The 2018 Road, Day 40: In The Conquistador’s Shoes

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July 4, 2018, Petrified Forest National Park-

The long journey around the length and breadth of North America is coming to a close today, the 242nd anniversary of our nation’s Declaration of Independence.  I have re-entered Arizona, my home base for 35 of the past 40 years and, most likely,for 2-3 years to come.  A relatively short four hours remain, before I am back in my Prescott apartment, and I will face weeds, a small amount of dusty furniture and four days’ accumulation of dirty laundry.

This morning, however, I embraced Independence Day, first by enjoying a simple breakfast on the patio of Sunset Motel, then taking a short stroll in its small garden.

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Moriarty is becoming a bedroom community for Albuquerque, a scant 40 minutes away to the west.  I have been to the Duke City, nearly a dozen times, over the past four decades. Until today, though, I had not set foot in Old Town, Albuquerque’s original settlement, established in honour of the Duke of Alburqerque, who was Viceroy of New Spain at the time the settlement was established, in 1706.  The statue shown below is of Don Francisco Cuervo y Valdes, the founder of Albuquerque.

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I spent a bit more than an hour, on this early Wednesday morning, taking in the sights of a historical district that is still waking up from pre-Independence Day revelry, last night.

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There are many artists’ studios, crafts shops and small restaurants in Old Town.  The centerpiece, though, is the Church of San Felipe de Neri.

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This is the eastern arch, leading out of the church property, into a pleasant promenade along Old Town’s many shops.

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Below, is a view of the west arch.

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The promenades led me to a Salvadoran restaurant, which was closed, and to Black Bird  Coffee House, which was very much open.

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I chatted with the proprietress of the shop, who was pleased that I had made Old Town the focus of this Albuquerque visit and hoped I would feel at home there, on future such jaunts.  She told me that the former owner of the shop had headed to Prescott, hoping to open a coffee shop there.  I wish him luck, as our town has fifteen such shops, counting the chain franchises.

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Near Sombra, there was a curious silver backed bench.

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Old Town was starting to stir, for Independence Day, as I made my way to my car and  back to I-40.

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I stopped briefly at the first rest area in Arizona, near Lupton, for a short nap, then came here, to the Petrified Forest Cafe, for a quick lunch.  Now, it’s time to head out on the home stretch.

 

 

 

 

 

The 2018 Road, Day 39:Plowing On, Through Remorse

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July 3, 2018, Moriarty, NM-

I woke up in Sallisaw, just after 6 AM, which is my usual wake-up, when on the road.  Ed’s Cafe was across the road from Sallisaw Inn, so I headed over for breakfast.  The waitress looked to be a sassy sort, the kind that can handle truck drivers very well.  She plopped a menu down in front of me and took my coffee order, then walked over to a gray-haired gentleman and plopped her cleaning rag in front of him.  I liked her right away.  Turns out, he was indeed a regular, coming by here every two weeks.

I ordered the special, and Sassy Stacey got me to change it to the same plate from the regular menu, telling me quietly that “the boss jacks up the price for the special, when all it is, is more hashbrowns.” So I got a good deal on a very decent breakfast.

I headed straight across Oklahoma, bypassing OKC, and stopping at a Braum’s, in Weatherford, for lunch.  I like Braum’s for their milkshakes and malts, getting one of the latter, to go with my chicken tenders.  Weatherford is a nice little town, so getting in out of the heat there, and giving the Elantra an hour’s rest, made perfect sense.

Next was the Texas Panhandle, a far more magnificent place than many people might see.  My remorse came from not giving old Texas Tidbits enough of a heads-up, as I approached Amarillo.  So, it happened that my only Texas stops were gassing up in McLean and a short meditative visit to the rest stop off I-40, at Alanreed.

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Despite the ominous clouds, I did not get so much as a drop on my windshield today.

