Caveman Camping

The smaller size of European RVs – a twenty-four footer for example, is notably “big” – is mirrored in reduced or non-existent facilities in many other areas of the continental camping life. The rustic camping procedures that have developed around these circumstances are quaint at best, laughable at worst – an inevitable outcome of low expectations, one supposes.

In France, for example, sites are approximately thirty feet square and are, more often than not, surrounded on three sides by hedges. Italian sites are smaller at about 24 feet square. Even though Heidi is only six meters long (just under 20 feet) it is closer to 21’ 6” with the bike rack and, on one Italian site, had to be moved forward into the roadway each time the bikes were taken on or off since there was insufficient room to manage them otherwise. With respect to site facilities, sparse grass and a hedge is about it. No picnic table or fire ring, no sewer port, no water spigot and only electricity available from a more or less distant communal electric pylon.

Such pylons have been seen with as many as a dozen outlets and the luckless camper who is host to the pylon on his site can have as many as eleven other campers periodically traipsing across his site to connect or disconnect their supply. At a campsite in Florence, Italy, the “Pylon Host” camper, when sitting outside, was obliged to move his feet to allow his neighbors access to the outlets! Of course, long electrical cords are essential and 100’ is not unusual. Not too much of a problem though, since available current ranges from 2 amps to 6 amps!

No on site water of course, is easily handled by on board water storage, or so one might think. However, when the storage capacity is limited to 15 gallons or so, careful management is required to avoid frequent trips to the closest faucet to refill. Most rigs carry a six gallon container and a 12 volt electric pump to assist in on site partial refills as required. Gray water is more problematic. Again, with a capacity of around 15 gallons but no sewer hook-up, the tank must periodically be drained. This is a crude procedure to say the least. The vehicle has to be negotiated over a drain such that the gray tank discharge outlet is directly above the drain grating. A valve is then set to let the evil brew vomit forth and mostly go into the drain. When done, the vehicle is moved and the entire drain area is hosed down. What joy!

The black tank management however, makes these machinations look like a walk in the park. Every European RV sports an innocent looking little door somewhere low on the rear end. Opening the door reveals the dreaded Thetford Cassette, skulking at the back. This little beauty is the black tank. With a capacity of three gallons or so it sits peacefully in it’s lair until the dreaded Red Light comes on – a serious call to action. At this point, the cassette has to be dragged from its hiding place and brought out into the open. It then has to be carried as much as a quarter of a mile to the nearest disposal point, uncapped, decanted, flushed and re-vitalized with noxious blue stuff before being returned to its nest. The decanting process itself is fraught with gurgling, glugging and splattering dangers and would preferably be done from within the security of a large yellow Haz-Mat suit although these are not provided. The only redeeming feature of this entire pantomime is that once done, it can be as long as a day and a half before the next Red Light alarm.

The net result of these privations is really rather comical. In spite of having paid a Kings ransom for one of these self-contained RVs, nobody uses the built in facilities because of the almost incessant housekeeping required. Instead, like a World War II prison camp movie, campers can be seen throughout the day (and presumably the night, although I’ve never looked) schlepping along to the bathhouses in slippers and bathrobes to do what people do in bathhouses. Better yet, every meal is followed by an additional trip, this time with a basket of crocks and cutlery, to do the dishes. Moreover, since the occupants are on vacation, the last thing they seem to want is to be confined to their vehicles. Thus there are chairs, tables, ground-sheets, awnings, tent-like extensions, windbreaks, umbrellas, insect repellents, fly swats, sundry miscellaneous paraphernalia and a profusion of strange garments enabling the determined vacationers to sit out in high winds, cold temperatures, rain, insect swarms and squint-producing sunshine. Mealtimes are particularly bizarre. Tablecloth, napkins, china and good looking silverware along with condiments, wine glasses and other accoutrements of fine dining are all precariously carefully laid out on a rickety card table. Once the meal is served, a strange ritual begins in which one diner at a time cuts off a piece of food while the second diner holds down the wine glasses and rescues other falling items from certain destruction. These roles are repeatedly reversed until the fly ridden and largely cold meal is finally consumed. Another triumph for civilization and all performed within ten feet of a perfectly serviceable table and comfortable chairs in the vehicle! Go figure. Reluctantly, one feels, such campers retire for the night to the interior to rest up and fortify themselves for another day of like enjoyment tomorrow. It has been observed, that the better time managers among these brave souls actually find time between their necessary chores to polish windshields, clean tires, dust off equipment and, once in a while, spring clean the entire ensemble. Needless to say, we have thus far resisted the temptations of this pampered lifestyle and remained either resolutely “in doors” or out and about seeing the sights.

