Some thoughts on Central Appalachia

Sorry about being offline for a couple of days.  We had lots of rain and fog my last day outside of Asheville and while the computer connection said it was good, in fact, nothing wanted to work.  Then, yesterday, I stayed in a cabin in the woods that had no connectivity of any sort - no cell service, no TV, no Internet.  It was meditating in the woods, peaceful, quiet, and just a bit disconcerting.

For some time now I have been driving through central Appalachia - eastern Tennessee, western North Carolina and western Virginia.  As you know from my last entry, I find the terrain here magnificent.  I expected that.  What I also expected to find was all the stereotypes of  the residents of Appalachia - uneducated, violent, clannish people who love their moonshine and hate outsiders.  Now I know I didn't go looking, and I know that I have the money to choose nicer places, and so I know that this snapshot I have may not be the whole story.  But I am sure that what I experienced is at least part of the story and it may be the more accurate story these days.
The Appalachia in our minds' eyes may make for good novels and movies and even TV journalism, but it may also be myth and distortion.

Ponder Cove B&B from the driveway

Living room at Ponder Cove from upstairs

What I found at Ponder Cove and at Miracle Farms were residents who are just like me - people who care deeply about our environment, about real food, about the arts and excellence in crafts.  The owner of Ponder Cove grew up in Memphis and has lived all over the US.  She fell in love with Madison County and bought the house she has made into this inn.  She is a few years younger than I and has been doing this for about 10 years.   Her husband is a cabinet maker of the first order hand making the most beautiful chairs, tables and cabinets from exquisite pieces of local wood.  Martha, like me, finds herself a mostly vegetarian who wants to cook with locally sourced foods.  She tells me that Madison County is still in-bred in its politics and racist and distrustful, but she also says it is changing as the Asheville area is growing.  She has seen the changes over the last decade and, while she is impatient, she is also encouraged.  She debates selling the B&B and moving into Asheville or staying where she is and waiting for her neighbors to catch up.  I hope she stays.  Her home and her hospitality are four star.

Floyd, Va countryside

Two of the cabins of Miracle Farm

Stream at Miracle Farms

I drove north and east following the chain of mountains into Virginia (I did not drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway partly because I have driven that before and partly because it would have been terribly foggy on the ridge) and stopped in Floyd, Virginia at the Miracle Farm.  I had never heard of Floyd or Miracle Farm.  It was just along the route I wanted to drive and so my being there was serendipitous.  Floyd is a tiny Asheville.  It is a village of young people who want to live simply, "off the grid" to the extent it makes sense.  These are people - artists, musicians, and craftspeople - who have found each other and made a community.  And it seems to work.  Miracle Farm is a non-profit farm a little outside of town, dedicated to experimenting with living ecologically and they run an Eco-tourism inn which is really just a few cabins that are designed to leave as little impact on the environment as possible.  It is a B&B; and breakfast  is made from veggies picked that morning and eggs from their chickens and fruits from their orchard  and is delivered to your cabin at a pre-determined time.  The cabins are all along a creek with lots of hiking or biking trails and a stream and campfire site.  One of the owners is also a pilates instructor and massage therapist so one cabin is devoted to her studio.  I had an hour with her this morning where she helped me to stretch my lower back and hips and massaged me afterward so that I felt wonderful despite what is now nearly 7000 miles at the wheel.  My guess is that this young woman is in her 40's and that she truly enjoys her life.  My cabin was rustic to say the least - none of the luxuries of Ponder Cove - but it was quiet and peaceful, stocked with an interesting assortment of books,  and I slept well with cool fresh air wafting over me cuddled under 3 (yes 3!) quilts and blankets.

I left Floyd around noon and continued driving along the mountains north and east to Louden County in northern Virgina.  I am now in a home in another small Appalachian town.  The drive here, while still deep in the Appalachian mountains, was nothing like Tennessee or western NC.  Virginia may be for lovers, but only for the rich ones.  I actually don't know if that is true, but the land looks like it.  I I have learned that Louden county is both the fasted growing county and the richest per capita country in the US as of 2007)  It is magnificent.  It is aristocratic.  The roads are just as narrow and squiggly as in the other states, but the farms are groomed and populated with a few handsome horses grazing here and there.  Everything looks picture perfect.  The ponds are just the right size to fit in the field just so.  The size and shapes of the trees are perfectly proportioned to the size and shapes of the meadow.  There are no crops on these farms.  Just beautiful meadows marked off with handsome fences.  And stately homes - even the small ones are set back and stand proud.  The people are friendly, open, eager to be of help and to please.  Their homes are open.  Locks unnecessary.  This is a confident small town where the occasional teenage boy (there are only 17 of them)  might misbehave, but that's the worst the police need worry about.  Or so it feels at any rate.

