Rest Stop

While the most people were caught up in the plunge of the stock markets yesterday Leslie and I were in financial-chaos-oblivion as we headed to our Part I destination on Day Three of our Great American Road Trip. While I was getting text messages from a service I subscribe to informing me that mortgage rates were doing well (blatant advertising, for more mortgage news check in frequently at www.DennisCSmith.com/myblog If you wish to help subsidize this trip and live in California call me to assist you with the purchase of your next home or to refinance your current mortgage---end advertising), it wasn't until a reporter for the Orange County Register emailed me to get my reaction to the Dow Jones crashing over 500 points that I was aware of the sell off. Being transported through our nation's Corn Belt with a beautiful driving companion, multiple CDs and satellite radio enables the cocoon effect from the outside news that we, or I, usually spend so much of my day following and comment upon.

Back to the trip. Before going to sleep Wednesday night we plotted our course for Camp Birchwood, destination for Part I of the trip. Deciding that going to Omaha would add too many miles we cut northeast about 90 miles east of our starting point of Gothenberg and then north towards Fargo, North Dakota. Once in Fargo we would cross into Minnesota and begin to work our way into the deep woods and farmland of the state. This route would take us off major interstates for much of the journey and on two lane state routes through small towns and farmland. Pretty much what I like to see on a trip.

Ever since we left California all the roads, especially the interstates, have been in great shape. Most of the roads are in much better shape than almost any of highways and byways of the Golden State and considering the states we have gone through, Nevada, Utah, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Minnesota, and that each has baking sun, freezing rain, snow, sleet, hail, to contend with one needs ponder why it is these states have such better road maintenance than California, well one does if one is a resident and tax payer of California like I am. Not to dwell or ponder this for long but consider where our state budget goes and who it supports next time you realign your Honda Pilot on your way to work.

Our progress on this road trip has been delayed somewhat by construction projects on every highway we have been on since leaving Nevada. One aspect of the freezing rain and snow is that the window for road maintenance is rather small, pretty much April to October.

Back to the trip. Driving through the rolling hills of Nebraska--yes hills and plenty of them--we were surrounded by miles and miles of corn interspersed with rotated crops of alfalfa. Stands of trees, silos, barns and homesteads dotted the landscape surrounded by the lush green with yellow tops of corn. The small towns we passed through were spotlessly clean, and many laying claim to their local heros or legends. For Nebraska we passed through Johnny Carson's hometown of Norfolk, Nebraska, other towns would have signs stating Home of .... and I would recognize the name of a University of Nebraska Cornhusker. I gave a little spit and a curse when we were told we were on the Tom Osborne Highway (for those who do not know Osborne was coach of the Huskers for many years and made a good habit of beating the much beloved, very respected and thoruoughly supported Sooners of the University of Oklahoma).

Reaching South Dakota we made a stop in Yankton (home of Tom Brokaw) and saw some guys getting their Harleys ready. I asked them if they were headed west and they assured me they were. West being Sturgess, gathering point for thousands and thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts (let's face it many are not "bikers" but business men and women with a hobby) for a week. A week that starts on Friday August 5th one of our Yankton bikers thought (they looked like bikers not insurance salesmen).

"Leslie we might want to check on our stop at Mount Rushmore, the Sturgess Rally is going on."

"Where is Sturgess?"

"Somewhere west of here."

Sturgess is in western South Dakota, above Rapid City, which is just above Mount Rushmore. If outdoor retailers could sell out hotels in Salt Lake City I was thinking thousands of bikers could sell our Rapid City, South Dakota. Leslie fired up my laptop and started working the phone and the AAA website before securing a non-refundable room for Sunday night in Mount Rushmore. Kids better be ready for a seven hundred mile day.

Back to the road. South Dakota was filled with more corn but the hills flattened out and the road got a lot straighter. Nothing against South Dakota in the eastern part of the state but Nebraska has you beat from a view stand point. Though this is not to say the vistas were not beautiful with the miles of fields, woods peppering the landscape and rivers and streams winding through them all.

We hit Fargo at rush hour. Rush hour for Fargo being akin to about two in the afternoon on our local freeway with the lanes about seventy-five percent full. Clearing Fargo without even knowing it we entered Minnesota, Land of 10,000 lakes. Meandering through the woods with sudden breaks in the trees revealing a large, or small, lake, or perhaps fields with horses or cattle, we were on county roads and after cruising at a good clip--let's say a bit above the posted limits--for 2000 miles the last 100 was at a relative crawl. All the more so because we were so close to our destination.

