Archive for the ‘The Great Outdoors’ Category

The Social Trail

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

Damascus, Virginia is home to an annual festival know as Trail Days.  It celebrates the quest of hikers – both past and present – that attempt to hike from Georgia to Maine on the Appalachian Trail. In a few short days, the little town will be mobbed by lanky, smelly hikers, young and old, male and female, all with the strange compulsion to hike 2000 miles through the Appalachian Mountains. Strung out for miles in either direction, hikers try to hitch rides, catch a shuttle, or plan any way they can to get to Trail Days.  

It is such a beguiling accomplishment that past thru-hikers will travel back each year to the town of Damascus and join in the celebration.  On the last day of the festival, all hikers take part in a parade, each representing the class of the year they thru-hiked. They are like a family all reuniting in the experience.  

Backpacker Magazine will have people there doing presentations. All the gear companies will have representatives and demonstrations. The latest and greatest ideas in the backpacking world will be discussed, debated, and shared by experts and beginners alike. There will be forums, slide shows, and talks by famous thru-hikers. I think I may hang around and see what it’s all about. 

I’ve been staying in a campground in Jefferson National Forest. It’s more expensive than I like
but there are showers and trails nearby. I’ve been tossing around logistics for a hike in the area and it looks like I may have one figured out. The AT runs about twenty miles through the forest, traversing the ridges and peaks of the mountains, always pushing continually north. Down in the valley, paralleling the trail, is a bike path, converted from the bed of the abandoned Virginia Creeper Railroad.  I plan to backpack up the trail for a couple of days and pick up my bike for the return ride down the bike path. 

I postponed the hike for two days because of a cold snap. The temperature may get down below freezing tonight. I could swear I saw some sleet a little while ago. I’m the only one in the campground and I’ve availed myself to many hot showers to offset the high price of my site. I think I may rationalize that many showers will keep me cleaner longer when I can’t find one.  A hot shower seemed like a good idea to warm up before bed tonight, but I had a few problems. 

The windows were still open at the shower building I usually go to so I decided to walk to another restroom on the other side of the loop. When I got there, I closed the windows, stripped down and started washing in the hot water. Almost immediately – within seconds – the water turned ice cold, and I jumped from the stall. Wrapping a towel around me and carrying my clothes, I scurried to the other building  in freezing air and darkening gloom. When I got there I noticed the women’s side had windows that were shut. Hey… I’m the only one here… who cares if I use the girls side… it’s not like anybody’s going to catch me or anything. Feeling a little naughty, I stripped in the women’s stall and hit the button for the shower.  

The water for the women’s  shower had been turned off.  Defeated, I returned to the drafty, men’s shower to finally finish what had turned out to be an ordeal. 

Padre Island Nat’l Seashore

Sunday, April 10th, 2011

For five days now, I’ve been at a campground on Padre Island Nat’l Seashore near Corpus Christi, TX.  It’s a nice little campground right on the beach, cool in daytime because of the ocean breeze and mild at night for the same reason. I have taken many walks along the shore. 

I can’t say this is the nicest beach – or even close to the nicest beach – I’ve been on. The  Gulf Stream picks up trash from all over the world and deposits it in the Gulf on Mexico, littering the beaches with the worst dregs of urban waste. They try to clean it up but it’s a daunting task. 

When I arrived in Corpus Christi, I learned that the Blue Angels were in town for a weekend air-show at the Naval Air Station. Those of you that know me, know that I will go quite far out of my way to experience the Thunderbirds or the Blue Angels demonstration teams, and that is why I’ve been in Texas for so long. I spent most of today browsing military aircraft on display, watching old warplanes and supersonic jets demonstrate their performance, and jostling crowds for a spot in the front of the flight line. 

But disappointingly, the clouds rolled in from the ocean, closing down the required minimum ceiling for safety, causing a last minute cancelation of the Navy’s flight demonstration. If the weather looks better tomorrow, I may try and catch the show then. 

