tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37533544150977495402024-03-05T00:33:12.313-06:00One Dusty TrackA road twice traveled is never as interesting the second time.Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.comBlogger373125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-67157304554353286262021-12-24T12:49:00.001-06:002022-06-14T00:54:54.561-05:00Tale of Travail - Auto Buying During the Pandemic<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK2_6WTqiDVn1J1-fEy45OHLrT5qtQ-IL6W7sAhvkF23ot_6gTMA3XkA3a6VSoMNOY0EAupKxFBEg0SnTTpilYJf-KxbWfXUBpZ4WslmiPvfiPutVhjgZQIsFf6cS_nYpoX_b7TDS_17J_yvxm0QsY_RKSS8B8pQKMA_Wer7hX0qF56rzZfLgjsoBg=s550" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="550" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK2_6WTqiDVn1J1-fEy45OHLrT5qtQ-IL6W7sAhvkF23ot_6gTMA3XkA3a6VSoMNOY0EAupKxFBEg0SnTTpilYJf-KxbWfXUBpZ4WslmiPvfiPutVhjgZQIsFf6cS_nYpoX_b7TDS_17J_yvxm0QsY_RKSS8B8pQKMA_Wer7hX0qF56rzZfLgjsoBg=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A few years ago, we had a motorhome. We had many enjoyable trips in it, but eventually, I was having too many job travel obligations, the wife was working full-time and back in college for her master's degree and our young daughter became involved in sports, her school's marching band, and numerous other endeavors so we had no time for the RV. It was so sad, just sitting there in its spot behind our house, never going anywhere. I put up some pictures and a description on an RV selling site and soon, a nice retired couple came down from Canada, paid cash, and took our beloved motorhome back up north with them. For the first time in a number of years, we were RV-less.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Fast forward seven years. I'm now retired; our daughter graduated from college and is working and living on her own; the wife is ready to retire in another year. And the wife has missed having an RV. Terribly missed. For the last several years, like a dog gnawing a bone - "We need to get another RV," "I really want another RV," "When are we going to get another RV?" I wasn't sure I wanted the hassle and expense of an RV. I've always enjoyed the simplicity of staying in hotels, and t</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">here is always the risk that warm recollections
will be tarnished by the cold reality of the present but in order to get a little peace and quiet in my waning years, I finally gave in and agreed. A new RV was to be headed our way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We did compromise some - instead of a motorhome, we would get a new truck and an RV trailer. That way there would only be one motorized vehicle to perform maintenance on and insure. So, I began heavy-duty research on new pickup trucks. I finally settled on one of the new Ford models. My grandparents and parents were Ford people so I grew up being a "Ford people" too. One of my favorite vehicles was a Ford truck that I still regret selling so a new Ford it was destined to be.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">By then, the Pandemic was in full force. Big time supply chain issues. Very few auto's available anywhere. Three months of daily checking every Ford dealer's inventory within 200 miles of us resulted in no new trucks which met my criteria. Finally, one fine Thursday, at a dealer 50 miles from us, a 2021 F-150 Larriat was delivered. Powered by the new hybrid Power-Boost engine, 4-wheel drive, tow package, 360-degree camera, 7.2 kilowatt Pro-Power onboard generator and loaded with all the latest safety systems. I immediately called the dealer. Yes, they still had it. It had been delivered the day before and already 2 people had expressed interest in it and were trying to line up finances to purchase it. It was high noon when I talked to him and he said, "First one here with a decent down-payment get's it."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAFMyILZBR_46wlz7zbrd0ApeJTGAgp12PtLe6KXLZsciyO_5THu39Wb0DnZbBHWux0W3rL7jO5wyCQx0Uih-A6J3dsQFfvd_zF5_bNbQaIIDMH_B8VmVbGQLtAC9sB14IlWsMG6BTZkC7vqririOafmDaXwGztU7StR3oPBdkiSFTb6PhVBNw5znP=s525" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="525" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAFMyILZBR_46wlz7zbrd0ApeJTGAgp12PtLe6KXLZsciyO_5THu39Wb0DnZbBHWux0W3rL7jO5wyCQx0Uih-A6J3dsQFfvd_zF5_bNbQaIIDMH_B8VmVbGQLtAC9sB14IlWsMG6BTZkC7vqririOafmDaXwGztU7StR3oPBdkiSFTb6PhVBNw5znP=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I called the wife at her work. "You've got to get off and come home right now so we can go buy a pickup! Hurry!" We arrived at the dealer at 4:00pm sharp. There she sat, still there, thank goodness - bright shiny red and looking beautiful. Parked right up front by the street, no wonder there were people already interested; you couldn't miss her. We were walking around the truck inspecting it when a salesman came up with a big smile on his face. "Can I help you," he asked. "I've been talking to Chris about this truck. Are you Chris?" The smile abruptly fell from his face at the vanishing of a possible sale. "No, I'll get him for you," as he walked away. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Soon enough, Chris came walking up, the previous guy's big smile on his face, holding the keys. "I figured you would want to test drive her." I got in, started her up, and saw there was 26 miles on the odometer already. Chris explained two people had already test driven her. "We just got her in yesterday afternoon and people were asking to test drive her before we even got the plastic off the seats!" The wife and I took turns driving her around and brought her back with 48 miles on the odometer. I was looking at the window sticker when I asked what he would sell her for. $3,000 over the sticker! "What? That's way over the sticker price!" "Yes, sir" he replied, "that's the 'High Demand' price. Not many available and a lot of folks want trucks like this. But if you are 'highly qualified,' I can get you 0% interest for up to 6 years."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Fortunately, we fit into the highly qualified category, plus we had a decent downpayment amount available. After much wheeling and dealing and with a cash downpayment of more than half the price dangled in front of him, he came down $1,000. He was all smiles and then I brought out a coupon from Ford worth $1,000 off on a new truck purchase. Then I brought out a coupon from my insurance company for $500 off a new auto purchase. And then, just for fun, I made him throw in a Ford insulated mug for me and a pink Ford trucker's hat for the wife. We shook hands.