At 7:30 we finally came to the end of the quarter mile gravel drive and arrived at Camp Birchwood. Our girls home for the past eleven days and ours for the next three.

Part I complete, time for some rest, fun at camp sailing, swimming, and other activities before we depart very early Sunday morning to make our non-refundable reservation at Mount Rushmore.

(Sorry for the crummy picture quality, something up with the Blackberry camera that makes stuff blurry than it needs to be).

Here is the path Leslie and I take from our cabin next door to camp to get to camp for our meals, activities and haning out. At the top is my view this morning after a sail as I do some work before lunch. Nice office!

Over The Hump

Day two of the Great American Road Trip started pretty well, FedEx had my wallet in hand before 10:00 so Leslie and I hit the road south of Salt Lake City and started moving up the Wasatch Mountains. For those who have never been to Salt Lake City, the city is in a valley that is fairly flat for being in the mountains, just east of the city the mountains spring seemingly straight up. We headed into the mountains and began climbing, about twenty miles later we were driving along a high valley where Park City is located.

Turn after turn we were given beautiful vistas, and changing topography and flora. From pine forests to dessert landscape, we wound up and down, north and south as we headed east towards Wyoming on I-80.

The I-80 crosses Wyoming along the southern border, and it is an amazing drive. Huge vistas that looked like the plains states, but at high elevation, we were definitely in cowboy country. It was easy to look at the rolling fields with grazing cattle and horses, the mountain peaks hundreds of miles to the north and the south, and imagine what it was like one hundred fifty years ago with men on horseback working their herds.

A highlight of the day was our lunch stop, not just for the great barbecue pork and brisket sandwiches we found at a local spot we decided on instead of a Subway turkey sandwich, but the actual location. We pulled off the road in Rock Springs. Which happens to be the birthplace of my daughters' grandmother, Leslie's mother. Like many of the towns that were spread out along the I-80, Rock Springs is a tidy town spread out along a river valley and has a main drag with a 35 mile per hour speed limit. If you ever are in Rock Springs go to Dickey's Barbecue Pit, they have a small sandwich for $3, a medium for $5 or a large for $7 which has two kinds of meat and cheese. I got a small pork and a small brisket and Leslie went for the medium pulled pork. Delicious, Leslie also recommends the fried okra.

Throughout the day we saw major storm clouds to the south. As the day wore on and the Honda Odyssey forged ever Eastward, dark clouds--beautiful, full storm clouds--collected ahead of us. As we closed in on Laramie the sky became very dark. Then from Laramie to Cheyenne we were alternately dumped on with so much rain that it was almost a white out, then it would immediately back off to scattered showers, then again with the torrential downpour. It made for interesting driving and nice scenery with the clouds and storms across the horizons.

Dropping out of Cheyenne the weather cleared almost on top of the Nebraska border about forty miles east of Cheyenne. As we approached the border we saw a huge, perhaps thirty feet tall, white stone Jesus facing Wyoming on the north side of the highway. Jesus welcomed us to Nebraska, I told Leslie if you are leaving Nebraska, Jesus turns his back on you.

We have made it over the hump of the mountains that separate the West from the Midwest and officially entered the Great Plains.

The drive across Nebraska, or about two hundred or so miles of it, were just as pretty as the drive through the mountains in a different way. Rolling green hills, copses of trees along river banks, farms and silos. I told Leslie that Nebraska's horizons are dotted with silos the way Utah's is with steeples.

As we passed North Platte and headed to our evening's destination we saw herds of deer coming out of the woods and eating in alfalfa fields or walking through streams.

Oh, and yes there are plenty of corn fields.

I was tempted to pull over in Sidney and go to the headquarters and major store for Cabella's, perhaps the number one purveyor of outdoor wear and gear for hunters, fisherman and campers. Had I gone in I might have cost us several hours and money we cannot afford to spend on jackets and boots I may never wear but look and fit great.

We are spending the night at the Super 8 (I'll call it the Okay-8) in wonderful Gothenberg, Nebraska. We pulled in about 9:00 local time and went to hunt for dinner. Someone rolled up the town about dinner time evidently but we lucked out on a local diner still open and willing to make some ham and eggs and a club sandwich.

We drove through the town looking for a place so we could avoid McDonald's and I can tell you that Gothenberg is not a one-light town. It does not have one light. Not one. Lots of stop signs however.