I had a long chat with the owner of  this inn over breakfast this morning.  Turns out we are only 70 miles from DC and that she has been very busy this year with people who want some time away, but not very far or very expensive.  Lovettsville is only 1200 people total, but that's twice what it was just a few years ago.  She, too, has become environmentally aware and uses as much organic and local foods as possible.  Here she says that is pretty easy.  Many of the farms are now sustainably managed, organic, and owned not by large agribusiness entities, but by locals who serve their communities.  Lots of new restaurants that buy local only and there are vineyards and wineries that produce pesticide free wines.  I am beginning to think maybe, just maybe, this is not a fringe thing.  Maybe mainstream America actually cares.  Let's hope...

Something Special about Asheville

I love mountains.  I grew up by the ocean and have spent hours daydreaming by its edges, but the mountains take my breath away.

a poor picture of beautiful mountains

I have never lived in the mountains.  Someday, I hope I get the chance.  I don't think I would ever tire of them.  I love the Bitterroots in Wyoming and Montana, but the weather there is severe and I don't think I could manage it.  New Hampshire and Vt have mountains, but not as beautiful as the Rockies, and with harsh winters and no springtime.  I love the Santa Catalina and Rincon mountains surrounding Tucson, and I find the desert beautiful, but I think I need more green than southern Arizona can offer me.  The Rockies are awesome, and the idea of 350 days of sunshine each year make Colorado high on my personal preference list, but I am late to discover this state.  It is now crowded and expensive.  I did fall in love with Santa Fe this trip.  The beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains are just 16 miles from the heart of historic Santa Fe and each night we were there they managed to take my breath away.   The Blue Ridge Mountains, however, may have it all, and Asheville, in the heart of these mountains is funky, fun, attractive and affordable.

Asheville was a crossroads of Indian trails until the railroad came through in the late 1880's.  Hot springs brought health-seeking tourists from the north and settlers built resorts and destination spas.  The town still caters to people seeking relaxation and rejuvenation with something - lots of somethings - for anyone in need of some magic. 

So  Asheville boomed during the turn of the century and the city developed with beaux arts and art deco architecture.  Ironically, during the bust years, and the years of All America cities when huge areas of cities were bulldozed into oblivion, Asheville was too poor for any of this and off the radar.  Today those buildings have been restored and populated with unique boutiques and small restaurants.  The people who live here are environmentally conscious, care about quality in food, in goods, in service.  The land supports farms and ranches and local produce and meats are important and available in "tailgate" markets and on restaurant menus.  They also love art - performance art, visual art, and music.  The downtown has lots and lots of public sculpture (something I love) museums, galleries and studios.  Asheville has a symphony orchestra, a lyric opera and one of the best rock venues in the country (seriously - that's from Rolling Stone magazine!)

Madison County lushness

So, there's culture and surprising sophistication in this mountain town.  There's also its awe-inspiring natural setting. Its mountains are covered in thick forests and full of color; The vistas take your breath away.  There's even skiing.  The highest mountain east of the Mississippi is here. There is hiking for all levels (think Appalachian trail).  There is mountain biking. The streams, lakes and rivers provide white water rafting, swimming, fishing, etc. etc. So, for anyone seeking outdoor adventure or a simple picnic, there is a lot to choose from.

And - the weather is wonderful.  There are 4 distinct seasons here, but rarely more than 15 inches of snow in the winter and rarely very hot in the summer.  There is little humidity - more than in Arizona, but far less than the eastern coast.  The fall colors are glorious like New England.  There is a real spring season with flowers and warmth.

So, there are lots and lots of things that attract me to this part of the world.  But all that is rational, and in fact, I don't think my love of this area is rational.  I just feel good here.  It somehow fits me, I think.  I don't really know that, of course.  I've never spent more than a couple of days at a time here.  So I have to do that someday - come and stay for a while.