Sites, incidentally, are priced on an a-la-carte basis. So much for the site itself with a motor-home. An additional amount per person. Additions for dogs, electricity, extra vehicle and so on, may also be levied. Overall, site cost for two people has been between $15.00 and $50.00 per night but some sites go for as much as $80.00. Even at that, it is desirable to read the descriptions of the sites quite carefully. Here are some extracts from the 2007 Caravan Club Guide. “Narrow pitches, possible manhandling of vans into position required”, “Steep narrow access, unsuitable without high power to weight ratio”, “Watch out for the light switches in the sanitation buildings”, “Short stay pitches may have difficulty leveling”, “Difficult if wet” and “Narrow road access not recommended for large outfits or the fainthearted”. Certainly, we are having our share of unplanned thrills.

Getting Oriented

The first thing that became apparent upon setting wheels in France was how similar the freeway system, Autoroute System, is to the US interstate system. Not for the obvious reason of driving on the right or for the increased utility in the use of a left hand drive vehicle, it is much more than this. The ramp designs, signage, road markings and so on are all remarkably easy to follow and, in general, drivers pay heed and obey the rules. A fabulous contrast to England, with it’s thicket of signs, flashing lights, painted roadways and forest of TV cameras much of which seems to be simply ignored by many drivers. The difference in calm and orderly behavior was immediate and very welcome.

While it may have taken some draconian methods to achieve this state of affairs, it certainly appears to be effective. As an example, a defective running light is cause for apprehension and an on the spot fine. Best also to carry a set of spare lamps for, although this will not avoid the fine, it will stop your car from being immediately impounded until it is “repaired”. Again, get caught exceeding the speed limit by 25 MPH and your driver’s license is canceled instantly. If it happens that no other driver is along for the ride, better plan to take public transport home since your vehicle will otherwise be impounded. Beep your horn for any reason other than a genuine safety issue and you risk an on the spot fine. My fervent wish is that dogs fouling footpaths will make it to the list of banished offenses sometime soon for this is a truly horrible blot on an otherwise pleasant landscape. In every town that we visited you could make book on encountering one or more piles of dog feces within 100 yards of stepping out of a vehicle – an incomprehensible situation against a backdrop of civic pride, renovation and well kept townships.

Calais is in the northern most part of France and the countryside is largely arable with grain, rape seed and similar crops with occasional small herds of white colored cattle. Spring is in its late stages and the exceptionally warm and sunny weather lent everything a post card like appearance. The French seem to be much into trees with many miles of otherwise bland secondary roads given the appearance of lush avenues by the flanking rows of trees. Numerous castles, churches and other large and ancient buildings in various states of repair, pepper the landscape and these are strenuously protected by law. We stopped briefly in the village of Miramail and took a few snaps.

A Boat Ride

After working on Heidi the van (UK name for a motor home) for a while, loading water, bicycles, clothing and the like, we visited the local supermarket for our last shot at groceries with labels that we could read. This turned out to be more grueling than expected and we were obliged to undergo resuscitation with the aid of two large orders of paper-wrapped fish and chips heavily dosed with vinegar and salt. It felt so good! We slept in the van to check that we had not forgotten anything and got up early the following day to acquire the dozen or so items that we had indeed forgotten. It’s always good to have a plan, we find.

