HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN,
JIGGITY JIG
Part II
Sometime during the day on Mother’s Day, the 11th of May, I enter Minnesota and continue on toward St. Paul. I have Lynne’s address loaded into the GPS in the SAAB. The major portion of the drive in Minnesota is along I 94 through prairie landscape, ranches, small farms. It is growing late as I approach that mystical river of our youth; where Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer and Jim floated along further south. The Mississippi River begins in northern Minnesota and truly meanders. If one could pick up the river and stretch it out straight from its beginning to where it passes through Minneapolis/St. Paul it could possible pass through several states out here in the plains country. I recall when I left Lynne’s place crossing the river at least 3 times before I reached the interstate; it wanders all over the place on a micro level in her neighborhood. On a satellite map it seems to straighten a bit.
I pull up into Lynne’s driveway just before dinner time on Sunday, Mother’s Day. We have been Facebook friends for about 5 years and we have even had a telephone conversation several years before but we are both curious about this meeting. My friends tend to be thinking, activist types and there is always a sense of joy in seeing one another for the first time. I’m thinking of Brad in Visalia, California and my 5 heathen girlfriends in the Inland Empire and Nicole in Tennessee. There are others as well and now I am going to meet Lynne in Minnesota. She does not disappoint.
Lynne and I go to dinner soon after I arrive and we spend that time just getting through the preliminaries of connecting. She is a reserved type who listens closely and speaks softly but there is also the light in the eye that gives away her rascal side. Lynne is fun and has a wicked good sense of humor. During our visit I am able to pinpoint that look and it is that I am reminded of a young Jodie Foster when we have eye contact. Lynne is still a juvenile delinquent at heart I believe; one that has the tendencies but all of the control of an adult. She is fun to talk with.
During the evening back at her place she and I get into conversation about behavioral characteristics of males and females; feeling vs. thinking situations and responses. We compare experiences and notes about men and women. Our conversation continues along the lines of most of my visits during the past two annual trips. Here is a short piece I wrote to describe the experience.
Talking
“My visits usually include a moment, however brief, when my host and I let go. Whatever events that have made us guarded and cautious slip away unnoticed. We find ourselves leaning in comfortably; talking in lowered, longer, lingering tones.
This space, loaded with an opiate feel, holds a drowsiness during which a breath of jasmine loosens and softens the heart. Eyes search and invite as muscles surrender to gravity; smiles descend along lips and lily throats are exposed.
Now we can tell stories that are meaningful, deeply felt. This is where my hosts inevitably reveal their hero’s journey. This is where my presence turns to gold. I listen.”
January 2013
Lynne and I reached that point soon after we returned to her place after dinner. We spent a lot of the evening comparing careers and jobs and places we’d worked in the social work field. It was fu to just blabber on and be understood so quickly. I like Lynne. She is a true friend of the disenfranchised. I look forward to meeting with her again.
I’d been on the road for nearly 38 hours by the time I got to St. Paul and I was exhausted. Lynne gave me her bed and she slept on the couch in the living room. I slept solidly for over 8 hours. In the morning we went out for breakfast and we continued our talking while we ate. During our meal we resolved to work out a plan for us to meet again at Kath Angier’s house in Vermont just as soon as possible. That will be a meeting! We said our goodbyes at the restaurant and I found my way out of town with the GPS and headed south toward Chicago.
I found my way to U.S. Rt. 52 south. This road is large and wide and goes directly southeast toward Chicago. As I drove through the morning light my refreshed brain was playing with the scenery and the geography of the land. I was noticing the farms and the structures on the land here in the northern plains and there was a flavor I had not experienced by the Pacific nor in the southwest part of the country. I took mental notes and a thread formed as I traveled. I pulled over onto the shoulder and took a few notes and came up with a poem later on. This is it.
MINNESOTA
“What cues spring forward this day?
The rolling hills – shallow, but still…
One cannot see further than
A quarter mile, each hill and
Hollow repeating.
What tells me this is this place?
The trees brushing clouds away,
Bare branches just budding, pines
Scratching each other gently,
Reaching with needle and bough.