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8RSX-JZdtRzK3UTVIjCgrNbanf6zrjX0mLdR0mC0NVxSiyIjUOj8EvsutikjZ97Musc9olkE7rawPgsKDuCnEFJrTBtcu4Mbjs5sy2Jt0UnwUw1JD6Q2GlUiTx6LFeoRHpN2o91il3lAUnGSHZLKN1y2x23D2Zqin5goUPM_fb-6tt706o90BWvNE=s525" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="525" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8RSX-JZdtRzK3UTVIjCgrNbanf6zrjX0mLdR0mC0NVxSiyIjUOj8EvsutikjZ97Musc9olkE7rawPgsKDuCnEFJrTBtcu4Mbjs5sy2Jt0UnwUw1JD6Q2GlUiTx6LFeoRHpN2o91il3lAUnGSHZLKN1y2x23D2Zqin5goUPM_fb-6tt706o90BWvNE=s320" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">While waiting for the truck to go through final prep and filled up with gas, we ate their snacks and drank their cokes. With what I had just agreed to pay, it was the least they could do. I asked about the other people who supposedly were trying to line up finances, "Why didn't they take the 0% offer?" "They weren't highly qualified." </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">"These are crazy times" Chris said. "We're a pretty small dealer, but we used to get in a couple of dozen new autos every week. Some of them would sit on our lot for several months. Now we're lucky if they drop off 3 or 4 a week and it doesn't really matter what they are, somebody buys them within a few days."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I wasn't happy about having to pay $500 over sticker price, but I had to consider I was lucky to find a truck that met all my requirements and more and I knew other folks were paying more than that over sticker price. And financing it at 0% interest, well, I'll take that deal all day long!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It's been a few weeks since we brought "Big Red" home and so far, all is great. No initial problems at all. She rides more like a car than a truck and we're pleased as punch with getting 24 miles per gallon. Heck, we're still learning all the things she's equipped with; still some buttons we haven't pushed and don't know what they do. And every month when I make the payment, I think about 0% interest and it's not so bad! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">All I have to do now is find an RV trailer that meets my wife's criteria. Maybe then my waning years will be filled with peace and quiet!</span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-18277089556186539182021-08-16T13:42:00.001-05:002022-06-14T00:56:37.088-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Back Home<p style="text-align: center;"> <i style="background-color: #f6f6f6; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: center;">Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html" style="color: #9e5205;">HERE</a> to go to Day 1 entry.</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We had originally set
out from Niagara Falls intending to stop in Rossford, Ohio to check out the
shoes of Robert Wadlow, the world’s tallest man. The shoes are on display in the Rossford library, but when I looked it up online the night before, I found the library is closed due to Covid-19. Crossing Rossford off our list, we drove on toward
our next destination – Galena, Ohio. Galena has been voted the "World’s Best Downtown Shopping" and was featured on one of my favorite TV shows,
“Small Town, Big Deal.”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I took over the driving
duties, set my portable GPS for Galena, and off we went. Unfortunately, the
shortest distance between where we were and Galena is right through Chicago and "Shortest Distance" was what my GPS was set for. I
hate Chicago traffic. No matter what time of the day you are on any of the freeways, it's bumper-to-bumper backed up traffic. I had documented a route that was a little longer but it
went around Chicago. Unfortunately, Chip wasn’t aware of this alternate route. We were talking and I, not really thinking about it, just followed the GPS directions. The next
thing you know, we’re stuck in Chicago traffic. Crap! The street signs list the
highways by name, but the map lists them by number so there we were, in
stop-and-go traffic gridlock and we couldn’t figure out a shortcut or the best
way to get out of there. So trust the GPS to get us where we wanted to go.
After a while, we saw why the freeway was so backed up. On the opposite side of the freeway from us, an 18-wheeler had literally destroyed a passenger car. Firemen were standing around
and there were coverings over the smashed windows of the car. Somebody woke up that morning
never knowing they wouldn’t make it back home.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">After miles and miles of
heavy traffic, Chip, looking at the spiral-bound atlas we had brought along, asked why we were going west
when we should be going south. I told him we were going west to get to Galena
and then we would head south from there. “But Galena is way down south from
where we’re at now.” “I don’t think so,” I said. “The GPS is saying we still
need to be going west.” “But I’m looking at Galena on the map here and it’s way
south, not west. Your GPS is wrong.” Chip put the destination in the car's GPS
and sure enough, it indicated to go south. Long story short, after a lot of back-and-forth,
with Chip and the car's GPS insisting we needed to be going south, I finally
said OK, we’ll turn at the next highway going south. I don't know
what's wrong with my portable Garmen GPS. I've had it for over 10 years, I updated
just before we left, and it's never been wrong before.” Being a good navigator,
Chip found the next highway going south and said, “Turn left here.” I drove for a couple more hours, but we weren’t going
through any towns that I remembered when laying out the route beforehand. Several times I said, "Chip, I don't remember any of these towns," but Chip kept assuring me we
were going right.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We finally stopped for
gas, and he took over driving. Before pulling out of the station though, I looked at
the map, but couldn’t find Galena anywhere near our current southern route. Pointing, he said, “it’s right down there.”
