled most of the evening dealing with computer problems for the second night. The interstate noise was maddening and I was happy to leave the next morning.
We crossed over into Oklahoma and the land immediately took on a newer and fresher look. The continuing rain might have had something to do with that. Fortunately the wind eased up some the further east we went but along with that the rain increased. We drove by the Trade Wind Inn in Clinton where Elvis once stayed, found Lucille’s Famous Route 66 Gas Station near Hydro along the original road that runs alongside I-40, and then went north a few miles to El Reno. There was to be found a granite marker marking the western boundary end of the famous Oklahoma land run of 1889. The rain was falling hard and the town was built up all around so it was difficult to imagine what it must have been like back in ’89 at noon when the gun fired and the rush was on. We stayed at an RV park near the Best Western in town and worked on getting the photo folder organized as there was no Wi-Fi. And the rain continued to come down. (A month later on May 31 an F-5 tornado, 2.6 miles wide swept through the area just south of town from where we had stayed. This proved to be the widest tornado in recorded times.)
The next morning the skies were heavy with clouds, everything was wet but the rain thankfully had stopped. I celebrated the event with the free complimentary breakfast the Best Western Motel served – scrambled “eggs” (memories of the Navy came to mind), bacon of an indescribable make-up so I’ll not try to describe them, sausage, leathery waffles, pancakes that you peeled apart like layers of lunch meat, and a gut-plugger biscuit that needed a good slathering of strawberry jam to ease it down the gullet followed by a not-too-bad cup of coffee. But the price was right.
Our first stop was in downtown Oklahoma City to view the memorial for the 1995 terrorist bombing of the Federal Building. It was very nicely done. I didn’t go into the museum and not because of the ten dollar fee either. I just didn’t want to see the faces of those who died including all the children. We left there for Chandler, Oklahoma the site of the Seaba Station Motorcycle Museum. The service station was an oldie from the Route 66 days now being used to house a private collection of old motorcycles. What fun! I walked around three times. I bought a t-shirt only to discover miles down the road it would be much too large for me. Thoroughly disgusted with myself I decided to try and contact them for an exchange the next opportunity I had with a good Internet link-up. On the way to our next site we stopped midway at the only place to camp–the Catfish Round-up Restaurant and RV Park. The sun was out and it was a fine day, in spite of the wrong t-shirt purchase.
The next day’s attractions were Okemah, Oklahoma the home of Woody Guthrie where I took photos of the little memorial park dedicated to Woody, the city’s HOT and COLD water towers and Barbara Sue Manire’s grave which she had a parking meter installed as per her wishes: TIME EXPIRED. From there it was to Hugo and their Mt. Olivet Cemetery that has an entire section entitled Showman’s Rest devoted to carnival workers and circus performers. This was pretty cool, much better than I expected and I was glad I drove the extra miles to it. We camped at Raymond Gary State Park alongside a small lake having it all to ourselves. It was very peaceful and quiet, a beautiful setting as the sun went down behind the private homes on the opposite shore.
The following day was back into Texas to the little town of De Kalb. This was where early rock and roller Ricky Nelson’s plane crashed on New Year’s Eve 1985 as the band was on their way to Dallas. Next to the small chamber of commerce where the local girl scouts were holding a hundred one year celebration, hung the tail section to the airplane, the only thing that did not burn up in the crash. Inside the chamber building was a small tribute to Ricky along with Dan Blocker of TV Bonanza fame who was from De Kalb. Also too, a shelf dedicated to the famous blues artist Huddie Leadbetter, better known as Leadbelly. We left De Kalb for Texarkana for a photo-op of the state line of Texas and Arkansas which runs smack dab through the center of the Post Office and County Court House. The night was spent at about the only place available for miles around in Louisiana but there was a bonus to this–a Sonic Drive-in was right across the street. I treated myself to their hamburger, onion rings and a chocolate shake!
My information showed that the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum was open daily at ten A.M. but it was not. Maybe being Sunday was why the sign said noon. I was about to leave town when I noticed the lady getting out of her car at the Bonnie and Clyde Museum next door. She was just opening up. It had all I needed to see plus I was allowed to take pictures whereas the old guy next door at the Ambush Museum charged admission and picture taking was forbidden. I drove the eight miles south of Gibsland and found the Bonnie and Clyde Massacre Site marked by a bullet ridden stone monument. I stood there in the quiet countryside trying to imagine Bonnie and Clyde’s car being riddled with a hundred sixty-seven bullets.