After leaving Texas behind, I made two stops in eastern New Mexico, dinner at K-Bob’s, in Tucumcari, taking advantage of the chain’s delicious catfish plate and generous salad bar, then gassing up at a Mom and Pop store in Milagro- just because the young couple are making a heartfelt effort to revive the windswept little settlement.

Finally, the day ended at one of Moriarty’s oldest inns: Sunset Motel.  The widowed daughter-in-law of the motel’s founders runs this place with a velvet fist.  Her business acumen and graciousness do not clash- which I find admirable and reassuring.  She keeps her late husband’s and in-laws’ legacy running very smoothly.

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The 2018 Road, Day 38: Memphis, Part 3-Resolute, Whilst Sitting On A Beale Street Sidewalk

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July 2, 2018, Memphis-

The man to whom I am referring, in the above subtitle, was one of a relative few who were sitting in various spots, along Memphis’ touristy and bustling Beale Street, “Birthplace of the Blues”.  I had no green in my wallet, and so gave him a few quarters-though I generally avoid such donations.  He is a man my age, though, and probably served in “the Nam”, which tends to be more of a bond than many might understand. So, I dug in my pocket.  Of course, it was something of an insult and he yelled in protest, as I made my way back towards my car, parked just off the riverfront.  He struck me as being altogether determined to survive and maintain his place in that particular spot.

There is, in Memphis, a publication called The Bridge, which is sold in tourist areas.  I bought one, from a man working the parking lot of the National Civil Rights Museum.  Ironically, the lead article was about the last regular occupant of Lorraine Motel, who was evicted to make way for its conversion into a tourist venue.  She stands, most days, across the street from the Museum, holding a protest sign and calling for more humane treatment of the very people for whom Dr. King fought.

I did notice, as well, there was a certain hardness about the people, mainly African-American, who were working in the Museum. As cogent and compelling as the subject matter was to me, to them, it seemed like just a job-from the no-nonsense ticket seller to the bored young lady sitting in a nearly empty gift shop, in the annex, across from Lorraine Motel.

I carefully parked my Hyundai in a lot one block from Beale Street.  The place is a sanitized version of the place known by W.C. Handy and B.B. King, and tourists, many of whom perhaps have buried their own Blues, were in full force on this Monday afternoon.  I contented myself with buying one t-shirt, actually one of two trinkets I’ve picked up, this journey.  (The other was a “Moose” t-shirt from Ausable Chasm.) I might have dropped into one of the several restaurants that line the five-block area, but Arcade took care of my hunger, very well.  Beale Street is an area that is worth visiting, at least once. On another trip this way, I would figure to spend more time in places like Sun Studios.

Here are some Beale Street scenes.

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Above, is the west entrance to the entertainment district.  Below, the Orpheum Theater has hosted a good many musical events, for nine decades.

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The name, itself, tells all.

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Here is a view of the heart of Beale Street.

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I got my t-shirt at Beale Street Gifts, an unpretentious and very busy little shop. In the background is the east entrance to the district.

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I came across this sculpture, in Beale Street’s small park, just after my encounter with the leonine man on the sidewalk.

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The widely revered, but tortured, Elvis Presley will always be a part of Memphis.

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Leaving Beale Street, I spent a short time on Memphis’ Riverwalk, paying my respects to the Big Muddy.

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On the river, many visitors took in the sights from one of two river boats.  Here is the Memphis Queen.

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A smaller vessel took visitors further upriver, to the north side of downtown, near Mud Island.

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As I prepared to head towards Arkansas, one last look uptown was in order.  The Pyramid will be on a future itinerary-if for no other reason than that it is there.  Pyramids, even commercial ones, are symbols of hope and unity.

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I crossed the I-55 bridge, wending my way past West Memphis and cruising through Arkansas, stopping only for a light convenience store supper, in Conway.  Sallisaw, OK offered the night’s lodging, at Sallisaw Inn.  The town seems to have grown a bit, since I was here in 2016.