I know this place as I drive south,
The fields are neat like others, but…
The houses all white with vinyl siding,
Perfectly placed, no clutter, no
Antiques fill the door yards.
A clue is the size of the coyote
Crushed into the rumble strip
Carved into the edge of the highway,
Our coyote, patient and tolerant
Of trucks and cars speeding.
Let’s marvel at this place so charming,
Note all the small hints of where
We are traveling,
Admire the land; admire the
Husbandry.”
G. M. Goodwin
May 13, 2014
Rt 52 goes directly south and connects with I 90. I take 90 east which takes me all the way to Illinois. From this point on I take secondary roads to Antioch, Illinois. I have been in contact with Annie, another Facebook friend from 5 years ago when I first connected with people on the “Six Degrees of Separation” threads. Annie and I have been very close but have never met. We have spoken by phone several times in the last 3 or 4 years. I like Annie. She is young but very mature. Annie has a husband Wayne and a son Joe. From the photos on Facebook they appear to be a solid family. During this leg of my trip I have been directed to Antioch by the GPS and by Annie on the text circuit. Because she and her family have been away on a visit we are racing from different points toward her house.
Wisconsin is a large plains state like the others. North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin; California’s valleys are know for being the places for salads, fruits, and vineyards so our great plains are know as the bread basket. Broad, flat land with huge vistas of sky and far horizons. It takes all day to cross Wisconsin from St. Paul, Minnesota. By the time I arrive in Antioch, Illinois it is nearly 7 P.M. and dark. The GPS has done a good job getting me here but when I do arrive I am in a strange neighborhood with many houses. As I crawl the street toward Annie’s house in the dark with every house on top of the next the GPS annoyingly announces, “You Have Arrived At Your Destination”. I phone Annie and, thankfully, she talks me in the final few yards to her driveway.
I love Annie. We have a great liking and fondness for each other; down to earth, street smart, kind and loving, what a neat lady. Did I say I love her? She and Wayne and son Joe have eaten dinner and I get to visit for a while. With this family there are no dead spaces in conversation. I discover that Wayne is cool, intelligent, and aware. I like him immediately. He is a giant of a man and his heart matches his size. Joe is a clever boy and likes me right away I see. He and I have a good connection and soon we are playing mind games to entertain ourselves. Of course Annie is right in the middle of all this. Her smile is contagious. She has the prettiest face of anyone I’ve ever seen and the “street” side of her matches her bright eyes exactly. Did I mention I love her?
Joe and I snack on pizza slices and we all have a wicked good time. In a few hours, close to 9 P.M., I sense it is time to move on. We have had a love fest and I am once again energized and ready to hit the road. Hugs and kisses and Wayne gives me a gift of a CD he made of radio show he hosted for a Chicago radio station. I am so happy with this quick stop; energized and rejuvenated. Out the door and into the vehicle and off toward the south to skirt Lake Michigan and head east. Bye, bye, Annie. You make me smile!
While I was in Antioch the rain had begun so the rest of the night was a wet drive.
I 94 again joins I 90 for the final few miles into the farmlands of Illinois and Indiana. When I get close to Gary, Indiana the GPS directs me to go further south instead of due east as my instinct suggests. I have left the breadbasket of America and I have entered the foundry of America. From Chicago east to the western border of New England are mines and processing plants and heavy manufacturing centers; the foundry. At Gary I hook up with I 65 which will take me to Indianapolis, Indiana. Sometime after midnight weariness takes over so I find a suitable place and crawl into the back of the SAAB for a nap break. It worked wonders and with the eastern sky lightening up I join the morning drive people on the interstate rolling toward Indianapolis.
The sky is partly cloudy presenting some spectacular formations in the sky. Showers continue to fall but not so insistently as the night before where just north of Chicago I had a scary incident as there were large puddles forming on the interstate. One such pond-size puddle caused me to whip sideways for an instant and then the ATS (automatic traction control) and the ABS (automatic braking system) took charge and helped me to keep the vehicle under control. It happened so quickly I didn’t have time to think and then the situation was gone.