“Sorry, Chip, but I still don’t see it.” He looked closely at the map and
pointed at a little bitty town. I looked closely. “Uh, Chip, that’s not
Galena. It’s some town named Galatia. You've been looking at Galatia on the map and you put Galatia in the car's
GPS, not Galena!" I looked again and found Galena way back up north where we had been
several hours ago. We had been within just a few miles of Galena when we turned
south!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">In addition to missing shopping in the "</span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">World’s Best Downtown Shopping," </span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">we had missed several other destinations I had planned for us – the "Field of Dreams" baseball
field, the world’s largest truck stop, and a town, Casey, IL., which has the world’s
largest golf tee, the world’s largest rocking chair, the largest mailbox, and
the largest pitchfork. I consider Chip to be my brother. We’ve been friends for 50 years now and nothing is going to change that. We decided to keep
driving south toward home rather than backtrack for 3 hours, but there wasn’t much talking in that car for a
while. You better believe I'll be ribbing him over this one for a good long
time! I’m sure we’ll laugh about it later. How much later is unknown.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFVEyHmZnIVmBcV4LYPz9LL3TiHvBhCLOsKOdDUob3CasgPPuLIvnIRthYR9KOvBjRoMn1rtZHQl-aFXyYUOneYZnmH0gLl8AY5ff5F4TziCtsTD5CCRRVrEysx5kmuq6xaWmncAqR5g/s500/Ted-sign-FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="500" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFVEyHmZnIVmBcV4LYPz9LL3TiHvBhCLOsKOdDUob3CasgPPuLIvnIRthYR9KOvBjRoMn1rtZHQl-aFXyYUOneYZnmH0gLl8AY5ff5F4TziCtsTD5CCRRVrEysx5kmuq6xaWmncAqR5g/s320/Ted-sign-FB.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We stopped in St. Louis for dessert at the famous Ted Drew’s Frozen
Custard stand on Route 66. The weather was hot and the ice cream was cold and
very tasty. Well worth the stop.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were 345 miles from
home</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> and it was just 3:00 in the afternoon so we decided to keep driving for a while. The later
it got, the closer we were to home and the more sleeping in my own bed sounded
real good. Chip started getting sleepy and tired about 9:00 and by then we were
less than 200 miles from home. We stopped for gas and some food and I took over
driving. We finally made it to my house a little after midnight. Tired and
sleepy, we pulled into the driveway, left everything in the car, and went
inside to crash. Unloading the car could wait for the next day.</span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Except for the last
couple of days, it was a great trip and we had a lot of fun. We returned safe
and sound, only a little worse for wear. Bucket list items got checked off, we
saw some cool things, and we did some cool things. We had several bad food experiences, but we also had some
excellent meals. We reminisced, we told stories, we had experiences for future reminiscing, we solved some of the world's problems, and we laughed a lot. Best of all, these two best friends got to spend some quality time together
and you just can’t put a price on that. I'm already looking forward to our next
trip!</span></p></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Little Rock, AR, USA34.7464809 -92.2895947999999896.4362470638211562 -127.44584479999999 63.056714736178847 -57.133344799999989tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-90717512113061626862021-08-15T18:40:00.002-05:002022-06-14T00:55:51.401-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Day 8<p style="text-align: center;"> <i style="background-color: #f6f6f6; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html" style="color: #9e5205;">HERE</a> to go to Day 1 entry.</i></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1Jydn3sXjb3GQW3kwReDcfuCjJQxTEuSCpcsp6GiBmlNoU0ChesSbZFkUOfBXF9Kfy67oGF_6Rq_IH67DYvIIGt8OCVA0bgZLv8Ltu5fHYTAv8QMcbffZpl1-vAmBWogXgSo7ZmwfqI/s500/lake-n-pines-room-blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="500" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1Jydn3sXjb3GQW3kwReDcfuCjJQxTEuSCpcsp6GiBmlNoU0ChesSbZFkUOfBXF9Kfy67oGF_6Rq_IH67DYvIIGt8OCVA0bgZLv8Ltu5fHYTAv8QMcbffZpl1-vAmBWogXgSo7ZmwfqI/s320/lake-n-pines-room-blog1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Our room at Lake 'N Pines Motel</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After checking out of the wonderful Lake 'N Pines motel, we went back into Cooperstown for breakfast.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> Either Cooperstown
doesn’t have breakfast eateries or we just didn’t happen to find any that was
open so we got back on Hwy 80 and headed toward our next destination 250 miles
away – Niagara Falls. Hwy 80 (known as Cooperstown Road in this part of the country) is a 2-lane, black-top rural road
with beautiful open fields and groves of old-growth trees with little towns every now and then. Going
through one of these little communities (it’s called a community because
calling it a town would be ridiculous), I spotted a little Mom & Pop store
with a sign that said, “Breakfast.” A wooden building with peeling white paint,
it looked like it had been there for many years, but there was something homey
about it. Chip didn’t see the sign as he drove by, but I got him to turn the car
around and return to it. I figured at the least we could get some road goodies
to snack on (plus it’s nice to help support little privately owned businesses).</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As soon as we walked in, conversations ceased and every head in the place turned to check us out. There were only a couple of
small tables along the wall and the tables were occupied mostly by old farmers
and ranchers wearing overalls and Massey Ferguson or John Deere gimme caps.
These are the old-timers who come to town every morning to have their coffee at
this little store and grumble about the weather, wives, and the state of the
union. One asked in a polite but warry way where we are from. After we told
them we were a couple of old U.S. Navy buddies who temporarily left our wives and kids behind to
take a road trip to see the Baseball Hall of Fame and we were just passing
through, they all seemed to relax, smiled, and after a few welcomes, went back
to their grumbling with each other. I guess we passed their test. Everyone was
very nice after that and we actually had a pretty decent hot meal cooked up by
an older lady in the open kitchen. It was one of those places where people know each other by a nickname, where everyone got
up, refilled their own coffee, got milk from the cooler, and chips and candy
from the shelves, and then told the cashier what they had and paid up or put it on their tab. It was a
nice little interlude - an enjoyable slice of small-town USA. Back on the road toward Niagara Falls, our luck changed.
To say things didn’t go as planned would be to engage in careless
understatement.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Just a few miles down
the road, it started to rain. I’m not talking a
little summer shower. I’m not talking about a mist. I’m talking full-on rain. A
few minutes later, the sky really opened up and it started a heavy rain.