 

 

The 2018 Road, Day 38: Memphis, Part 2- Martin and The Mountain Top

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July 2, 2018, Memphis-

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From the time I was a nine-year-old, trying my best to vicariously understand why Black people were struggling for the same rights my parents seemed to have, I have been fascinated by people like Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X and Fannie Lou Hamer.  Rosa Parks and her story came a bit later to my consciousness, when I was in high school, and the works of Langston Hughes were part of our tenth grade English curriculum.

The murders of Emmett Till, the children in the Birmingham church bombing, the Civil Rights workers in both Alabama and Mississippi, Medgar Evers- all hit me hard.  I remember my Dad being pissed about the assassination of Malcolm X- “He was just starting to be reasonable”. It struck me that maybe that dialogue with White America was what got Malcolm killed; that maybe the powers that be don’t want the common folk to get along.  His death turned me from Goldwater youth to angry leftist radical.  The common denominator, for both alt-Right and Far Left seems to be the sense that the poor are just fodder-for those with money to burn.  1968 just added gasoline to my fire.

Time has made me recognize the complexity of the whole ball of wax.  I remain committed to a solid implementation of social justice, though, and visiting the National Civil Rights Museum brought me to my knees, in silent, shaking tears.

Martin Luther King, Jr, indeed made it to the mountain top. While his last physical gaze was at the eastern edge of downtown Memphis, his spiritual gaze saw the heights of recovery from a deeply-embedded misogyny, from a dalliance with classism and Marxism and from narrow focus on the cause of Black folk.  He spoke of, and was moving towards, leaving no one out:  Opposition to the Vietnam War was a part of his new credo, but so was the plight of hardscrabble farmers and miners in Appalachia and the Ozarks. Forging ties with La Raza Unida and Native American activists was a rising tide, but so was listening to the children of European immigrants who were living increasingly precarious lives, in poor urban neighbourhoods and rural slums, alike.

So, my morning was focused, in three museums in and around  Lorraine Motel.

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This establishment had been one of a relative handful of inns, across the country, where African-Americans could stay in safety, whilst traveling.

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In the main hall, there are replicas of key episodes in the Civil Rights struggle. Below, is a depiction of Rosa Parks, taking her rightful place on a Montgomery bus.

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This credo has been, to varying extents, followed by the greatest of those who have sought to bring about meaningful change.

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Those kids were my age, or younger, and that this did not matter to the bombers will forever burn in my heart.

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These two bedroom photos show the room occupied by  Dr. King (top) and by one of his top aides(bottom).

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This museum, across the street from the Lorraine, features two floors that exhibit details and archives of the assassination and the investigation into James Earl Ray and his suspected associates.    The  killings of other key figures of the Civil Rights Era are also examined here.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

My evolution, as a compassionate soul, is far from finished.  Being a “woke white man” is a worthy goal, but I still feel a bit drowsy.  This has nothing to do with my visiting places associated with the Confederacy or pondering conservative statements:  One must know what the “other side” thinks, and why, if there is to be a lasting peace in society, and in the world.

Lastly, before heading to the musically significant Beale Street, I stopped for a late lunch at one of Memphis’ oldest eateries.  The Arcade has been around since 1959.  The crew definitely made me feel at home, at the counter.  I’ll be back again.

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The 2018 Road, Day 35: One Good Ville to Another

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June 29, 2018, Crossville, TN-

I sent a text message to an online friend in Asheville, who would not have time for a short visit, and another to a friend in Knoxville, thinking she might be joining what I figured would be a gathering of old Xanga friends, tomorrow, in this town in the western foothills of Appalachia.

I spent time in both cities, en route to my destination.  After bidding farewell to W, I headed north to I-40, then west to Asheville, stopping for an hour’s introduction to what is sure to be a key stop on future journeys across the South.  I have said, and meant, that about so many places, that I may as well hop on a Greyhound local and be done with it.  The thought is comforting, though, to say the least. It’s nice to feel welcomed, whether in new places or old.