Of Traces and Trails

I am finally in Asheville - actually Madison County, NC about 30 minutes from Asheville.  This is a bit of heaven, but I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.  Today I thought I'd reflect on my drive East from Santa Fe to here.  I drove along two historical trails, originally buffalo migration routes that Native Americans turned into trails and that European migrants turned into roads.  They are the Santa Fe Trail from Santa Fe to western Missouri and the Osage Trace along the Ozark mountains

I had no idea our national park service maintains nearly 20 routes - called trails or traces - that have historical significance.  But if you are ever planning a roadtrip I suggest you investigate these routes.  The Santa Fe National Historic Trail dates back to the early 1800's. Over 900 miles long, it was THE route the military used in the Mexican-American war and, once the southwest territories were opened up for development, it became the primary route people travelled when going from Missouri (the embarkation point for all Western travel) to Santa Fe via stagecoach or horseback, whether for settling, for searching for Gold in California, for trading, or just for adventure.  The trail really stopped being used by the end of the century when the railroad became the easier way to make the journey, and of course nowadays most people in cars take the interstate highways.  That means there is little traffic today on this historical, and well maintained byway.  Today, you'd never know this was once THE route for international commerce and communications teaming with busy adventurous people seeking their fame and fortune and prosperous towns protected by military posts growing all along its length.  Today, the route is used for farm vehicles, locals and the occasional tourist like me as it shows off the land and the small towns that hark back to life two centuries ago.

I actually picked up the trail in Santa Fe and followed it to Kenton and Black Mesa Park.  From there I followed it into Kansas and along southern Missouri. 

There was a lot about Kansas I hadn't known.  For instance, it is NOT the flattest state in the country.  I don't know what is - perhaps South Dakota - but where I entered the State, in the southwestern most corner which is up around 4000', and for most of my 200 or so mile-long descent into the southeastern most corner, it is undulating hills with beautiful grassy meadows and forests.  Kansas looks prosperous.  It is lush.  Despite the fact that most of the landscape I saw is empty of people and signs of commerce, and most of the towns I passed through were very, very small, some even ghost towns, there is a sense of modernity.  The gas station was new and spiffy; no general store attached, in fact no people necessary at all, thank you, just your credit card in the gas dispenser.  In juxtaposition to the occasional oil rig sawing lazily, there are huge wind farms capturing the strong breezes.  And a sign before a rest stop doesn't just announce food or restroom facilities, it announces wireless Internet access availability.

Tramp and I stopped at Fall River for a picnic and rest.  This is a 1000 acre park with a 2500 acre reservoir adjacent to 8000 acres of public wildlife reserve.  It was a glorious day.  I sat at a picnic table setting up lunch and Tramp ran down the hillside into the water and had a 5 or 10 minute swim.  Afterward we sat under a tree reading, dreaming, and drying off.  The park could not have been better maintained.  It had the electricity and plumbing for people in driving in with campers.  It had showers and large, clean toilet facilities.  There was a bright and well equipped playground for kids.

The one difficulty in Kansas, for a newly mostly vegetarian me, was food.  Kansas means steak.  The restaurants may have large menus with lots of options, but they all involve steak in one form or another.  The history of Kansas is tied to buffalo and then to cattle and it's people know what they like and it is meat.  Even the salads come decked out with meat.  I did get a good baked potato, some really good fried (yes, fried) green beans, and some awful cooked spinach, but if you find yourself going to Kansas and don't eat meat, be sure to bring your own food along.  Otherwise, you may find yourself very hungry.

In contrast to Kansas is Missouri, the end (or beginning) of the Santa Fe trail.  Now Missouri is really middle America.  It is the end of the East and entry to the West.  It's culture is a mix of mid-west and south,  Unlike Kansas, it is densely populated.  And these people mirror nearly perfectly the demographic, economic, and political mix of the rest of the US.  And to me, this was worrisome for as I drove across the state what I saw was decline and poverty.

Mark Twain wilderness

Now, in fairness, I drove along the southern boarder of the state close to Arkansas.  This is Ozark mountain territory which is densely forested hard wood trees.  I left the Santa Fe trail and picked up the Osage Trace, an Indian route. The cities of Missouri may give a visitor a different sense of the state, I don't know.  But if you've seen the movie Winter's Bone, you've seen the land and the people I saw.  Tramp and I pulled off the road into the Mark Twain wilderness area and drove several miles along dirt roads.  The homes are scary.  They are shacks that tilt and look like they will collapse in a mild wind.  Nothing is maintained.  The cars are old and rusted.  The people are rail thin with long hair and full beards.  They may be educated, I don't know.  They certainly were friendly and kind to me offering advice about picnic spots and picture outlooks.  And I don't know if this is where the movie was filmed or not, but this could definitely be an economy based on methamphetamine labs because it looks like there would be little else that could possible sustain it.  As beautiful as the mountains are, I was happy to get into Tennessee.