Impressively heavy. As in monsoon rain. And it continued to rain. Every now and
then, it would slow to a heavy downpour, but then back to the monsoon. And it
continued like that for the next 250 miles! Instead of the expected 4 hours of
driving, it took 6. My back started really acting up and every time Chip hit a
little pothole, or the road got a little bit rough, a stabbing, red hot pain
shot up my lower back. I ate Excedrin Extra Strength like M&Ms to keep the
pain tolerable. In short, it was miserable.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">When we entered Niagara
Falls, it was still raining. We were hungry and tired. Open parking spaces were
non-existent unless we were willing to pay $20 or more to park for 30 minutes
so we could eat. We finally came across a hotel a few blocks away from Niagara Falls Park
with a restaurant that advertised Chinese Buffett. We got lucky and found an
open, metered parking spot just down from the hotel, so we grabbed it, dropped a few coins in the meter, and
squished our way into the hotel.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As soon as we entered
the restaurant, we knew something was not right – there was not a single customer
in the place. That's not good. Thinking maybe it was because it’s the
middle of the afternoon, we went in. The food on the buffet looked like it
had been cooked yesterday morning and left in the warming pans since then. Every item
had a film over it and everything just looked old and unappetizing. We started
to walk out, but a waitress came over and told us they also had pizza. With her
assurance that the ingredients were fresh, we ordered one each. A little
surprisingly, they weren’t bad, so we sat in a booth eating our pizzas and
watched it rain.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We then drove to Niagara
Falls Park and looked around, but the paved walkways in the park were pretty much
underwater. Plus, it was cold. Here it was May and the temperature was in the lower 40’s with rain and a strong, cold, persistent wind. We had on t-shirts and single-layer windbreakers. We saw
a couple of hardy souls walking down the sidewalks. They had umbrellas and
raincoats over their heavier coats and were walking in ankle-deep water. We
were not prepared for the weather and with my hurt back limiting my mobility, I
knew I wouldn’t be able to walk very far. In this case, “Skooter” (my
mobility scooter) couldn’t be used. It runs on battery power and not only does
water and electricity not mix but running it in water would cancel the warranty
and I had only had it for about 6 weeks. That thing is too expensive to take a
chance like that so Skooter stayed folded up in the back of the SUV. I had intended for us to take the Maid of the Mist boat
excursion, but it was closed due to the storms and high water. I had also
thought about us taking a helicopter tour of the falls, but it too was shut
down. We checked the weather and the rain was forecast to last solid for the next 3
days. We reluctantly decided to put off seeing Niagara Falls until some other
day. Big disappointment. Really big disappointment.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We entered our next
destination, Rossford, Ohio into my portable GPS and set out for the Rossford
Library where we could see the size 37AA shoes of Robert Wadlow. Standing 8’11”
tall, he was the tallest man in the world. Turning onto the bridge the GPS told
us to take, we were surprised to find halfway across that we were going into
Canada! There are signs telling you to not turn around and walls on the side of
the road to prevent it. So here we are, going into Canada with no passports (we
both have one, but didn’t have them with us), a big bunch of packages in the SUV
backend, and an illegal weapon (illegal in Canada anyway) in my possession. I knew it didn't
matter in Canada that I have a carry permit and we just knew we were going to jail
and there was nothing we could do about it.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The Canadian border
guard was actually pretty nice – where are you headed (“back home to the U.S.
hopefully”), why did you come to Canada (“we didn’t intend to”). You followed
your GPS, didn’t you? (“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what happened.”) Is it just
the two of you? (“Yes, just us 2, sir.) Where’s home? (Texas and Oklahoma,
sir.”) Do you have any drugs in your vehicle? “(No sir, no sir. We don’t do
drugs.) Are you carrying any firearms? Oh crap, what do I say?! I replied as
calmly as I could - “No, sir” while thinking, please don’t check my bag, please
don’t check my bag. "Oh, that gun? Gee, sir, I’m really sorry. I forgot that was
in there. Silly me." I felt bad about the little white lie, but I would have felt worse being thrown into jail or even just having my gun confiscated. Fortunately, he just smiled at us, asked for our
driver's license, and said, “This happens all the time. Pull over there by those
doors and I’ll bring your licenses back in a minute with some paperwork you’ll
need to fill out to get back in the states.” Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! Several
minutes later, I guess after he verified we were not terrorists or wanted
criminals, he gave us our stuff back and said to make a U-turn around the
building, drive safe, and have a nice day. He seemed rather amused about the
whole thing. We were not.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Getting back into the
states was, what with the open southern border, inexplicably tougher. We explained what had happened and then the questions came.