Here are some scenes of downtown Asheville.   Here is the lobby of Asheville Community Theater, with its stage areas both to the right and extending eastward from the lobby.

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From this spot, near my parking place, on the north side, I walked back towards the city center.  Art deco towers are not common in Appalachia, but the Jackson Building, built on the site of a tombstone shop run by William Oliver Wolfe, the father of novelist Thomas Wolfe, is such a building.

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This braided girl, inspired perhaps by Wolfe’s “Look Homeward, Angel”, is one of several statues that grace downtown.

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Zebulon Baird Vance, like so many figures of the Confederacy, was a mass of contradictions.  He reportedly taught some slaves to read, though that was never confirmed.  A life-long Christian, he strongly advocated for total religious freedom, and fought against anti-Semitism.  He sincerely believed that freed slaves were being manipulated by the Federal government and needed a time of separation from whites, thus his insistence on imposing racial segregation in North Carolina, during his post-war term as governor.  This unfortunate series of actions has re-ignited a debate, as to whether his name should be removed from this obelisk, in Pack Square.  Asheville, in recent years, has been a socially forward-thinking community. So, the Vance Memorial is something of an anomaly.

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One other unique feature of Pack Square is a series of farm animal sculptures, whose purpose is unclear.

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West of Pack Square, there are a number of small cafes. Being in the mood for a Cubano, I chose Bomba Latin Cafe.  The place was a friendly introduction to Asheville’s active foodie scene and the sandwich was all a Cubano should be- freshly shaved pork, with shredded cabbage and small, diced bits of Habanero pepper, on a freshly-baked bun.

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Well-nourished, I got back to my car, with six minutes to spare.  I got in one more full view of downtown, from Pack Square, before heading back onto the freeway. Asheville City Hall is visible, in the background.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

I had plenty of company, headed west, as I-40 was packed with People headed to the Great Smokies.  Once past the exits to Boone, Cherokee and Gatlinburg, the sailing was a bit smoother. My primary stop in Knoxville was to service my Elantra, at Big O Tires.  Being expected in Crossville by 5:30, or so, I headed straight here, once the service was finished.  Knoxville has a some places of fascination, not the least of which is my online friend’s art gallery.  These wait for a visit more focused on that area.

Settling in to the serene home of L and C, I look forward to tomorrow’s gathering, however large or small it may turn out to be.

The 2018 Road, Day 34: The Door Never Closes

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June 28, 2018, Salisbury, NC-

I first encountered W, in 2002, when he arrived in Phoenix, from his native Liberia.  At that time, he was recovering from a severe injury and was one of thousands of refugees from his then-war torn homeland.  He had been a journalist, writing for Monrovia’s daily newspaper, when his injuries occurred.

Like more than a few Africans living in Phoenix, he became a trusted friend and we have maintained a correspondence, ever since.  He has left Arizona and is now comfortably settled in a simple home, in this pleasant city of the Piedmont.  Salisbury is about an hour northeast of Charlotte, and seems to not have, as yet, become saddled with major urban sprawl.

I woke to a calm morning, in Timmonsville, about two hours further southeast of here.  As I suspected, there is an unnamed breakfast and lunch counter, inside the Mobil Station.  I walked across the street and discovered The Hot Plate- more than the microwave stand I had suspected would be there.  Instead, an effusive man of about 35 and a shy girl, who seemed to be about 15, were behind a full-service breakfast & lunch counter.  The man took my order and both set to work, he on the sausage and the girl on the eggs and pancakes.  She brought a fabulous breakfast plate to my small table, in eight minutes’ time.  Several other people- mostly customers, plus two women who seemed to have some role in running the show, came in and out during my leisurely breakfast.   After paying my bill, and giving the bemused girl a healthy tip, I reflected that places like The Hot Plate are what keep small-town America connected with the open road.  I would go in there again, were I to find myself in Timmonsville-or, as this sign would have it, in

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I headed, in earnest, towards Salisbury, and arrived at W’s place in a couple of hours.  There, a comfortable bed for the night, and a steaming pot of Liberian pork stew, with heaping portions of rice, awaited.  African hospitality is second to none-even in the simplest of homes.