I don’t think I blogged about stopping in San Antonio at the Alamo. I stopped in San Antonio at the Alamo. Like so many historical places around the country, no one knew that these places would be so cherished by later generations to come, and so, ages ago, communities and businesses tore most of the old structures down. They mostly wanted to forget the tragedy on those sites. Today, there is little left except rebuilt walls and rooms with artifacts on display. The grounds are dotted with plaques memorializing the brave men that gave their lives for Texas freedom, wall-size signs tell the history, speakers add a personal tale of the story, and a movie gives you a feel for what it may have looked like during the battle. It was all quite interesting and I didn’t even mind the gymnasium-size gift shop – there was no admission fee. 

Breakdown!

Monday, March 28th, 2011

There are few things quite so unsettling as to be driving along in the middle of nowhere and realize something is wrong with your vehicle. Why is it that vehicles break down on lonely stretches of highway, far from towns and civilization, never a single bar of cell service, and on Saturday night?  If ever there was a reason not to travel on a weekend, that would be enough. 

I decided to spend the first night of my trip in Chiricahua National Monument. It’s a nice, easy days drive to the park and the campground there is clean, quiet, uncrowded, and cheap. I also love the hiking trails that wind through the rock formations and along cliffs that once belonged to Cochise and his band of Apaches  I was looking forward to a couple of days of fun filled hiking and camping. 

But first I had to get there. On the map it looked like the shortest way was along a dirt road from Bowie, over Apache Pass, and then on to meet up with the highway out of Wilcox. I had driven the road before and knew what to expect, but it’s always a shock to actually transition from asphalt to dirt.  

A fine dust filled my van from the cloud kicked up by my tires. The leaky weather stripping and loose doors gave up the fight to keep it out and I finally opened the windows in an attempt to set up a crosswind evacuation battle, only to lose at that too. I tried driving slower but the washboard, rutted road set up a terrible vibration at anything less than dust cloud speed. 

As I neared Fort Bowie, I couldn’t resist the temptation to stop and walk back to the ruins one more time. I parked and made the 1 1/2 mile walk to the ruins in record time. I was interested to see if they had the crossed Cavalry swords on display that Richard found many years ago and returned for everyone to enjoy.  They did have the uniform decoration but there was no way to tell if it was the one he found. The Ranger on duty told me some of the artifacts are stored in Tucson. She said a lot of people now are returning items they or some relative found years ago. She remarked that it is a wonderful gesture. 

I returned to my van and drove the remaining dirt road to the highway between Wilcox and Chiricahua.  When I pushed on the brake pedal at the stop sign, my foot went clear to the floor.  I knew instantly that the constant vibration on my old rusty Ford had destroyed a brake line, weakened  by years of salt-saturated New York winters.  

Vehicles now have a dual system for brakes. If a line has a catastrophic leak, you still have some braking on the other cylinders. So at least I had a little bit of peddle. I pulled of the road and crawled under the van for a quick inspection – undoubtedly suspicious to the Border Patrol officer parked down the road – to asses the damage. The break in the line was in the worst place – behind the gas tank. Brake fluid ran down the frame and dripped onto the ground as I climbed in and headed for Wilcox. 

I thought I was destined to stay in Wilcox until Monday, but as I enquired at a auto parts store for repair service, I was directed to a couple of shops the clerk thought could help me. The first one said he was leaving and two more were closed already, but I finally found a repair shop just off of I10 that was open all day Sunday and even offered me a place to park and sleep out front. 

The next morning I hung around the shop and talked with the mechanics, walked to McDonalds for breakfast, and passed the time, as they fit me in sporadicly between other repair jobs. They ended up dropping the fuel tank to access the line, and then the straps holding the fuel tank broke when they were removed, requiring an improvised welded fix. I know that Eastern vehicles are hard to work on after the rust has attacked them for years. I’ve twisted off several bolts in my time. 

All said, it took until noon and $350 for a $20 line, but at least I’m going again. Tonight I’m at Chiricahua and will probably stay for a couple of days. I want to make sure the fix holds and I don’t have any other related problems before I head out. 

I Don’t Get It!