Thus, it was around noon on the day after our arrival in England, that we decided to set off. Rather than race along the freeways with death defying bravado (driving a left hand drive five speed manual monster truck on the left side of the road) we opted for the death defying bravado of the coastal roads through Eastbourne, Hastings and all points east until we reached Dover. Buying a ferry ticket turned out to be a mixture of rental car and air ticket selection and, within a few minutes during which Heidi waited patiently, we were booked on the 5:00 pm P&O ferry to Calais.

Calais is just twenty-one miles from Dover and the trip takes about 1-1/2 hours. The volume of daily traffic is staggering and so is the scale of the ferry complex. As the EU has developed over the last forty or fifty years, numerous continental businesses have established themselves in England and many English company’s are well entrenched in Europe. There are four or five ferry lines running round the clock each with departures every hour or so. Every ferry contains a mini traffic jam, having five of its seven decks filled with two lanes of traffic ranging from motorcycles to fully loaded semis. The top two decks are set aside for passengers, including all vehicle occupants, with a variety of restaurants, Bureau de Change, duty free stores and bars. In our excitement, we got caught up in the spirit of the duty free binge and ended up with a huge box of Bassett’s Licorice Allsorts which we managed to eat over the next couple of days. Dover does indeed have white cliffs and these were our last glimpse of Blighty as we set sail for France.

Intrepid Adventurers

Today, after hours of preparation, we finally sallied forth in hope of sampling the delights of Europe. Here we are at the Fort Wayne Airport from where, being directionally challenged, our initial flight took us to Dallas Texas, 1,000 miles in exactly the wrong direction! A five hour layover in Dallas/Fort Worth allowed us to reestablish our bearings, pin the blame firmly on Marian and finally began our nine hour journey east some 10 hours after leaving home. Aren’t airlines great?

Europe of course, has numerous and varied delights on offer. Unfortunately, after reading the list of proscribed activities, handed to me with a withering look by Marian, it began to dawn on me that my adventures over the coming weeks were to be confined pretty much to baggage handler and designated driver. Still, I might be able to sneak the occasional ice cream, especially considering the number of wineries on our route.

In reality, we don’t have a route beyond “go to England and turn right”. Like wintering in the US, our destinations and locations will be primarily selected for their current climate and we will head south to Italy or Spain pretty quickly and then work our way north as summer approaches. Internet availability is expected to be extremely patchy throughout the trip so regular postings are unlikely. Even so, check back once in a while because if I do sneak an ice cream I will report it immediately!

A Milking Marathon

Every hotel lobby, visitor center and highway rest area for 100 miles around sports an attractive flyer extolling the marvels of the Greentown Glass Museum, luring knowledge-hungry visitors from all corners of the globe to this amazing attraction. Housed in a spare room of the best looking building in Greentown, Indiana - the taxpayer funded City Hall - the Museum is perhaps the most audacious example of milking the past yet encountered.
Focused on the wares of the Indiana Tumbler and Goblet Company, there are thousands of pieces of low cost colored molded glass artifacts ranging from drinking glasses to bird baths on display. With a current population of about 2,500 souls, the Glass Age appears to have represented the zenith of Greentown prosperity. Astonishingly, all this hoopla is leveraged on a small factory, established in 1894, which burned to the ground after nine short years and was abandoned in 1903, one hundred and four years ago! P. T. Barnum would have been proud.

City of Firsts?