On the way there, I picked up a few more gift items, as a few families in the small town of Mc Bee, SC were holding a fund-raiser and the bake sale was too good to pass up.  Mc Bee is also notable for this:

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Salisbury has several solid Federal period and Beaux  Arts era architectural gems.  I stopped to note  a few of these, whilst driving towards W’s apartment.

Perhaps most prominent, from the east, is the Bell Tower of First Presbyterian Church.

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Driving westward, St. John’s Lutheran Church becomes equally impressive.

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In Salisbury’s Veteran’s Cemetery, this memorial to World War II dead is at the western gate to the grounds.

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This is the old Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Church, west of the cemetery.

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I found a most happy W, waiting outside his apartment complex.  It’s been a while since he had any visitors from out of town.

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Here is a view of the park, down the street from his complex.

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After my hearty lunch of stew and rice, W and I walked to a Walgreen’s where I could get a spare dental care kit, as mine was possibly lost. I also got a spare razor and blades, while W talked of his joyful walks along Salisbury’s main commercial street.  He keeps away from the Confederate Memorial that greets the traveler coming in from the East.  Otherwise, he has walked all over the town, making friends as he goes.

I found, however, that there was little evidence of racial tension here, as W’s  White cross street neighbours were quite cordial, and there was plenty of friendly interaction during my own downtown visit.

Rowan County Courthouse is an impressive Federal Era structure.  This block celebrates George Washington’s visit here, following the American Revolution.

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The same detail has kept the County Administration Building in good repair, for over 150 years.

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Away from downtown, the west and south sides feature several older gems.  Below, is Chambers House, from the Revolutionary Period.

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Here is another view of the Bell Tower, as it is near Chambers House.

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This tiny salt box house was the Henderson Law Office, built in 1796.

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I spent a few moments checking out a south side block, from whence there is another fine view of the Bell Tower.

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Here is a three-part look at the south side’s finest mural, entitled “Crossroads-Past Into Present”.  It shows Salisbury life, circa 1900 and was completed in 2001.  The artists are Cynvia Rankin, Earle Kluttz and Raines Thompson.  Ms. Rankin was the primary artist on this project, commissioned by  Rowan Art Guild.

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W and I spent a great deal of time just talking of life in Arizona, as compared to North Carolina.  The latter is certainly a less frenetic and cheaper place to live, by and large.  He also told me much about Liberia, and his journalistic experience during the country’s Civil War.  We watched a lengthy Baha’i video, as well.  Our conversation tended to be more far ranging than those we’ve had over the phone. W speaks at a fast clip, so line of sight works better for me, in understanding him.

It has been another relaxing day, though, knowing I am in a place of friendship.

NEXT:  Across the Great Smokies, to Crossville

 

The 2018 Road, Day 29: The Cleansing Storm and Saturday’s Markets

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June 23, 2018, Tifton, GA-

After a short pass by Clemson University, which I found closed for the evening, I headed off to look for a campsite along  Richard B. Russell Lake.  Named for a conservative senator from Georgia, who was noteworthy as both a pragmatist and a parliamentarian, despite having misgivings about integrating whites and blacks at the Federal level, the lake, formed by damming the Savannah River, draws people of all ethnicities.

I chose the first campground on the South Carolina side of the river:  Calhoun Falls State Park.  The town was named for another senator, John C. Calhoun, who strode the floor of his chamber, orating in defense of slavery, whilst privately educating his own slaves back home.  Even the most seemingly venal of people can be complicated.

The Southland has always graced my camping efforts with a torrential rain, and last night was no exception.  Despite the cleansing downpour, with copious thunder and lightning, my tent and rain flap stayed put.  It also helped that the tent site is on porous ground.