I remember a scene for the mid 70s. I was stationed at Miramar Naval Air Station in California. I was attached to the air station which was home to many jet fighter and attack squadrons. Miramar was known as “Fightertown USA” and was featured in the movie “Topgun”. One of the squadrons, VF1, was made up of the famous F-8, the MiG killer from the Korean War. The F-8 was a single engine fighter jet. The single engine was huge and had enormous power. The aircraft was a single-seater and quite fast and difficult to fly and so heavy it was quite difficult to land safely. The standing joke was an F-8 pilot who gave up smoking for his health. There were so many crashes that it was getting tough to find a plane to fly much less form a squadron. One of the pilots was a friend of mine. Besides flying the F-8 he was also the safety officer for VF1. His job was to investigate crashes and determine the cause. Most importantly he had to determine if the crash was a suicide incident; not so uncommon for pilots.
He and I became good friends. His career was not one he wanted for the future and he was more interested in gaining multi-engine flying skills. Since the F-8 had only a single engine he needed to take twin engine aircraft flying lessons at a local airport to obtain the training to achieve his goal. He asked me if I wanted to go flying with him during his next lesson. Sure, I said. Why not? I had nothing better to do. I brought along a small camera (a Minolta that used 110 type film for you old timers). Before we got into the airplane, a twin engine Cessna, I asked to take a picture. He adamantly refused telling me that it was bad luck in his estimation. He made reference to all the photos of pilots and crew whose photos were available ‘just before they took off and crashed’. I shrugged and put away the Minolta.
The aircraft was a beauty. There were two front seats and two other seats just behind, much like an automobile. My friend and the instructor were in front of course and I alone in the back. I had a great seat for observing with a window on each side. I spread out and waited for the fun to begin. Once in the air and at altitude his instructor had my friend put on an eye shade so he could only see the instrument panel. He explained that during the next few minutes he would turn off the fuel to one of the engines to simulate an engine failure and my friend would have to take action to recover from the event. Great! I thought. Live and learn! The next few minutes were quite fun. When the fuel was shut down on the starboard engine the plane swerved slowly to the right because the left engine was doing all the pulling. My friend corrected the change in attitude by feathering the starboard engine and adjusting the power to the left engine. Then my friend’s next action was to restart the starboard engine and bring it up to power. Well this is where the fun began. When he applied power to the starboard engine he over compensated and the aircraft jerked to right so that we were sideways to the direction of travel and then he over corrected and the opposite happened. We went sideways to the left. What a freaking ride! I was glad I didn’t take a picture on the ground! We eventually stabilized and were pointed in the right direction with both engines providing corrected power. This is the thought that popped into my head as the SAAB skipped across the large puddle on I 94 just outside Chicago on that rainy night.
I spend time observing the countryside north of Indianapolis. The land is flat forever. I tune the radio to country music; not difficult to do in this region of the U.S. I am happy to see the clouds continue to thin and the sun is beginning to fill my world with warmth. For the first time in a few days the air is warm and the season feels normal for the time of year. Since my tenting days in Trinidad I have been feeling cool. Now the air is warming and I sense it is going to get a lot warmer today.
I pass Indianapolis and turn east on I 70. It feels good to be moving that direction. Now I am truly going home. I so want to be in Maine. I stop for long breaks during the day. First I see a sign that directs me to the Indiana Basket Ball Hall of Fame in New Castle, Indiana. I turn north on state rt. 3 and enjoy a break in a small town with a great reputation. I am the only visitor in the museum and I have an enjoyable time. The docent is an elderly lady who follows me around for the first ten minutes and then leaves me alone to explore on my own. I enjoy the quiet of the building and I get a chance to use my legs and this place to wander and sit and reflect on many things. I notice there are a lot of white male and female basket ball players in Indiana who have become famous. Not so many black male and female basket ball players. In fact just a few. I’m surprised to find this; I would have thought just the opposite.
My next stop is later in the afternoon. I want a snack and I choose Richmond, Indiana to stop for this search. I find it is quite a large town, perhaps a city. I take the time to locate the library and I spend a few minutes using the internet for my laptop. The library is really beautiful. I’ve mentioned before that I find libraries and librarians quite enjoyable and peaceable. This one is no different. Nice place. Also typically, there are a few homeless using the space for reading as well as napping. I find the homeless in every library I’ve been in. I realize I am one of the homeless and it occurs to me I am doing the same behavior. I stop here to rest and to use the internet; not a bit different from the homeless.