Even the name of the city turned out to be in error, Kokomo, originally thought to be a local Indian Chief was later discovered to be an early urban legend translating to Black Walnut.
Perhaps it was this lapse that led to the status building claims of "Firsts" for sixteen notable features of modern day life including the automobile, pneumatic tires, carburettors, aluminum castings , canned tomatoes and so on. These are freely publicized although no independent verification validating any of them over equivalent claims of numerous other American Cities is provided.
What does seem beyond doubt is that Kokomo was number one in Klu Klux Klan membership and were host to the biggest Konklave ever on Independence Day, 1923. Other undisputed achievements include the poorest traffic management on a US Highway in the country, with a seven mile stretch of stop-go lights in a city of less than 50,000 inhabitants and, bizarrely, the Howard County Courthouse Bomber of 1987, David Gray, was one of Kokomo's own.
So destitute is Kokomo for tangible artifacts to shore up its very existence that Highland Park, the city's historical show place, is based around three odd items none of which actually originated in the city. First among equals is the Vermont Covered Bridge that was hauled in from its namesake town five miles away in 1957 as it was about to be flooded by a new reservoir system. Next is Old Ben, a Chernobyl like bull born in 1902 at an astounding birth weight of 125 pounds. By 1910, Ben had reached the prodigous weight of 4,700 pounds when he slipped on some ice, broke a leg and was put down. Despite being dead for almost 100 years, his stuffed remains are still on display.
The third leg of this triumphant triumvirate is, wait for it, a sycamore stump from a far flung corner of the county. Comfortably housed in its own little house, the stump garners much admiration from visitors from near and far although it appears to be no more energetic than dead Ben next door. So it goes in Indiana's heartland.

Am I out of my Gourd?

Indiana, land of cold winters, Hoosiers and possibly a surfeit of farm chemicals, tends to bring out behaviors in people that, in other places, may seem a little outlandish. But really, a three day meeting of the Indiana Gourd Society attended by gourd lovers from as far away as Mississippi and Texas, does give pause for reflection.
While the five dollar entry fee deterred us from witnessing the machinations of competitive gourds firsthand, we can only imagine what might have been happening in the convention hall crammed with excited gourdees. The frequently overheard public address system followed by rapturous applause or communal Ooohs and Aahs from the gourded attendees, certainly left lots to the imagination.
While we were assured that no actual gourds were ill-treated or otherwise harmed during the entire proceedings, it was recorded that gourds of the type shown here, were frequently seen with knots tied in them and a neatly knotted gourd could command a price of five dollars or more.
Be that as it may, the Indiana Gourd Society is just one Chapter of the American Gourd Society, a national body established to "promote interest in all activities related to gourds" whatever connotations that might invoke. It's rumored that there is even a special gourd handshake and gourdees who have "come out", such as the comfortably built pair shown here, could sometimes be seen wearing their gourds with pride.
At left are a pair of prize winning gourds fit to stir the steeliest heart although, just my opinion, I don't think the finish is entirely natural - what do you think?

An Emotional Parting...

This week, after what seemed like interminable months of preparation on both sides of the Atlantic, White Rabbit was put into the capable hands of our English visitors, Paul and June.
Between us all, along with the promise of lots of tender loving care, we managed to coax White Rabbit away from Black Bess as she bravely set off on her biggest mission yet. Paul and June, seen here undergoing a crash course of customer humiliation courtesy of Bob Evans Restaurants, have set off on a five month, eighteen state odyssey to explore this wonderful land.
That was two days ago and, having heard not a word from the intrepid trio in the meantime, we have to believe they are having fun and have already forgotten both Black Bess and us.
Marian and I, so distressed by this separation from White Rabbit, sought refuge in fighting over a three scoop turtle in Culvers. It is a difficult time but, somehow, we soldier on.

When we were wetbacks...

One of the long neglected tasks that "will get done someday" has been digitizing boxes of color slides and packages of black and white negatives from wayback. Well, it still isn't done although it did get a prod in the right direction the other day when we were visiting Martine. Somehow or another, she had ended up with a box of color slides from the period around our arrival in America. At that time, a series of poor decisions on the part of my sponsoring employer left us in the unenviable position of illegal immigrants for a while. During this period we "hid out" in a tiny ranch house on Winters Road for six months or so, while everything was straightened out with the INS. Here is a picture of our hideout.
Stay tuned for further stupefying episodes...

Happy Paddy's Day!

Looks like Rod has been celebrating.