Not sure if we can make Camp Birchwood tomorrow since we missed our goal of Omaha by about 240 miles due to the late start waiting for my wallet. We covered 700 miles each of the first two days, we'll see what tomorrow brings as we continue our trip across this incredibly beautiful country of ours.

Here is the mobile phone shot from out the window in the middle of Nebraska:

Sleepy Lagoon

This is not the first trip I had taken up the I-15 through Vegas and into Utah, I first took the trip starting Labor Day weekend 1991. A lot has not changed in twenty years, a lot has. Obviously Las Vegas skyline has changed dramatically in its hotel room count, so too had that of Beaver, Utah.

One of my closest friends from college, Chuck Smith, had been accepted to the Kellogg School of Business at Northwestern University in Chicago. I had known Chuck since our first day on campus when we met at an orientation meeting, had lunch then went to check where our mailboxes were. Chuck's mailbox was 823 and I was 824. Upon learning this I looked at Chuck and said, "You know what this means? We'll be sitting next to each other at graduation." And indeed we were, in about 100 degree heat in May 1984.

By the time August 1991 came seven years later Chuck had married Michelle and they have twin one year old boys, Chad and Tim. All of whom needed to move to Chicago so Chuck could begin his studies at Northwestern.

Sensing adventure, the ability to help and some wanderlust I volunteered to help Chuck and Michelle drive cross-country, with one provision, "I won't change any diapers."

So it was set, Chuck, Michelle and the twins would ride in their Ford Aerostar, I would drive the small Mazda four door whose model I can no longer recall. Before cell phones and any internet I was somewhat advanced in the communication department with pager that had voice mail. It proved helpful the afternoon before our trip when I was at my brother's apartment in Los Angeles where I was to be picked up the next morning so we could start our trip (Chuck and Michelle living in Van Nuys and me in Long Beach it made the most sense).

The message was along the lines of, "Denny we have a bit of a problem. Michelle is at the hospital with her had badly cut up. Call me later." And he left the number of a friend's house. Evidently Michelle was doing last minute clean up of their home they were going to rent while in Chicago and using a borrowed ShopVac. The top had been broken so the high speed fan that generates the suction was partly exposed. Michelle reached behind her to move the vacuum and her hand....well let's say when I saw her the next morning she had loads of stitches and her hand was bandaged in such a way as it appeared she was flipping you the bird constantly.

It was evident that Chuck would be changing every diaper from two one year old boys for our journey. An ominous beginning. But begin we did.

It was Saturday of Labor Day weekend, I was cruising along behind the Ford van listening to college football games until we lost radio signals somewhere near Mesquite, Nevada. We stopped for gas, diaper change, and a snack late that afternoon somewhere in or near St. George, Utah and it was decided would push on and find a room for the night a bit further up the I-15.

Around 7-7:30 Chuck pulled off the highway in a small town. As we met up at the gas station right off the exit he said the kids were spent, everyone was hungry and we would drive through the town and find a place for the night. Right in back of the station was a good sized Comfort Inn or Best Western, keeping an eye on the budget we decided to drive through the town and see if there was anything. We drove past probably four or five small motels and hotels and everyone had "No Vacancy" signs lit up in the twilight. We pulled up next to each other in a parking lot and decided costs be damned let's go to the big hotel at the other side of town.

When we pulled in we all went in the lobby, Chuck looking like he had been on the road for several hundred miles with twin babies, Michelle leaning her elbow on her hip with her hugely bandaged hand flipping everyone off, and me eyeing the lobby for a spot to get a beer.

As we waited for the hotel desk clerk to help the couple in front of us we heard, "Sorry but we are booked up, the entire town is." As the couple left we looked at each other with "Uh-oh..." expressions. Yes, we were told the largest hotel in town was booked as was every other room as it was Labor Day weekend in Beaver, Utah. "What is so big in Beaver, Utah on Labor Day weekend?"

"It is an annual Alcoholic's Anonymous convention." In Beaver Utah. On Labor Day Weekend.

Despite our pleas, showing the twins, showing Michelle flipping him off with her bandaged hand, the clerk said he was totally booked.

We regrouped in the parking lot and decided to make a pass through town, if we did not see anything we would get on the highway and press on to the next town and keep pressing until we found a room.