Where are you going? (“Back home.”) Are you U.S. citizens? (“Yes.”) Were you
born in the U.S.? ("Yes.") Do you have passports? (“Yes, but not with
us.”) Why do you not have your passports? (“Because we didn’t plan on going
into another country.”) Why were you in Canada? (“It was a mistake. We didn’t
mean to be.”) How long were you in Canada? (“About 10 minutes.”) Why do you
want to come into the U.S. (“Because we live in the U.S and want to go home.”) Are you bringing
anything back from Canada with you? (“No, we accidentally went into Canada on
that side of the road and basically immediately came back on this side of the road.”) Are
you bringing any plants into the country? ("No, we were just over there
and now we're here and we didn't go anywhere else to buy anything.") Turn off your car, give
me your license and wait here. 15 long minutes later, he came back, gave us our
stuff, and told us to drive back across the bridge. No smile, no amusement at our predicament, no welcome home, just suspicion, and gruffness.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9O6I5CSTeGEBY3Y0DZyrf-R86q6CsEjRJllDVjwofa1NBXF-GF8ClKL-_QMdvtNit-Yk2Y7vtttKyKziMUQ9DacldyZ3MfsATJMIo-utA6YzJxF01YVRazQ0RQsVlK2WS2GlAxUk9D80/s500/niagara-rainjpg.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="500" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9O6I5CSTeGEBY3Y0DZyrf-R86q6CsEjRJllDVjwofa1NBXF-GF8ClKL-_QMdvtNit-Yk2Y7vtttKyKziMUQ9DacldyZ3MfsATJMIo-utA6YzJxF01YVRazQ0RQsVlK2WS2GlAxUk9D80/s320/niagara-rainjpg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Driving across the Niagra River in <br />the rain</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Driving back across the
bridge, and low and behold, we saw the falls! I didn’t get my camera out in
time to take a picture, but we both actually got to see Niagara Falls. From our
vantage point, it wasn’t as impressive as I’ve been led to believe, but I’m
sure it’s much different up close and not partially obscured by heavy rain. We
were happy to be back in the good old U.S. of A. and we saw Niagara Falls after
all!</span></span><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">For some reason, my back didn’t hurt as much if I was driving, so I took over those
duties and Chip became the navigator. We headed on down the road, being very
careful to stay away from the Canadian border! Our next destination was 300
miles away, back toward the middle of the country. From there, we could head
south, catch a couple of interesting things along the way and be on our way
back home. There’s an old saying, “Man plans and God laughs.” Too bad for us,
God wasn’t finished laughing.</span><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Niagara Falls, NY, USA43.0962143 -79.037738814.785980463821154 -114.1939888 71.406448136178852 -43.8814888tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-37394683899387364842021-08-11T15:43:00.001-05:002021-08-11T15:43:59.587-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Day 7<p style="text-align: center;"><i>Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html">HERE</a> to go to Day 1 entry.</i></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_26iTOEN5axRANiwRPqqOIuq2sghcKDaxKeYxKaUcprysdzVzYfjDf3i3sGFVLgdRvC8FUqX_94wHXtmllRC111w_PWa3aE-k269hN1GezU8OlifCZABsBWHZ7U-6FKyIORgYnMI_90/s500/Ken-sign-fb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_26iTOEN5axRANiwRPqqOIuq2sghcKDaxKeYxKaUcprysdzVzYfjDf3i3sGFVLgdRvC8FUqX_94wHXtmllRC111w_PWa3aE-k269hN1GezU8OlifCZABsBWHZ7U-6FKyIORgYnMI_90/w240-h320/Ken-sign-fb.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The next stop on our
northern road trip was the old Max Yasgur farm in Bethel, New York. Everyone
born in the early 1950s knows what happened there August 15 thru 18, 1969 –
Woodstock! This place has been on my bucket list for 52 years and I’m finally
getting there!</span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In the summer
of 1969, I had just graduated high school, had cobwebs in my empty wallet and didn’t really know what I wanted
to do in life. A friend had a motorcycle and some family in New York. He kept
after me to sell my old beat-up Chevy, buy a motorcycle and ride with him up to New York. We could stay
with his family for a while and attend something being billed as “An Aquarian
Exposition,” a 3-day music festival. I shopped around and found a motorcycle I
fell in love with, a new, shiny 1969 Triumph Bonneville. I talked to the dealer several
times. He came down until the price was right. And then, and then... I said no. I would have
had to leave my girlfriend behind, I wasn’t all that confident in my motorcycle
riding skills, once I bought the bike, I would have spent all of the cash from selling my car, and
then what would I do for money? Also, at that time, I wasn’t really sure what
an “Aquarian Exposition” was and that was a long way to go on a motorcycle for
some little outdoor music festival. In life, you never know when one little
decision might change your whole life. Looking back, that “no” decision was one
of mine.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There is a little issue
with staying in Bethel. It’s a small, rural town of 4,200 people with not many places to stay, at least none that wasn't a Bed & Breakfast, or
rated just 1 star with a bunch of negative reviews or a middle-of-the-pack
hotel with OK reviews but costing $250 - $300 per night. Looking outside of
Bethel, we finally found a Best Western in the little town of Monticello, 12
miles away, with middling reviews, but only $125 so, due to the scarcity
of hotels and flying in the face of our often less-than-wonderful experiences with Best Western hotels, we made a reservation while we were still several
hours away. When we arrived, we noted the outside looked rather old and not all
that well maintained, but we're here now. Chip let me out at the front door to check in while he
looked for a parking spot.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When I walked in, the front desk person, a man of Indian heritage, was on the
phone and from the tone of his voice, not happy about something. There were eight Hispanic boys, all teenagers or early 20’s, sitting and
standing around and each had all their worldly goods in one little plastic grocery
sack. I stood at the counter while the hotel guy continued on the phone for 10
minutes. I finally said, “Excuse me,” thinking maybe he would get somebody to
come up and help, but he just glared at me and said “Go sit over there until I
get to you,” indicating a footstool. I caught some of what he was saying on the
phone – “But who is going to pay me for this?” and “When will I get paid?” It
seems a government bus just drove up, dropped off these 8 young men at the door with a piece of paper instructing the hotel to give them rooms, and left. The hotel proprietor was not happy at all about it.