Monday, February 7th, 2011

Every once in a while, someone will ask me about the title of my blog. I get that same look you get when a dog tips his head, and they ask, “What does it mean ‘Searching for Bronson’?” I’ve been thinking of changing the title again just to keep everyone guessing, but before I do, I thought I’d explain why I chose it.

In the late 60’s, there was a TV show called, “Then Came Bronson.” It starred Michael Parks as Jim Bronson, a loner that rides a motorcycle across the country trying to renew his soul. The show opens with tragedy as he loses a friend to suicide. Faced with the dilemma of continuing on in his executive lifestyle, living the corporate dream of climbing the ladder to success, and kissing a few behinds to get there, he decides to drop out and become a vagabond of sorts. His travels take him to different areas of the west where he imparts his values and morals to a lot of mixed up people. Most of the time – it seemed to me – it involved a pretty girl in some way or another.

I’m not sure if he ever found the meaning of life in all of his travels (the show only lasted two seasons), but I would have liked to ask him. Back east, I used to run with deer in the meadows at night, and it was probably just as enlightening as searching for Bronson. Who knew?

Big Sur and Hearst Castle

Saturday, February 5th, 2011

On Wednesday, Richard, Dianna, and I loaded my van with the bed for Carrie, pictures for Nancy (Dianna’s cousins), and keepsakes to store in there truck, and drove to Bakersfield.  The weather in Bakersfield was a lot colder than what I’ve been used to the last couple of weeks. It went down below freezing in the night. 

The next day we drove to Carrie’s home in Turlock. Dianna and Carrie went for a walk while Richard and I went to meet Carrie’s brother, Mike. I enjoyed talking to Mike and learning about nut farming. He’s a pretty cool guy. 

Carrie is a sweetheart. She and Dianna made a special dinner while Dick and I built a fire. There was wonderful conversation later that night as we sat around the fire, periodically snacking on maple sugar and bourbon balls. I’m so glad that I got to meet her. Bless her heart for letting me stay. 

The next morning, Dianna and Carrie went to breakfast with her dad. At 10:00 Carrie left for work and we said goodbye. Richard and I spent a couple of hours at the Castle Air Museum, while Dianna, feeling a little under the weather, sat in the car and read. We ate lunch at McDonalds, and said goodbye as they drove back home and I went towards the coast. 
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It was hard to say goodbye. I’ve had such a wonderful time reconnecting with my brother. He is right that it seems like we’ve never been apart.  After a teary goodbye, I drove until I was just outside Salinas, CA, where I spent the night. The next morning I discovered that Monterey has a wonderful bile trail all the way around the bay, winding through historical places like Cannery Row and Fisherman’s Wharf. I rode for several miles taking in the sights until half the day was gone. 

My afternoon was filled with truly spectacular scenery as I drove down Highway 1. I stopped many times along the road through Big Sur to marvel at the beauty of the ocean where it meets the land. I could watch for hours as the surf pounds into the rocky cliffs, sending plumes of water high into the air. 
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I spent the night at San Simeon State Park, and bright-n-early the next morning, drove to Hearst Castle. Imagine if you will a mansion built high on a mountain, and in every direction some 300,000 acres of prime real-estate,  overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and you will have some idea of the location of Hearst Castle. Now imagine that you can spend all the money you can dream of to build it, and you wouldn’t even be close to what’s there. Ornate fixtures, paintings, tapestries, and sculptures from all over the world. Gold inlay throughout, even at the bottom of the pool. It is no wonder all the movie stars of the 30’s-40’s-50’s, loved to go there. 
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William Randolph Hearst was a fascinating man. I liken his ambition to build this mansion to the Egyptian Pharaohs building pyramids. And even all his money didn’t guarantee happiness in love. For most of his later life he kept a mistress some 30 years younger in age (Wait a minute…). 

From Hearst Castle it was only a short drive to Arroyo Grande, to deliver the remaining treasures to Nancy. It was nice to meet Nancy and we had a nice visit before I left to continue my pilgrimage. Tomorrow I will find a place to walk in the ocean, just to make sure it is real; I need to touch it before I leave. 
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