The plan was to drive around aimlessly after that but I soon realized I would be seeing nothing but trees. Even if I did see something to photograph it was like the Ozarks of Arkansas−no shoulder to pull off onto. I turned back north to the interstate figuring on getting off of it at every small town that showed up. Well the small towns were few and far in between. And when I did drive around one, they were mostly barren with closed stores and nothing to photograph–a sad statement of the nation’s small towns. We stayed at Poverty Point State Park which had excellent Internet service so I took advantage of it trying to locate some sites to see in Missouri and Kansas for our drive home later in the trip.
We stopped at the post office in Delhi, Louisiana to mail my too large t-shirt back to the Seaba Motorcycle Museum in exchange for a medium to which the guys said they would be happy to do. Buying two envelopes, one with postage to send the new t-shirt on to home cost altogether eleven fifty plus the twenty-four dollars for the t-shirt, this had become one pricey t-shirt. I tried not to think about it. We motored on into Vicksburg, Mississippi stopping at the Mississippi Welcome Center on the east side of the Mississippi River then a few miles further to the Vicksburg Battlefield National Military Park. What should be an hour and a half drive around the sixteen mile auto tour route (or so I was told by the visitor center lady) took me over three hours to do. There were hundreds of huge stone memorials displayed by every state that took part on the Civil War: statues, monuments, and signs galore. It would take a feller days to see it all. In fact at the nearby camp I stayed at that evening the lady told me how one gentleman stayed there and went to the park for two weeks straight and still didn’t cover it all. Probably the highlight for me was seeing the ironclad boat Cairo that had been raised from the bottom of the Mississippi in the 1960’s and restored to some degree. I did not realize these ironclads were that large.
We stayed at a nice RV park (River Town) south of Vicksburg, filled up with fuel the next morning at a Kangaroo gas station then hopped on down the highway to Port Gibson. General Grant said Port Gibson was too beautiful of a town to burn down and I agreed. South of there I followed my sketchy directions to the Windsor Ruins and actually found them. Built in the 1860’s with a Greek and Roman flair to the design, the Windsor home survived the Civil War but not an accidental fire in 1891. Everything was lost and all that remains today are its towering columns topped with iron filigree. Next was the “ghost town” of Rodney but my directions to it were even more vague and I eventually baled on that one when Rodney Road dissolved into another road not on my map. The rest of the day was moseying along bearing east stopping at little towns along the way. We found a nice water agency park by the name of Big Creek even though there was only a lake nearby instead of a creek
The following day we toured the back roads of Mississippi seeing what we could find. The little town of Enterprise provided a very nice Confederate soldier cemetery with all but a couple of the headstones reading Unknown Confederate Soldier. The road eventually brought us into Alabama where another welcome center that would shame California’s welcome centers greeted us across the border at Cuba. We continued touring more back roads to Millers Ferry for camp at an Army Corps Engineer Campground with another private lakeside setting and cheap fee since I am able to use my Senior Pass or old people card as I refer to it.
It was now Thursday, the day we knew severe thunderstorms were scheduled for late in the day. I was more concerned about the probability of golf ball size hail so the plan was to try to out maneuver the storm. It seemed the only thing to do was head for the southeast corner of the state. With no real urgency we continued on back roads for the day held pleasant driving conditions. An interesting point along the way was at Greenville where the road highway narrowed and plunged down beneath a railroad overcrossing. Just as we passed through the intersection I saw a sign on the heavily scarred overpass CLEARANCE 10’ 10”. I quickly glanced at my figures taped to the window frame in the RV–we are 10’ 9”! I even more quickly pulled into a lot and consulted the iPad for an alternate way to cross the tracks. With the guidance from a homeless man we went up a few blocks and crossed the tracks avoiding what could have been an uncomfortable situation for the air conditioner up top.
The town of Dothan was fairly large and I figured an RV park would be our best place to weather out the storm. Also Dothan provided a couple of sites on my list. On our way to the County Fairgrounds campground I realized we were close to one of those sites–The World’s Smallest City Block, so I went to it first. I found it. A tiny thirty-eight by twenty-seven foot triangle shaped piece of dirt crammed with a stop sign, a yield sign a street sign, and a tombstone-like marker. I took my pictures then started seeing huge murals all around the downtown area. That was the other point of interest. I ended up doing a lot of walking for the murals just kept coming and coming much like those in Chillicothe, Missouri.