Seven of them spoke no English at all, one spoke a little broken English. I sat
there frustrated but kind of amused while watching a man from India with a
heavy accent trying to talk with a guy who spoke Spanish and knew only a few words of English. It was a full 20 more minutes before the boys finally got keys to two rooms
and left. I'm not sure why somebody, somewhere thought it a good idea to drop 8 non-English-speaking Hispanic youths unannounced in a little northern town of 6,000, but there it is.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When we got to our room,
it appeared to be old and had an odd smell, but clean enough. The TV was OK,
but the desk chair I tried to use was broken. It wobbled from side to side and if you leaned back a little, it would fall over. The beds, in my opinion, were
terrible and the bed sheets were old and stiff. The carpet was worn and stained in spots. The toilet seat was made of cheap, wobbly plastic - I hate those
things. The toilet paper was so thin you could read a newspaper through it. Well, OK. On a road trip without reservations made more than the same
day of arrival, you have to expect something like this to happen every once in
a while, so make do and hope things are better tomorrow night.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After a mostly sleepless
night in a bed that had a deep dip in the middle, I woke up, but before getting out of bed, I felt something stuck to my back. I reached around, touched it and a used band-aid fell off stained side up - and it wasn't mine! It had been in between the "clean" sheets and I had slept on it! I jumped out of bed using full-on non-Christian words I haven't said since I got out of the Navy. I felt repulsed and gross so I grabbed my bottle of germ-killing antiseptic hand cleaner, drenched it all over my back, and got dressed. I declined to take a shower
because I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. Forget the pathetic attempt at breakfast they had, not even any coffee - just get me outta here!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Checking out,
there was a nice lady on the desk who spoke English well enough for me to easily
understand her. I handed her a $25 gift certificate given to me by Best Western
trying to lure me into being a repeat customer. She didn’t know how to apply a
Best Western gift certificate to a Best Western bill. For 10 minutes, I stood
there while she kept trying different things. Finally, she called somebody,
probably the guy from last night, but he didn’t know how to do it either, so I
stood there for another 10 minutes while she talked on the phone and tried
different ways. After 20 long minutes, I told her never mind, I’ll just pay the
damn bill and if she ever figures out how to give me the $25 credit, please
email me a new receipt. To her credit, I did receive an email late that
afternoon confirming it had been applied. So together, I had waited for almost an hour to check in and check out. Do yourself a favor and stay away from
the Best Western in Monticello, New York.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We had breakfast at a busy diner a few doors down from the hotel. The coffee was very good and the food
wasn't bad. There was a loud, annoying man in the booth behind us who evidently
thought everyone in the place was keenly interested in his cell phone
conversation. It was clear his momma didn't teach him about inside voice. The hard looks and stares from all the other patrons didn't
bother him. When he finished his phone call, he went to the back register to
pay and started flirting with the cashier. She didn't respond in the
affirmative to any of his shouted pickup lines. He finally left to go paint the
barn he was supposed to complete that day. Everyone smiled and almost broke out in applause when he walked out that door. We finished the last of our meal in
blissful peace.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVNdQstMLuQ3WTzsX-T2aPQOUEAmPzKbasnnD_7CxvVNlDklkTrJL7yWIgMUR6U6o1ck5OFd4dTueZcnj0QMvFlP8E_e53EQS3_A2B5NBb-OwsHtmrgKwZmRIjMgnhtpgwEpGYm08ES8/s500/Museum-fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="500" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVNdQstMLuQ3WTzsX-T2aPQOUEAmPzKbasnnD_7CxvVNlDklkTrJL7yWIgMUR6U6o1ck5OFd4dTueZcnj0QMvFlP8E_e53EQS3_A2B5NBb-OwsHtmrgKwZmRIjMgnhtpgwEpGYm08ES8/s320/Museum-fb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Woodstock Museum</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Just a few miles down
the road, we turned into the entrance of the Museum at Bethel Woods, better
known as “The Woodstock Museum.” Located close to the meadow where about
400,000 people celebrated 3 days of music and peace in the rain and the mud, we
found it to be one of the better and more interesting museums we’ve visited on
our numerous road trips. Going through the museum, around every corner was
something that brought back memories of that time – posters, songs, pictures of
people and bands, clothing, psychedelic-painted VW buses and "Bugs</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;">," and even the original
very large hand-made speakers that had been mounted on the scaffolds. There
were short film clips and informational movies to watch and plenty of older
docents standing around ready to answer your questions and engage you in
conversations about where they were during that time, what life was like back
then, and just normal, friendly conversations. It was great and we had a wonderful time.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5wl0yNXATblbqgJ3MWMDEjrDFtOpuIggtoHvqxSfHLdAPNPOw_WbucslWNacspWyMGmkY4JjWF8caU7Eo8yyiZ0ceqNDmQidFyvNg35CzsJoUTKpsAUrv4-PxZFRQqdcNzfj-r35u3E/s500/bus-fb.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="500" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5wl0yNXATblbqgJ3MWMDEjrDFtOpuIggtoHvqxSfHLdAPNPOw_WbucslWNacspWyMGmkY4JjWF8caU7Eo8yyiZ0ceqNDmQidFyvNg35CzsJoUTKpsAUrv4-PxZFRQqdcNzfj-r35u3E/w200-h143/bus-fb.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We stopped at the gift
shop and when I entered, was politely told I needed to wear a mask. I told the young
lady, "Well, I guess I'll just have to walk on through since I didn't
bring one with me." "No problem," she answered, "I'll get
you one." She returned with a really nice, adjustable, colored mask with a
peace sign and the Woodstock logo on it. I asked her how much and she said,
"No charge. It's free." I do like cool free stuff! I purchased
several more t-shirts for myself, my wife, and my daughter, plus a postcard and
a fridge magnet. More stuff for the back of the SUV!</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEBfADaGgGjOwFo1nlsOFZ2_6inCZdZg_YQ9C-YHtc52vLLsCIDJV0vCRmIWfffaCfZEFgJWEYSUpCnPuSwlLelEbZUkr9i__8W4f-HfWK3sDvc1C1cxGw02TAkmP7N4THiCT7KiG2LU/s500/Peace-and-love-fb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="305" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEBfADaGgGjOwFo1nlsOFZ2_6inCZdZg_YQ9C-YHtc52vLLsCIDJV0vCRmIWfffaCfZEFgJWEYSUpCnPuSwlLelEbZUkr9i__8W4f-HfWK3sDvc1C1cxGw02TAkmP7N4THiCT7KiG2LU/s320/Peace-and-love-fb.jpg" width="195" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After leaving the
museum, we ventured down to the Woodstock site itself. Other than a few signs,
there’s not much to proclaim this to be a historic site. However, it is
awe-inspiring to stand there looking down into that open field and letting your
mind visualize so many people and everything that happened there. The Woodstock
movie kept playing in my mind. I had finally made it to Woodstock. 52 years
late, but happy to see it and get one more item checked off of my bucket list!</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">With Joe Cocker’s “With
A Little Help From My Friends” playing in my mind, we put Woodstock behind us
and headed north on NY 17B until we connected with NY 97 and then a bunch of
twists and turns for a total of 115 miles until we made it to Cooperstown and