Home for the season change

Having steadily followed the improving temperatures north, we arrived home in Indiana on Monday, March 12. Over the preceding weeks there had been quite an accumulation of snow in the area but practically all evidence of this was gone - except for our driveway entrance. Before the thaw, snow must have been piled many feet deep with the successive road plowings and we got our exercise for the day with shovels and sledgehammer to break up the ice and clear the decks. Apart from that, everything went to script and the weather remained gorgeous - 70+ degrees - until Thursday when old man winter stopped by for a few days. But, one probably needs that once in a while to properly appreciate wintering in the warmth.
By and large, we kept so busy during the month it took us to cover the 1,000 miles northerly trek that blogging fell behind. Here is a link to a diary page covering part of the journey. More to follow...
PS - this morning it is bright, sunny, crisp and 24 degrees!

Circling the drain?

Is the Bluebird Over? The Bluebird Wanderlodge, shown here, is built in Fort Valley, GA. Not knowing much about these machines, we stopped by and checked them out.
Although owned by the same private equity company that owns the school bus manufacturer across the street and that also owns National Car Rental and is currently looking to buy Chrysler, one has to wonder whether at least the Wanderlodge is about to go toes up. Knowing that more than 13% of their entire 2006 production run is gathering dust in the parking lot is scary enough, but knowing that they only produced 15 coaches last year is positively frightening. In a good year, they produce as many as thirty vehicles but last year "the guys across the street were having money problems" and 15 was all that came out, according to the salesperson. Hmm. As it was, the floor plans (neither of them) were to our liking while the cabinetry and decor are best seen to be believed. We took the Kinko quality flyers and left.

A Worthwhile Experience

Andersonville, GA, was the site chosen by the Confederate authorities in 1863 for Camp Sumter, a prisoner of war camp begun in 1864. A little over a year later, when the Civil War ended, 13,000 Union prisoners had died in the facility. Practically every other prison camp, on both sides, had appalling records regarding inmate deaths but none compared to Camp Sumter.
As the memory of the war faded and more rational heads prevailed, the efforts of a few finally culminated in Congressional legislation, more than 100 years later, to develop an historic site embracing POW issues from all conflicts, including of course, the Civil War. This mandate has seemingly been met. The cemetery was also opened to all qualified military personnel and now contains more than 18,000 graves and markers. Just a quiet 20 minutes off of I75, a couple of hours could be spent in many poorer ways.

Excitement Overload

Last night, from just after 5:00pm until about midnight, Perry, Georgia, where we are camped, was on and off under Tornado Warnings. The campsite has no contingency plans for such circumstances and possibly the right thing to have done would have been to drive to Wal-Mart and lurk around the northeast corner of the store for six or seven hours. At least, in the Wal-Mart here, that is the automotive and RV supply area - it could have been fabric sales! The storms were traveling northeast at 55 to 60mph making the timing of the 20 minute journey quite precarious so instead, we decided to remain in the coach checking local TV stations, Internet sources and the local NOAA broadcast. Outside of a few coach jarring wind gusts and a lot of torrential rain we lucked out although folk in close by areas did not all fare as well with six deaths and significant property being reported this morning.

Mission Possible!

But we screwed it up anyway

Today we had a plan. Leave Point A; buy Alpaca yarn; reach Point B; return to former catatonic condition. We made an early start and, since we have not yet learned to live outside, breaking camp was quick and easy - nothing to put away! By noon we were on the road.
The GPS reported 111 miles to go - that's got to be almost halfway to the moon for crying out loud. Feeling ready for a challenge, we decided to give it a shot and hunkered down. The first objective was reached by 3:30pm and by 4:00pm we were stuffed to the gunnels with yards of yarn and ready for our final assault.
That's when things started going pear shaped. An irascible Park Warden balled us out for not phoning ahead, screeched hysterically about the late hour, declared she only had a couple of sites big enough for that thing, pointing a derisive finger at Black Bess and generally stomped around exercising her disagreeable nature. Feeling suitably tongue-lashed, we set off as directed to find our site. Find it we did, following winding, soft sand pathways, often requiring 7 point shunts to navigate the corners, we came to site #30. Unfortunately, without significant deforestation, it would have been difficult to have got White Rabbit situated, let alone that thing. Never fear, a few more hair-raising corners and we regained the parking lot where we are now captive until 8:00am in the morning since Frau Hitler locked the park and left!