I did drive through 2 cities unexpectedly.  Because of some highway construction, I was rerouted through Wichita; and because of my father-in-law's death, I drove into Nashville.  This is not a trip about cities, but I must say I was struck by how livable and likable both these cities seemed.  Wichita, like the rest of the state, seemed to be thriving.  It has a remarkable amount of public art out along its main streets.  The streets were bustling; I did not see closed shops or for lease signs.  The architecture is old west and appropriate, tho there were several tall modern buildings.  It looked like it would be comfortable for living, for working, for having fun.

As for Nashville, this trip I really only got to know it through a handful of its people. (I have spent time in Nashville before.  My step-daughter's best friend lived there for a while and we visited her and her husband there.)  Graciousness is the word that describes what I experienced both then and in this brief interlude.   The people at Dogtopia, at the airport, the cabbies, the waiters all could not have been nicer, more thoughtful, more kind.  Even the design of the roadways and the buildings' architecture seem to be done with consideration of others.  Lovely homes grace the city as you drive in and out.  I don't know much about Tennessee but I get the sense that Nashville is to the rest of the state as Austin is to Texas - a special enclave with its own culture and values.  I certainly have nothing but praise for it and overwhelming good feelings.

At any rate,  I am now very happy to be in western North Carolina.  More about Ponder Cove and Asheville tomorrow.

aarrRRGGHHHHH!!!!!!!

It is Tuesday, Sept 7th.  Right now I should be in the car with Tramp after a tearful reunion of hugs and licks and squeals of delight.  I should be on my way to Cookeville, TN, a waystation on my route to Asheville.  I should be sharing my feelings with Tramp about this past weekend and feeling her empathic support.  I should be feeling a sense of moving forward.

I should be.

Instead I am in an ugly Marriott hotel (I think that is a redundancy) at the Houston airport.  A tropical storm sent rain and heavy wind through this city this morning.  The airport was closed when my flight was a couple of hundred miles away.  We flew in place for an hour.  By the time we landed and I got to my connection into Nashville, the plane had gone without me.  The agent could find NO SEATS on any flight on any airline for the rest of the day  today.  My only option was an early morning Continental flight tomorrow to Dallas, a change to American there and then, with any luck at all, I'll arrive in Nashville tomorrow afternoon.

I called dogtopia and let them know I won't be there today.  I changed my hotel reservation in Cookeville.  I called the people in Asheville to see if they would still have any availability for me for the weekend.  I wrote my friends in Lewisburg and Guilford about coming a day later than planned.  So many disruptions in other's lives all because of bad weather in Houston.   And all because I chose to sleep half and hour later and take a Continental flight through Houston instead of a Frontier flight through Denver.  Here's where a professional would have helped.  Travelling Rose would never have let me make that choice.  She would have checked weather and known it was a risky route.  But me?  I just thought about an extra 30 minutes of sleep.  Well I've learned a lesson there.  I've also learned that, when on the first leg of a connection, a bad seat toward the front of a plane is better than a good seat at the back.  I don't know if I might have made my connection if I had been one of the first people off the plane, but I do know it took a long, long time before I got off this flight because I was in the very back (where I hoped the middle seat would stay empty - wrong again!)  Another lesson worth remembering.

One good thing came out of this disappointment.  As I dropped off my rental car at 6:30am, I discovered a box of photos in the trunk that I had totally forgotten about.  Ed had plucked these photos from his grandfather's apartment and asked me to take them home and have them digitized.  Sterling and I totally forgot they were in the car trunk when we returned to his Dad's home and arranged for other boxes to be shipped back to us.  I should have consolidated my box with Ed's box in the trunk.  But I forgot about it.  And I didn't think about it again until the rental car agent discovered it  this morning.  Luckily we were able to find a large shopping bag and we put the box in it and I was able to carry it on the plane with me.  That meant that this afternoon, this rainy awful afternoon in this ugly Marriott hotel room, I was able to sit with this box of photos.  Chip as a boy.  His kids as infants.  His Mom and Dad, young and healthy and in their prime.  Sterling as an infant, as a long haired radical, as a Republican!  I spent hours with these photos some of which I had seen before; many of which were brand new to me.  These photos kept me company.  It's not such a bad thing to do on a rainy day, on any rainy day, nevermind one when your stranded in Houston.