the Pro Baseball Hall of Fame. Arriving just several hours before they closed,
we decided to go on in to see what we could and come back the next day if
needed.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A couple of years ago
(just before Covid-19 locked everything down), Chip and I took another road trip and
visited the Pro Football Hall of Fame so naturally, we had to add this to our
itinerary. At the Football HoF, we spent 5 hours going through all the
displays, watching the videos, viewing the many, many artifacts, and had a good
time trying on some of the really big guy’s helmets, matching our hands against
the cast hands of various players and gazing longingly at all the Super Bowl
rings and trophies. I’m glad we visited the Baseball HoF, but I have to admit,
I went there all excited, but a bit less excited when we left.</span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq35ixMT_3I0YjQGkK6CmKUA12ZBceX_-ZyYrVPCGGpFacJJ-gLcZcJBrb06wsKnerJO-RyQsJ0_Mw78offbBIhl94GN5UwKeoXPF2ROCvNBGBr1m2xvc5Df6iVb8-yZxVoK-lp22j2Lg/s400/Ken-Chip-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="400" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq35ixMT_3I0YjQGkK6CmKUA12ZBceX_-ZyYrVPCGGpFacJJ-gLcZcJBrb06wsKnerJO-RyQsJ0_Mw78offbBIhl94GN5UwKeoXPF2ROCvNBGBr1m2xvc5Df6iVb8-yZxVoK-lp22j2Lg/s320/Ken-Chip-blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me & Chip at the Baseball HoF</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />There were a lot of
recordings of historical games played, numerous uniforms on display, old shoes,
old gloves, and a lot of pictures of players. I really enjoyed their display
featuring Babe Ruth, who was one of my childhood heroes. They had the bat he
used when he set the record for 60 home runs in one season. They had several of
his uniforms and gloves and good writeups about his life and death. I spent most of my time here. They also
had a large, interesting section on Jackie Robinson, the first black Major League Player and
Hall of Famer. After a while though, the displays all seemed to run together,
same-same. There was a large display with a uniform from every team. Nothing
was said about them, they were just hanging there. I thought it would have been
much more interesting if they had told some little-known information about each
one – like how and why the St. Louis team chose a Cardinal for its mascot. How
about Chicago choosing “Cubs” for theirs? Something besides a bunch of
jerseys just hanging there in display cases.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkA9xD1dGi-F_ydnwrhHuET18zP-CbosgUIOnTswPKI91swvsPjrufa16g29pDEXP4k7OZlhRJO_Qs1y1zZZbbwpgOwKxKYe1B4WrwIuciMB3aPMPuLSJHqQe_kyDCNyUB_Xb4poeY4w/s500/BHOF-Babe-ta1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="393" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmkA9xD1dGi-F_ydnwrhHuET18zP-CbosgUIOnTswPKI91swvsPjrufa16g29pDEXP4k7OZlhRJO_Qs1y1zZZbbwpgOwKxKYe1B4WrwIuciMB3aPMPuLSJHqQe_kyDCNyUB_Xb4poeY4w/w158-h200/BHOF-Babe-ta1.jpg" width="158" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We only took 2 hours to go
through the museum. Even the gift shop was a let-down. I bought a fridge
magnet, but nothing else really caught my fancy and everything was awfully
expensive. I had really wanted a baseball jersey with a Baseball Hall of Fame patch on it, but they didn't have anything like that. Most of the shirts were touting individual teams.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">To be the site of the Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown is a very small town, more like a village actually. We were shocked at how small it is. Just outside of town, Otsego Lake begins. It is the most eastern of the 11 lakes that resemble fingers laying a handprint across Central New York. They were created over two million years ago during the last ice age when the glaciers receded, carving deep lakes from stream valleys. Eight miles long with a depth up to 167 feet, Otsego Lake is in most places no more than several hundred yards wide. Right on the lake, about 7 miles outside Cooperstown is the charming motel Lake 'N Pines and that's where we laid our heads for the night.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZlI5lrnc4jmkY_Ow8IW4jZk65VXxXipR1HsuzlbyWEBNN6PzcaZcyAwqgxZP8emml-X0TzHSItfaS9pYlJt7t0ncPpBrvqSpds44wuFEK27iNm4Z1gn6R03dWhFEkqPwJz25PMEJ8X0/s500/hotel-room-view-ta1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="500" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZlI5lrnc4jmkY_Ow8IW4jZk65VXxXipR1HsuzlbyWEBNN6PzcaZcyAwqgxZP8emml-X0TzHSItfaS9pYlJt7t0ncPpBrvqSpds44wuFEK27iNm4Z1gn6R03dWhFEkqPwJz25PMEJ8X0/s320/hotel-room-view-ta1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from our balcony at <br />Lake 'N Pines</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">From Cooperstown, we
drove beside the lake on Hwy 80 until we saw the sign for the motel. It is an
older, mom-&-pop establishment, the kind where each room’s parking space is
right there about 3 feet from the door. However, it is very well maintained and
super clean. We were certainly surprised when we walked into our room to find
everything almost new, very comfortable queen beds, fridge, coffee station,
fancy soap and shampoo in the bathroom, big, fluffy, soft towels, and a private
balcony with large sliding doors and a beautiful view of the lake. The price
was only $70 so getting such wonderful accommodations for that price was a very nice
surprise. It wasn’t fancy, but Chip and I agreed, it was one of the best places we
stayed in the whole trip. Having a fresh cup of good coffee while sitting on the patio
early the next morning watching the birds, the lake and the day come awake was
supremely relaxing. Such a wonderful way to start the day! Highly recommend Lake 'N Pines if you are ever in the area.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Later, we went back into
town and found a place to eat, “Mel’s at 22.” As usual, we didn’t know anything
about it, but there were a lot of people eating inside and it looked like there was a bar too,
so we ventured in. A very nice girl asked us if we had reservations. “Um,
no, we didn’t know we needed one.” Well, we’re full tonight, unless you would
like to sit at the bar. There are 2 seats available at the end.” “Sure, we’ll
take ‘em.” </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The bartender was very fast and flamboyant, flipping bottles around, pouring from bottles held a foot above the glass, and holding a conversation with the patrons the whole time. He soon took our order and got our drinks - tea for me (my turn to drive) and some kind of fancy alcohol drink for my buddy. It took an inordinate amount of time for our food to be served, but we enjoyed watching the bartender so the time passed pretty quick. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2Aaiou4rUq1ybuKOdWMsQu3kl-Guct24P1-qktAiiix8RCRaTAVgEdHFVUUEFOULVllZWOkD6-BEUq9G71abeYmMqDGKD4U0lOvAib3o_Ad72VPtL5VgDynDRzR0xRo6aPaXRi8QTlA/s600/mels-bar-ta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2Aaiou4rUq1ybuKOdWMsQu3kl-Guct24P1-qktAiiix8RCRaTAVgEdHFVUUEFOULVllZWOkD6-BEUq9G71abeYmMqDGKD4U0lOvAib3o_Ad72VPtL5VgDynDRzR0xRo6aPaXRi8QTlA/s320/mels-bar-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The bar at Mel's</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When we got our food,
it became apparent why you needed reservations. Food covered the whole large platters and
oh my, the taste was fantastic! I can’t remember what Chip had, some fancy dish
no doubt, while I got the California Dreaming Burger - hand-packed 8-ounce
Angus patty, bacon, brie, chipotle aioli, avocado, lettuce, tomato, and red
onion served on a brioche roll. Oh my gosh, this thing ranks right up there in
the top 3 burgers I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve eaten enough burgers to consider
myself a burger connoisseur! Even the fries were perfect – hot, fat, and crispy.