Central Florida Kitsch

Twenty years ago, when we lived in Florida, Mount Dora was just another dusty and impoverished central Florida backwater. What a transformation!
It seems as if the City hired a slick Public Relations company, rented a sign-writer for a week or two and hired some movie extras to walk around town looking interested.
Whatever the strategy, it worked. Four or five of the downtown cross streets (that's most of them) are lined with the most kitschy antique stores, furniture emporia, sandwich shops, lunch rooms, wine tasting joints, ice cream parlors, tea shoppes, stores dedicated to candles, aroma therapy, Mount Dora memorabilia - yikes - there is even a Segway store where $5,000.00 will get you one of those fancy electric scooter thingies! Why, for just $14.00 you can climb up on a horse and cart and experience traffic fumes firsthand for twenty-five minutes, as the driver struggles to cover the short trip around town in the dense and ever circulating traffic.
The clever part of this scam seems to be, that having established a critical mass of people, all blundering around muttering "What is everyone looking at?", the phenomenon is self perpetuating since every would be passer-by feels compelled to stop and get in on the action. It certainly worked for us!

SWMBO Rebounds

Hot on the heels of parting from her last fantasy (the Prevost), SWMBO (She Who Must Be Obeyed) went on the rebound with the latest love of her life - a house on the lake. Accordingly, on a recent morning we traipsed around several prospective properties.
Here are some pics of one agreeable edifice on Lake Minneola, complete with space for a couple of RVs. Time for some more understanding "Yes Dears" with further liberal doses of duplicity and misdirection. Stay tuned for new information...

Clermont Capers

In the 2000 Census, the population of Clermont is noted as 9,333. Last year, 2006, this figure had increased to a staggering 22,097 and there are lots of signs of growing pains. Located in the heart of the Florida Hill Country (??) the area was a significant producer of oranges. In 1956, the City Management built the Citrus Tower, shown here, although no one seems to know why. The observation deck, at 226 feet, permits the overview of 20,000 square miles in eight different counties and, when it was built, an estimated 17 million orange trees.
When we first traveled this part of highway US 27 a dozen years ago, it was a two lane concrete road and Clermont was one of the traffic lights on the way to Disneyworld. Now it is a four lane divided highway with a fully fledged overpass at the highway 50 crossing. Construction is everywhere and there is scarcely an orange tree to be found. Wal-Mart and many other majors have come to town in the last five years and the Historic Downtown District is fast becoming derelict. Serving as a bedroom community for Orlando, most of the incorporated area consists of typical Florida subdivisions, not too much for visitors to get excited about.
In the observation deck of the Tower there are four (poor quality) photographs of views from the tower at some time in the past (no date indicated). Following are copies of these pictures along with a current view of the same area. Although the old downtown area has fallen on hard times, there is a very nice picnic area a couple of blocks north on the south shore of Lake Minneola. We ate our jam sandwiches there and dreamed of the Crown Club. The Elks Lodge is in this same general area.
Sadly, the crime index for Clermont has climbed to around 500 versus the national average of 352 while, shockingly, Orlando's index is currently over 1,000.
On a lighter note, to win back my Sweeties favor following our Marathon debacle, I suggested that we should consider a new RV along the lines of this one. She was not amused.
Incidentally, Clerbrook, the recently purchased Encore Golf and RV Resort 5 miles north of Clermont, has spacious sites, casual golf for those so inclined and, at this time, remarkably negotiable rates :-)

EPA to investigate the Crown Club

Observers have recently studied the effects of Crown Club feeding on Baby Boomers. A correlation has been discovered between extended use of these facilities and the Boomers subsequent athletic abilities. The pictures here, taken three weeks apart, show the effect on one sorry subject who was compelled to feed there three times every day. To alleviate this nutritional nightmare and keep his spirits up, the subject did sneak away a dozen or so times and snatch a few quarts of ice cream and strawberries but clearly, this was not enough to save the day.