A sorrowful interlude

I am currently in Tucson staying at the beautiful Arizona Inn.  I arrived on Saturday and will be catching an early airplane to Nashville tomorrow, Tuesday.  This was an unexpected and unhappy few days.

The day before I left Santa Fe, Sterling and I called his Dad to say hello.  While I was speaking to him he began coughing and it didn't sound good to me.  When I asked him about it, he put me off. It is nothing...
I left Santa fe on Tuesday driving due east toward Asheville;  Sterling and the others left Wednesday, flying to NYC.  Late Wednesday night I got a call from Sterling that his Dad had been admitted to a hospital here in Tucson with probable pneumonia.  He was thinking about repacking and flying out here the next day.

Co-incidentally, my step-son Ed had planned on driving out to Tucson to visit with his grandfather for a few days before meeting up with Willow and spending the long holiday weekend in Sedona.  Sterling was able to reach Ed to tell him about his grandfather's hospitalization.  Ed was able to go to the hospital early Thursday morning and his report to us was encouraging.  The new diagnosis was bronchitis.  Gramps was getting treated with antibiotics.  He seemed to be doing well.  We all felt relief at the encouraging news, but Sterling decided to come out anyway.  At 97, any hospitalization is serious and dangerous.

I called my father-in-law in his hospital room while Ed was there.  My father-in-law seemed confused and incoherent to me.  Ed tried to reassure me, but I didn't like what I heard.

Sterling landed in Tucson late Thursday and checked into the Arizona Inn. Ed joined him there.  On Friday they went back to the hospital.  My father-in-law was worse. He developed a nosocomial infection.  The docs considered moving him to the ICU.  I needed to get to Tucson.

I was checked into a motel in Sikeston, Mo.  Tucson was too far to drive; I couldn't fly with Tramp. Even if I had been willing to check her as baggage on a flight, neither Phoenix nor Tucson allow pets on their tarmac in the summer. It is just too hot and too dangerous. So bringing her on an airplane was not a possibility. There were two daycare and boarding kennels in Nashville that looked OK, but both were already closed for the night.  I could drive to Nashville in about 3.5 hours and catch a flight to Tucson and be there by 7PM Sat night. I decided to book the flight and call the dog kennels in the morning as I was driving and hope for the best.

Friday night Ted and Sterling went to the airport to pick up Willow.  They got a call.  Gramps was worse.  They needed to get to the hospital.  Sterling called me.  As we were talking another call came in from the hospital.  My father-in-law had died.

I did sleep that night.  I was on the road to nashville by 6.  At 9, when the first kennel was open for business, I called.  They were sorry but they were overbooked already and couldn't take another dog - particularly one they did not know.  They recommended I call the other place.  That kennel, Dogtopia, didn't open until 10AM.  I continued to drive pulling over again at 10.  No, they were sorry but they were overbooked as well.  I broke down.  I begged.  The sweet girl told me to wait and put the owner on the phone.  I explained, in my breaking voice, that it was an emergency; that Tramp was an easy dog; that I had a vet's report with all her shots and general health with me since we had been travelling; that I had no options; etc. etc.  She told me to come ahead and that she would evaluate Tramp when we got there.  I was there by 10:30AM.

They looked at me; they looked at Tramp and it was obvious they would help us.  Not only did they help me by taking Tramp, they allowed me to leave my car in their lot; they called a cab for me to the airport and they printed out my boarding passes.   The owner gave me her personal cell phone number and told me to call any time.  They were kind and thoughtful and tried to cheer me up.  Tramp went reluctantly into the small dog playroom and there was a webcam so I could watch her acclimate to her new best friends.

Arizona Inn pool at dusk

Ed, Willow and Sterling met me at the Tucson airport at 6:35PM. We went back to the Arizona Inn and I checked in.  Then we went to dinner.  The three of them had been at Gramps's apartment for a few hours earlier in the day sorting through his possessions.  It is a very difficult thing to do and Sterling told me that really only Willow had been at all productive.  It was a holiday weekend.  It was impossible to reach the people (lawyer, accountant) or institutions (bank, funeral home) that needed to be contacted.