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Here are some views of  the lake, looking towards the Georgia shore. Note that the soil along the shore is red.

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I made a stop at the camp store, for a bit of breakfast, before heading out.  Two sweet teen girls were minding the store and made sure I had fresh coffee and a scone, on this soggy morning.

Outside, the dock and its attendant were getting ready for a more promising day of sunshine.

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I took county roads to the town of Calhoun Falls, then to McCormick, before going on to Edgefield, the hometown of another of South Carolina’s more provocative figures:  J. Strom Thurmond.  Before Donald Trump, before George Wallace, Strom Thurmond stood for keeping things as they were, in bygone days- before coming to his senses in later years, and actually being mortified by those who cited him as an example of a man who could “keep the races apart”.

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I found numerous mementos of the Civil War, as was to be expected, and solid antebellum architecture.  Then, there was the turkey.  Edgefield’s more eclectic claim to fame is as the headquarters of the American Wild Turkey Association.  One of the men with whom I spoke had been to Prescott, and had hunted wild turkeys in our National Forest.

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I took in Edgefield’s tiny, but welcoming Farmers’ Market, purchasing a couple of gifts for my family in Florida.  Then I poked around a bit in Edgefield’s town square.

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Below, is the town’s memorial to its Confederate  war dead.  Being on the opposite side of the slavery issue, I nonetheless recognize that people of earlier times had to go through their growing pains.  Then, too, so do many of this day and age.

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Other memorials honour those fallen in subsequent conflicts.  This memorial stone commemorates World War II.

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I stopped in Park Row Cafe, for a muffaletta, which held its own with the more famous New Orleans versions of the sandwich.  I was greeted warmly by the young lady who I had met on the street, earlier.  The cafe’s manager, though, was a bit more guarded, wondering aloud about “the western Yankee”. She was quite glad to see me go.  Too bad, as the place has wonderful fare.

Down the road, and a bit north of the river, is Aiken.  It is home to another Xanga friend, who was not at home when I visited downtown.  I can see the attraction, though.  Aiken had a larger Farmers’ Market than Edgefield, and was considerably more vibrant.  I spent most of my time here in New Moon Cafe, a fortuitous discovery, as I was missing Artful Dodger.  I sat, nursing a Haitian pour-over, absorbing the positive energy.  I found this magnetic little cafe a great excuse for returning to Aiken in the future, even if Xanga friend is not around.  Here is a small hotel that might be of interest to those not inclined to camp.

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New Moon is all about power!

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I took this photo from a discrete distance as, underneath the signage, another patron was relaxing with coffee and the paper.

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Leaving salubrious Aiken, I wanted to make fairly good time getting to north Florida, before turning in. So Augusta, Lake Oconee, Macon and Andersonville all wait for another time.  I made a mental note, as to the exquisite beauty of Oconee and its Reynolds properties.  There is much also that Georgia has to tell, regarding the struggles of men with one another.  Americus showed the way towards amity, whilst Andersonville chronicles the flip side of Maryland’s Point Lookout, being the site of a POW camp for Union soldiers, just as the latter was for Confederate POW.

So, I stopped here, in Tifton, just off I-75, enjoying chicken salad at a Zaxbe’s.  I still am determined to make it at least to Ocala, tonight.

 

The 2018 Road, Day 26: A Yorktown Meander, Part 2-The Grounds of Surrender

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June 20, 2018, Yorktown-  

Having seen the coastline along which the final major battle of the American War for Independence played out, I turned to the equally critical interior locales of the struggle.

Yorktown Battlefield is the end point of Colonial National Historic Park, just as Jamestown represents the beginning.

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There are several displays of interest inside the Visitor Center, including one of George Washington’s tents.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

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From there, the auto route of the park leads to Yorktown National Cemetery and the Grand French Battery.  Whilst  I was here, a few boys were engaged in Hide and Seek, along the redoubts.

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The scene of the cemetery itself was more subdued.