The fairground campground looked kind of iffy with just a few carney trailers parked there and thought I could do better. I went off searching for Shallow Creek RV Park. Finally after a lot of turns and eleven miles later I found it. Not seeing any signs directing us to this park was the first clue this may not pan out. Sure enough, it looked filled with permanent squatters. I went into the small self-registration office, picked up a form and drove around. The three empty spots had RESERVED signs posted. Now the pressure was on. With the help of the iPad map it was a Mad,Mad,Mad World dash through country roads not even on the GPS map trying to get back to Highway 231. One park was shown on it and after that we’d be facing another Walmart camp. As rain pelted down and the winds increased we came upon Center Stage which was a bingo casino−again no signs about an RV park. Pulling in though the direction signs did read RV PARK with arrows pointing the direction. Finally a campground came into view but it was deserted with weeds growing all about. I went back to the bingo center and asked about it. It seemed the whole operation was in the process of reopening under a new owner who took over and they weren’t ready yet for the RV Park but said it would be fine to stay in the parking lot and that’s what we did. The storm never amounted to much with a lightning show around nine P.M. being the most of it. We had dodged the worst of the storm, but poor Sinbad did not like thunder.
Florida was just a few miles to the south welcoming us with another one of those welcome centers that was just over the top. I mailed a couple postcards at the first town, Campbellton just because...we made it to Florida, a first! Right away Florida seemed more tropical and I began to make plans in my head about coming back to explore this state in the future. We entered into Georgia quite unexpectedly and I missed taking the Georgia state sign photo. Georgia like the rest of the southern states was beautiful. I even thought I saw my first swamp. We made good time traveling slow as we were and decided to do Andersonville this day even though we had lost another hour crossing over into the Eastern Time zone.
The Andersonville National Historic Site was more than I bargained for and then again not what I expected. The museum covered prisoners of war for all the wars Americans were involved in and that was more than I wanted to see. I went through the center fairly fast. Much too depressing and I may have established a record for the fastest pass through by any visitor. The site itself I expected to be more like how Andersonville Prison was at the time of the Civil War but I guess that was expecting too much. Today it is all a pleasant green grass field with only a small corner of the prison stockade recreated along with a few tents just to give the tourist an idea. But driving around and reading the interpretive signs was good enough for me. We went through the National Cemetery also and if the little cemetery in Enterprise, Alabama wasn’t overwhelming enough with the number of dead and their markers, this one certainly was so hundreds of times over. And these were just those who died in the camp. It was really awful to see and I was so bummed over it all I couldn’t bring myself to buy a book at the visitor center. I stood there thumbing through the books asking myself do I really want to read this? We left there for a short drive to White Water Campground which turned out to be city (or county) run and well, it served the purpose. At least it was much better than what we went through yesterday!
The following day we knocked off weird three sites in a short time. First was the Titan missile of the Confederate Air Force in Cordele, the real thing for an agency that does not exist. They sure could have used a Titan missile a hundred fifty years ago. Next a few miles down the road in Ashburn was the World’s Largest Peanut. Although it was large I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an even larger peanut sculpture somewhere else there in the peanut capitol. Then it was east to little Irwinville, the site of the capture of Confederate President Jefferson Davis by Union forces in 1865. They had a small museum and I gave them $3.50 for the one room tour which could all be seen from the counter where I paid my money. Having lost other hour due to time zone crossings the days seemed to zip by pretty fast. We stopped in Douglas where I consulted the iPad as to what was east for camping prospects. Not much showed up so I settled for General John Coffee State Park seven miles distant. It was a nice park except for the people and their damn barking dogs. The afternoon was spent reorganizing, purging yet more stuff I bring and never use and another seat repair for the driver’s seat. In the end it was nice to stop a bit sooner than my usual three P.M. tea time stops. I also did some calculations and we had traveled thirty two hundred fifty-five miles and had only a hundred to go before we reached the Atlantic Coast. We were good for another four thousand miles before I hit the oil change mark which was something always nagging on my mind. I needed to be not so concerned about that. It isn’t like the motor will self-destruct after the ten thousand mile mark from the previous oil change.
The next morning we got an early start and headed for the coast. I saw a road on the map that went straight out and ended at the shore and that is what I headed for. Well this took us onto Jekyll Island, an unexpected delight. We felt like being on a tropical isle with the warm weather, overcast skies and Spanish moss dripping from trees. The Atlantic Ocean was brown which surprised me and the lady in the gift shop said, that is the way it is. I took photos, collected a tub of souvenir sand and then walked around the historic section of the island. I could see the well-to-do coming here to vacation in years past with the fancy hotels and all. We crossed back over onto the mainland and drove a few miles to a regional park for camp. The campground made one feel as if they were camping in a tropical jungle. It rained lightly all afternoon and evening but the air was warm and pleasant−a wonderful day.