On Sunday afternoon Sterling and I said goodbye to Ed and Willow. They of course, never made it to Sedona. They had to begin the long drive back to LA so that they could be at work on Tuesday.    Sterling and I went back to his Dad's apartment and finished going through his things.  We each had a box of things that would be sent back to our respective apartments.  We had a bag for things to be trashed.  The remainder would either go to charity or be brought over to the resale store at the continuing care facility for others who may need something to purchase.  My box was filled with pictures and memorabilia of Gramps's life.  I am going to have these things scanned and digitized for everyone.  Sterling took the important papers and some knick-knacks that will remind him of his Dad and his life as a boy.

We came back and went over to the Hacienda del Sol, another important hotel in the family history of coming to Tucson, for dinner out in their patio.  Neither of us had much of an appetite.

This morning we were at the funeral home by 7:00am to make all final arrangements.  Gramps will be cremated.  His ashes will go into the Columbarium next to his wife's ashes.  They will remain together for eternity in the town where they came 30 years ago.
Later that morning, I took Sterling to the airport.  He should be back in NYC right about now.  My flight leaves at 7:30 tomorrow morning.  I will be at Dogtopia by 3 if all goes well and Tramp and I should be back on our way to Asheville shortly  afterward.

My thoughts about all of this?  In some ways it may be too soon yet for me to answer that.  But here's what I do know.  My father-in-law was a remarkable man who opened his arms to me the day he met me and was as loving and generous and warm and welcoming as any human being can be to another.  I was immediately family.  And he continued to treat me as family even after his son, my husband, died.  He didn't want me to drift away.  It was an idea that never ever even occured to me.

My father-in-law was also an inspiration and role model for me.  He was self-aware, pragmatic, organized, and considerate.  He accepted life with grace. He knew when it was time to retire; when it was time to move; when it was time to hand off the car keys. When his wife of over 60 years died,  he found a wonderful new companion and developed an important and loving relationship.  As her health declined, as his declined, he accepted each new phase of life with confidence and calm.  He was always prepared.  He had all his affairs in order.  He left excellent instructions.  He didn't want anyone else to have to struggle because he hadn't done his work thoroughly and properly.  I can only hope that I can face and accept my future, whatever it is, with the grace, the self-awareness and the consideration of others that he showed.  He was, in every way, an inspiration.

So, for me there is this personal loss.  A fine man who loved me is no longer a part of my life.  But his death means something else to me as well.  In 1995 I started coming to Tucson with Chip.   Chip's Mom was not well and we came several times when she was hospitalized.  When she died we were here.  And then we started coming every year at Christmas  - the kids, Sterling, Gramps, then  Gramps and Posy, Chip and me.  Later the tradition changed to coming for Thanksgiving instead of Christmas, and, after Chip's death, I would try to come out at least one other time each year.  While Chip was alive we always stayed at the Arizona Inn.  After he died, and when Sterling adopted Mae and Will, the Hacienda del Sol became our Tucson home.  As a family we had so many good times, funny and peculiar times, so many memories made here.  Now that tradition has ended.  For me, it is another part of my life with Chip that has ended.  And I am mourning this loss of tradition just as I am mourning the loss of a dear person.  However as a family we rebuild our holiday celebration, it will be something that Chip was never a part of.  It will be new.  I'm sure it will be fine, but it will be built or put together without the benefit of Chip's perspective.  It will have no past.  I liked the old.  I liked carrying on something Chip began.  It kept him with me. Now I've lost him again.  And my soul aches.

It is unlikely we will come back to Tucson as a family.  For me, that is a terrible loss.  After leaving Sterling at the airport, I drove around Tucson saying goodbye.  I took a very long, hot bath.  I cry a bit as I write all this.  I am glad, I think, that I will have some time back on the road, alone with Tramp, to process all this, to think, to remember.  Quiet will be good.

A rant on technology

This will not be my typical calm exposition.  I need to vent. I need to rave.  Skip this unless you are willing to listen to me be a bit nuts.  We have too much technology.  It rules us; it sets expectations; it makes us do things we don't need or want to do and then, I swear, it laughs at us as it dashes anticipations and hopes.  We make technology to do things it need not do, become dependent on it for doing it, lose our abilities to do for ourselves, and then feel inadequate when it fails us and it always does when we need it.  Grrrrrrrr


I am used to my GPS failing me.  I know it is limited.  I am amazed it can do as much as it can and I am at peace with its limitations here in the country where there are few roads and fewer people.  And while I am dependent on my GPS to be my copilot on these trips, I don't expect it to be better than a human and I have multiple backups.  So, I use it, I am amazed by it, I allow it to be wrong when it is without getting angry.  OK.