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A bit north of the park, on the way to modern Yorktown, is Yorktown Victory Monument.

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Doubling back towards town, just a bit, I caught this glimpse of Main Street.

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I am always glad to see the intense forest growth in the Tidewater area.  Some groves are impressive, in their height.

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Redoubts 9 and 10 were scenes of brief battles, with the French capturing the first and the Americans, the second.  The British ceasefire occurred three days later.

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These American artillery pieces were placed between the two redoubts, making the task of capture much easier.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

These sharpened stones bore no significance, but they captured my attention.

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Next on the route was Augustine Moore House, where the British surrender was negotiated, on October 18, 1781.

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The York River flows just east of Moore House.

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Here is the Surrender Field, where Cornwallis’ army laid down their arms.

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This is the Untouched Redoubt, abandoned by the British on September 29, 1781.  The Allied forces arrived the next day, and left the position as it was.

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With this loop tour, one gets a well-rounded view of the final major clash of our nation’s first struggle towards respect in the family of nations.  There would be much to be done, internally and externally, before we would reach a dominant position as an economic and military power.  I wonder what it will take, to reach similar prominence, spiritually.

 

 

 

 

The 2018 Road, Day 26: A Yorktown Meander, Part 1- Shore and Town

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June 20, 2018Yorktown, VA-

I had this flight of fancy, at one point this week, about “doing” the Hampton Roads area, in three days.  That is not how I’m wired, though, and it came as no surprise that Jamestown took the better part of a day and Yorktown, pretty much all of the following day.  After a lovely breakfast at Capitol Pancake House, I took my leave of Williamsburg, and headed to the place where the British Army found itself outmaneuvered by a Colonial force that was trained by the Prussian General von Steuben and bolstered by the French, under Marquis de Lafayette. Yorktown has a wealth of both coastal and woodland sites that figured in the deciding battle of the American War for Independence.

I spent about an hour taking in the coastal section of Yorktown, with plenty of company at the beach and in the shops.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

The Coleman Bridge spans the York River, going to Gloucester Point, which was one of General Cornwallis’ “fall back” camps.

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Yorktown has two small gardens, near the riverside.

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This garden honours the sacrifices made by African-Americans in colonial Yorktown.

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General Cornwallis had his troops hide in this cave, as the joint American and French forces advanced on Yorktown, by land and by sea.

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This statue depicts the surrender of General Cornwallis to General Washington.

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I headed a bit west, to the Poor Potter, site of the factory operated by William Rogers, an expert artisan, who operated colonial Virginia’s largest pottery operation, between 1720 and his death, in 1739.

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Here is a view of the actual factory. One may see shards of pottery, through the windows to the right.

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Yorktown is very much a modern city, and York County Courthouse had plenty of visitors this morning.

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I headed over to the Battlefield and its mementos of the American, British and French contributions to Yorktown’s prominence.  In Part 2, the focus will be on the auto tour of these far flung sites.

 

 

 

The 2018 Road, Day 25, Part 2: Williamsburg at Twilight

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June 19, 2018, Williamsburg-

In 2007, the three of us took in downtown Williamsburg, just as the sun was setting.  Whilst there was no opportunity to take in the interiors of various historic buildings, the ambiance of Williamsburg at twilight is nothing short of divine.

That being one of my sweetest memories of the 2007 journey, I checked into a reasonable motel here:  Bassett Motel, east of downtown.  After a hearty pasta dinner, I headed to the twilight of 2018 Williamsburg.  Here are several scenes of downtown, and of the College of William and Mary.

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SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURESDespite the light rain, many families were out and about, this evening.  Like them, I am captivated by historic buildings in amber glow.

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The College of William and Mary was founded in 1693.

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This is a statue of Norborn E. Berkeley, who was Governor of Virginia at the time the College was chartered.  Below, the College campus shared the enchanting ambiance of downtown.

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This magic again captured in a bottle, my thoughts turned towards Yorktown, which also escaped our attention, eleven years ago.