The following day wound up to be longer than I had planned traveling two hundred twenty-one miles. We did a stop for America’s Smallest Church in South Newport, and Georgia’s Oldest Church in Rincon. I was trying to get to Harlem but didn’t realize how far away it was and called it a day seventeen miles short of my goal camping at Wrens, Georgia offering the only place to stay at, Boss’s RV Park. I knew this would be for the best as I’d be fresh to enjoy the next day’s attraction fully. With a name like Boss’s I wasn’t too sure about what kind of place I was getting ourselves into, but it turned out to be fine with a really nice old couple running the place.
Not wanting to make the same mistake as the day before, I vowed to keep the day to fewer miles. It was a short drive up to Harlem, the birth place of Oliver Hardy. They had a small Laurel & Hardy Museum filled mostly of items that were made for sale at one time in stores, collectables and the like. There were a few photos but more artist renditions of the pair than actual photos. None of his personal effects did I see. The back the room was set up to show movies the two comedians made. While there, another guy came in. Turned out he was from Berkeley, CA. (oh Martha) and looked a lot like Albert Einstein. He was here to visit the nearby nuclear facility for one of their rare tours on bomb making. The fellow running the museum, Gary, was a talker, a nice guy but talking up himself more than anything else. One thing led to another and Gary eventually talked Einstein into coming over to his house to look at a rock he brought down from Minnesota. Gary thought it may be a meteorite. I tagged along knowing this wouldn’t last long because Albert had to get to the bomb making plant. Well I was glad I went for Gary was a master wood craftsman and had reproduced life-sized old cars among other things entirely from wood. It was more than impressive the artistic skill and talent this man had. Back at the museum I gave him my card with the Roadside America.com site on the back as Gary needed to promote himself and his craftsmanship.
From Harlem we crossed over into South Carolina via the J. Strom Thurmond Dam. I celebrated being in a new state by stopping for a roadside lunch on South Carolina soil then took the Savannah River National Scenic Highway north. Once I had enough scenery, I stopped to start looking for a route to our next destination and the places we could stay along the way. There weren’t any. So I made a wise move (a rare thing for me) and drove a few miles further north to Calhoun Falls State Recreation Area where the ranger gave us the “best site” in the park, #64. I thought so too.
I was reluctant to leave our perfect campsite in the morning but there was nothing else to do plus I get a serious case of zugunruhe (German term for a restless urge to move) come every new day. I only had one site to see this day. Well there really were three. Little Leila’s Monument in Piedmont was easy to find. Nothing more than a forgotten monument on a neighborhood street corner to a little girl who died in 1859 at the age of three years. How she died remains a mystery. It could have been a simple thing as falling from a horse. No one knows. We crossed the state line into North Carolina and missed it altogether. I stopped at their welcome center (another outstanding one), made a deposit and got the e-mail working once again after some glitch in the morning. I blew off the next stop as it was for Nina Simone, a singer who meant nothing to me. Hendersonville where Nina’s monument stood was in a monumental traffic jam situation so I bailed out of there right away. I found some cheap fuel then drove to Lake Powhantan National Forest Park amid some heavy sprinkles and thunder. Poor Sinbad, he hates thunder even more now. It was a very nice camp site in the forest and I took a shower right away as the station was right next to our spot. I caught up my notes and photos and then took a short hike to the lake. It was nice to get out for a stroll and seeing large water turtles sunning themselves which was a highlight for me.
There was no hurry the next day as the attractions were close by so I cleaned house before taking off. The intent was to drive the final portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway and straight away headed the wrong direction...north. My confusion lay in I knew the road went north towards Tennessee but the signs were referring to north as to where the parkway begins up in the Appalachians somewhere. Well we were jumping on the Parkway somewhere midstream. It took miles before I could get turned around as there were no off ramps. Once going the right direction the scenery was not all that spectacular. For the most part the trees looked dead. They could be another victim of the draught as I witnessed in Oklahoma. Or maybe insect devastation. Then as we climbed on and on, up and up we were soon in the clouds and for the better part of the drive that was all I could see...dense fog.
Back on relative flatland it was off to Waynesville to see where the final shot of the Civil War took place which now is a rural neighborhood with