My next stop to visit with a friend will be Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. Paul Wilcox is an old shipmate from my submarine days. Paul and I served together on the George Washington Carver a Polaris missile submarine built in 1965. I met Paul on Carver around 1967 or so. We found each other on Facebook recently and now we are going to have lunch when I reach his town. My journey is beginning to take on a sense of urgency. I want to quickly get home and I also want to visit with friends along the way. Paul will be my last visit. The rest of the trip will be a speed-run to reach Boothbay and The Castle.
Ohio comes next. The day is drawing down and I realize I will be in the very eastern edge of Ohio by nightfall. Paul and I set a time to meet the next day, the 14th of May. When I get close to Pennsylvania I pull into a rest stop. By now I am running on fumes, personally. I have been traveling from Spokane to here with only one night in a bed. It is just after 6 P.M. when I park the SAAB in eastern Ohio on I 70. This is a good opportunity to clean up a bit. I use the rest room to brush my teeth and freshen up before squeezing into my sleeping spot in the car. I spend the night communicating with friends from across the country on my smart phone. I leave messages and read messages. Sometimes I am in touch ‘live’ when my friends are still awake or just getting home. From this point in the continent I am more in the ‘awake’ zone of both coasts for communication.
After a good long period of relaxing in this rest stop I finally wake up at 6:30 A.M. After a quick calculation I realize I won’t get to Elizabethtown until after noontime. Since Paul has to take time off from work to meet me at lunch I need to keep him informed of my ETA. We pass a few messages and then I conclude I can meet him at 12:30. Oddly, during the rest of this leg my GPS gets fooled and the ETA changes as much as 45 minutes causing me to panic and tell Paul erroneous time changes. It all works out in the end. I find that I 70 joins up with I 76 and that road becomes the Pennsylvania turnpike. What a nice road. Just prior to entering Pennsylvania the highway, I 70, clips a piece of West Virginia. There is a lovely drive through tight, small mountains and valleys into Wheeling, West Virginia. If I wasn’t so anxious to keep moving I would like to stop there and see the town. Next time I will.
I arrive in Elizabethtown, southeast of Harrisburg on the Susquehanna River. (I can’t believe I typed the name of the river without looking.) Paul lives in a pretty region. We meet at Angie’s Brookside Diner close to the turnpike and seeing Paul is terrific. He hasn’t changed in 46 years. Paul has discovered the fountain of youth I’m convinced. We only spend a little over an hour together but we have the grandest time recalling days and people and shipmates. Paul and I sit across from each other in a booth and the smiles are broad. I am lucky to have such good friends. Thanks, Paul, for the meeting and the lunch. I enjoyed this time together and I will return for sure.
My body is in good shape due to the extended rest in eastern Ohio. The lunch and conversation have energized me and I am raring to go! I look at the map and know this is going to be a one shot leg to the journey. I calculate that I can be in Maine by dark or soon after. I might even be in bed at The Castle before tomorrow. Oo-Rah!!! Shit, this is going to be a snap. I love eastern states! They are so freaking small! Joy! Joy! Joy!
I talk to son Sam on the phone and let him know my intentions. I am going to make this a non-stop run and I am confident in the SAAB and in my condition. I leave town on I 81 north to I 80 east, run east to the Garden State Parkway up to I 87, cross the Tappan ZeeBridge into New York and find my way through southern New England. This is just a nice walk in the park now. I know the roads intimately and I am just cruising along comfortable and confidently. I adjust my ETA to Portland, Maine and keep Sam up to date. I have been excitedly calculating time and distance for the past 5 days. I left Nancy early on the 10th of May and I am arriving in Portland to dine with Sam on the evening of the 14th of May. Quite a feat if I say so myself. This has been a terrific journey. Give me a few weeks to let the dust settle and I will be able to process what happened.
I have a lot to process; the people, the places, the conditions and of course my own responses to all these items. I do have thoughts to talk about. I hope you have enjoyed this blog as much as I have. Adios, mis amigos.
Playing Fair and Being Kind 