Life is about setting expectations.  I know what to expect with my GPS.  But...car engines, I know nothing about car engines.  And I am on a road trip and need my car to work.  I need to take care of it so it provides for me.  I bought a Lexus and subscribe to "Ensure" so that I would have ZERO problems on the road.  I expect ZERO problems - and if I have a problem I expect help from the sky.

But, as I turned on my car in Black Mesa, after the innkeeper kindly funneled 2.5 gallons of gas in my tank and I was feeling confident and reassured that all was well, a warning came onto my car dash.  This was NOT a warning light flashing danger.  This was an imperative: "Oil maintenance necessary".  And to reinforce this command, my GPS screen showed me the Lexus Dealership contact information in watertown and said, contact LEXUS IMMEDIATELY.

Everything in my rational mind said this was NOTHING.  I had had my car checked before leaving Boston.  It was at 7000 miles.  My next routine checkup was to be at 12000 miles.  I had driven 5000 on this trip by this point.  Bingo.  Time for the next routine checkup.  That's all the car was telling me.  Right? Right? But the message wasn't, "time for a routine check-up.  Call your dealership".  No, it was OIL MAINTENANCE NECESSARY.  It didn't say, NOW, but I could hear it.  NOW.  NOW.  OR ELSE!  But I was in Black Mesa hundreds of miles from the closest Lexus dealership and what if this was not a suggestion to get a routine checkup but what if it was really a command - if you don't get more oil in your engine it will SEIZE up on you in the middle of goddamn nowhere where it is 100 degrees and you are alone.  ALONE.

OK.  Now I am 99% sure the message meant nothing, but that nagging 1% could NOT get out of my imagination.  I stop and look in my owner's manual.  Nothing.  Every other message possible.  Nothing on this one.  A 500 page manual and NOTHING. So I set off for Boise City, the closest town, 40 miles away, thinking that I might be killing my car as I continued down the road.  I could imagine the engine getting hotter and hotter.  I could imagine metal heating and bending.  I could hear it.  Then...technology to the rescue.  I remembered I could USE technology to calm me and override the technology that was provoking this anxiety.  I have satellite SOS.  I have a button on the top of my visor that calls a Lexus emergency assistant.  A button.  Right here.  I'll call them and ask about the message.  Do I need to worry.  they can reassure me it is nothing or tell me to stop the car and they will send help.  Perfect.  Done.  I am saved.

Or not.  I hit the button.  An agent came on.  I explained the problem.  She said...she said...she disappeared.  I am in the middle of nowhere - wide open spaces - clear shot to the blue sky.    What the F(^*&^.  How can the satellite go out?  OK.  Calm down.  Keep driving.  Try again.  Press the button.  Here she is.  Great.  What is she saying - here's a cellphone number in case we get cut off?  Is she nuts?  If the satellite doesn't work she thinks I'll have cell reception??  Does she understand that there is NOTHING here?  There are no cell towers.  There are NO PEOPLE!  She thinks a cellphone will work if the satellite doesn't.  Great.  Oops.  She's off again.  No *%(* loss.  No f(^*^ help anyway.

I pull into Boise City and find a car repair shop.  A wonderful, knowledgeable man.  He checks my oil.  It is fine.  He looks on his computer to see if he can turn off the warning light.  He is so comfortable around cars.  Tells me not to worry.  We decide to call Lexus from his phone.  After 10 minutes I get to a message at the Oklahoma City Lexus service center.  Everyone is at lunch.  Please call back in an hour...

The Boise City mechanic assures me the message was a reminder, not a warning.   I drive off.  As I go, I find a switch on my steering wheel.  It erases the command off my dashboard.  Now I am fine.  Nothing commanding me to do anything.  My car is fine.  I'm a bit upset to learn my failsafe against accidents, the on-star satellite system that informs emergency help if I am in an accident, doesn't always work, but I am not often anyplace this deserted.

But tell me, why does the car have to command me to bring it for routine service NOW!   How is that helpful?  Wouldn't a reminder email be more effective?  The technology exists.  It could, after all have a link to the service manager.  And now I know there is no perfect protection.  Even the satellite link sometimes doesn't work.  (Why don't they simply admit that when they sell it to you.)  I will complain to Lexus when I get home.  I may arrange for a routine service when I get to Asheville.  Don't know yet.  But I am here.  I am safe.  I've overcome no thanks to technology, but rather to a very nice, clearly competent human being.  God bless.