Driving around a bend as I followed the Ford Van we passed the first motel on our left. In the growing darkness a sudden bright red light caught my eye, whipping my head around I saw big, beautiful letters shine "VACANCY!" I flashed my brights, honked and whipped a u-turn without carrying if Chuck saw me turn. My turn was just in time as the car I cut off followed me into the parking lot of the "Sleepy Lagoon" motel looking for a room.

They had one room, two queen beds. We got it. The last room in Beaver, Utah.

Yesterday Leslie and I made a pit stop in Beaver and as we were leaving the Shell station I asked her to drive into Beaver so I could see the old motel that saved us that warm summer night twenty years ago. (Remember that she was driving as my license and wallet were en route to Utah from Long Beach where I had left it.)

Alas the Sleepy Lagoon no longer takes conventioneers for the annual AA convention, if they still have it. Instead it appears it lodgers are dope fiends and kids looking for a place to party. The place is abandoned and he sleepy lagoon is an algae covered pond that must produce a prodigious amount of mosquitoes.

Au revoir Sleepy Lagoon Motel, au revoir.

Road Trip!!!

Roooooad Tripppppp! (Picture John Belushi in Animal House)

Day one of our Smith Family Road Trip 2011.

The destination is Camp Birchwood on the shores of Steamboat Lake, Minnesota. Blaire and Jenna departed for Camp last Monday, flying without parents for the first time ever.

Leslie and I embarked this morning at 8:00 a.m. from Long Beach with intention of arriving at Camp Birchwood Thursday night. We will then depart Sunday and wind our way back to Long Beach through Mt Rushmore, Yellowstone, Zion and possibly show the girls the lights of Vegas.

Incredibly we cleared the LA basin this morning with no traffic and made Las Vegas at noon. Finding a small Italian deli north of the strip it was with some angst, some anger and some bemusement that when we were ordering our sandwiches that my wallet had failed to make the trip!

Leslie began to text our house sitter about the situation to ensure the wallet was in fact at the house. I then fired up the laptop, connected to the internet via Verizon’s groovy wireless gizmo, and using the AAA travel site began to call hotels in Salt Lake City to get an address; not only for us to lay our heads down this evening but to be able to get FedEx delivery tomorrow. Evidently there is a rather large outdoor products convention in Salt Lake so rooms are scarce, thankfully we secured one!

Leslie, already sensing my desire now that we are on the road to push far and fast, giggled and said, “thank goodness the FedEx is before 10:00 delivery and not 8:00 so I can sleep in a bit tomorrow—we are on vacation!”

We have cleared St. George, Utah and are about 260 miles south of Salt Lake as I type this. Gorgeous country through the canyons and hills. Temperature has gone from 103 south of St. George to 80 degrees wherever we are now and where the picture above was taken. Big thunder clouds around us all day, a few flashes in the distance but perfect driving for us under high clouds and filtered sun light.

Looking forward to getting my wallet tomorrow!

Plastic Bag Bans

At some later date I will explain my hyatus the last four plus months, in the mean time here is letter to the editor that was not printed today, Tuesday December 7, 2010. This evening the Long Beach City Council is scheduled to vote to ban plastic bags being given away at grocery stores and other merchants.

Here is a link to the Press-Telegram story where I got the figures they used that I rebut in my letter: Will Long Beach Ban Plastic Bags?


Dear Editor:

I question the veracity of some of the “facts” published in the P-T article on plastic bags. One “fact” was that plastic bags make up “25 percent of the county’s litter stream.” That would mean 25% of most trash trucks, trash cans, and dumpsters would be plastic bags. Simple visual observations tells us this is not true and an inflated number used by ban supporters. One “fact” is that Californians use 19 million plastic bags per year, and also that they generate 147,038 tons of waste per year. For these numbers to equate each plastic bag must weight fifteen and a half pounds. Apparently another set of inflated statistics. Finally, the “fact” that “Californians throw away 600 plastic bags per second” would mean over 2 million per hour, or almost 52 million per day. How can we throw away 52 million per day in California and use only 19 million? Especially if they weigh over fifteen pounds apiece?

Once again elected officials in California take inflated statistics from alleged experts to create an intrusive law (see AB 32). Those of us who act responsibly, re-use and recycle our plastic bags are made to pay for those who feel litter is fine and part of their neighborhoods and throw their plastic bags and other trash in the streets, alleys and sidewalks. Congratulations to the grocers in Signal Hill, Lakewood, Seal Beach and other border cities for the increased business they will do when Long Beach City Council bans the fifteen pound plastic bags.

Dennis C. Smith
Long Beach, CA