1000 miles from nowhere

I have a story to tell you.  When Red and I were driving to Nahma from Mohawk in Keweenah we were talking away and enjoying the ride when, as we turned in off the main road, I noticed the red light was on my gas gauge indicating I was driving on the reserve tank and nearly out of gas.  Not knowing how long the red light had been on, or how much gas was in the reserve tank, I faced a decision of turning back or going on to Nahma and since it was only 7 miles more down the road I decided to proceed.  Wrong decision.  Have you ever heard of a town that has no gas station?  I hadn't.  I have now.  We got into Nahma, population 55, and were told to go back to the main road.  Now I am driving a hybrid but at that time I had not yet read the owner's manuals and so had no idea how either to see what my estimated remaining cruising range was or to set the car so that the battery ONLY was powering it.

We made it to the gas station.  I read the manuals later that night.

So, now I know how to see how far I can drive at any time before running out of gas, and I know how to set the car so that it will drive without using gas.  But I NEVER figured I could drive 100 miles and not find a gas station which is what happened to me yesterday.

I filled my tank in Santa Fe on Monday.  I have a range of about 350 miles.  I was driving about 270 miles to Kenton.  No problems, right?  Wrong.  First, when I left the house in Santa Fe I double checked that I had everything packed.  I am completely aware of Freud's warning that when you don't want to leave a place it is likely you'll leave something behind forcing you to return.  I triple checked that I had everything.  Still I told Ester to forward anything she might find that I left to NYC and I'd pick it up later.  Never did I expect to get a call about 45 minutes after I left from Sterling telling me they found my purse - my PURSE with my ID, my cash, my credit cards, etc. - in the kitchen.  So I turned around as soon as I could and drove back to the house, got my purse, and went off a second time.  I lost about 1.5 hours and more significantly, used about 120 miles worth of gas...

Now my destination was Kenton, OK and a B&B called Black Mesa.  This is the panhandle of Oklahoma, the highest section of the state at just under 5000 feet, and a place so deserted there are still dinosaur footprints petrified in the hard clay soil.  Honestly.  On another trip from Texas to Green Valley I drove through West Texas along the roads where I am sure they filmed No Country for Old Men and I thought that was deserted. Hey, that was a metropolis compared to the Black Mesa area of OK.  So, when I noticed I was a bit below half a tank of gas I began to look for gas stations.  NOTHING.  for 100 miles NOTHING.  My GPS failed me again in that it could not direct me.  By checking my estimate range I knew I could get to the B&B with about a gallon of gas remaining so I decided to come straight here and then get detailed directions for gas rather than risk taking wrong roads and wasting gas.  Turns out I will have to drive to Boise City, about 30 miles from here this morning, to fill the tank.  I will coast in on fumes, I'm sure.

So what does Black Mesa look like and what about the B&B out in nowhere? It is gorgeous.

the Black Mesa at sunset is gold

full bath outhouse

This B&B is near the state park, there are 2 huge dogs, 2 tiny kittens and a horse all loose and roaming around.  There is a stream for swimming.  I have no cellphone availability.  There is no TV reception.  Amazingly there is wireless Internet tho the signal strength is very low here in my cottage and I cannot send outgoing emails.  Tramp explores at will, wandering with the dogs,chasing the kittens.   I am in a detached "cottage" with the bathroom in a second detached "house" so that I go outside (which I did at 3:00am) to use the facilities.  It was 96 degrees when I got here yesterday.  It must have been 75 when I went out at 3:00AM.    There is air conditioning in my cottage and an overhead fan moving cool, soft air.

view of Black Mesa from my cottage

My camera cannot capture the beauty of the mesas.  This is an area, like Big Bend Park, that I know Red would love.  The bluffs and badlands are unlike other parts of the US where I've been.  I would love to spend more time here (tho I hope if I do sometime it's not because I am out of gas on a road with no one around for miles and miles!).  But it is time to get up, have some breakfast and pack the car.

Cross your fingers for me that we make it to Boise City!  Oops, uncross them.  I just had breakfast and the innkeeper put in 2.5 gallons of gas for me.  He keeps lots of extra here - from experience.  He's says he's walked long distances too many times!!!