On this whole road trip, as far as I'm concerned, the best full-on meal I had was at Paula Deen’s in Nashville
and this was by far the best burger meal. We waddled back to the car, drove to
our motel room, and like contented, fat little puppy dogs, fell asleep early
that night.</span></span></div><p></p></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Bethel, NY, USA41.6837659 -74.871928413.373532063821152 -110.0281784 69.993999736178836 -39.7156784tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-39959021501439984242021-08-09T10:49:00.003-05:002021-08-09T10:49:56.805-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Day 6<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><i>Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html">HERE</a> to start reading at Day 1 entry.</i></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">On Tuesday morning,
September 11, 2001, America came under attack when four commercial airliners
were hijacked and used to strike targets on the ground. Nearly 3,000 innocent
people lost their lives. Because of the actions of the 40 brave passengers and
crew aboard one of the planes, Flight 93, the attack on the U.S. Capitol was
prevented. The site where Flight 93 crashed is now a national memorial and was
our next destination.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IJt3F7LByBuVMuPTeJDxPqDYzwFg4VQ6dOZ_H2EoDNngAUtJLcz1OWF3g7hEOkRgi61DtJLX2QaGx7dl5zBmasjD0JPN9F0NsY4sVZkGlntyCY7vqphcEH-kAL1aTnbawoKZ0u-WRHg/s500/Tower-FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IJt3F7LByBuVMuPTeJDxPqDYzwFg4VQ6dOZ_H2EoDNngAUtJLcz1OWF3g7hEOkRgi61DtJLX2QaGx7dl5zBmasjD0JPN9F0NsY4sVZkGlntyCY7vqphcEH-kAL1aTnbawoKZ0u-WRHg/w213-h320/Tower-FB.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Tower of Voices</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">Pretty much in the
middle of nowhere, outside of Stoystown, Pennsylvania, a rural town of only 428
residents, is an empty field now considered by most Americans as holy ground.
The first thing you see as you near the site is the Tower of Voices, a
93-foot-tall (in recognition of Flight 93) musical instrument holding forty
wind chimes, representing the forty passengers and crew members who perished.
It is the only chime structure like this in the world. Surrounded by
wildflowers, the structure was built on an oval concrete plaza on top of an
earthen mound to create an area more prominent on the landscape. The shape and
orientation of the tower are designed to optimize airflow through the tower
walls to reach the interior chime chamber. The chime system is designed using
music theory to create the range of frequencies needed to produce a distinct
musical note associated with each chime. The intent is to create a set of forty
tones (one “voice” for each of the passengers and crew members) that can
represent the serenity and nobility of the site while also recalling the event
that consecrated the site. It’s an interesting structure that sets the
reflective and somber tone for what’s to come, but unfortunately for us, the
wind must be blowing at least 5 MPH for the chimes to work and there wasn’t
even a hint of a breeze while we were there. Later, I spoke to one of the Park
Rangers and she said the sounds were haunting and mesmerizing. Go to Youtube
and search on "flight 93 tower of voices" to listen to a recording of
the chimes.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdSp0ncUVxrJzD-aOxF8mly2JRG-4FXjxs6tybShTqS917v39zcj5QnRkVW9EQ7HKEoxQgk4p9I6go4OM4-OtLlcSVqWx5HxksjHsl1l9sMpqhyphenhyphen8P3-WO3iDSpkS2NmQgb46v20UjqWo/s600/sign-ta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="342" data-original-width="600" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdSp0ncUVxrJzD-aOxF8mly2JRG-4FXjxs6tybShTqS917v39zcj5QnRkVW9EQ7HKEoxQgk4p9I6go4OM4-OtLlcSVqWx5HxksjHsl1l9sMpqhyphenhyphen8P3-WO3iDSpkS2NmQgb46v20UjqWo/s320/sign-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">After leaving the Tower
of Voices, we proceeded to the visitor center, a large single-story building
that houses a permanent exhibition focusing on Flight 93. This is where
emotions surged as we viewed actual artifacts from the crash – pieces of the
plane, personal items of the crew and passengers, a scorched and torn bible, a
child’s shoe, a man’s damaged wallet, bent silverware, a burned and badly
damaged seat belt, a damaged watch stopped at 10:03 – the time when the plane
crashed into the ground. There is a station with headphones for you to listen
to heart-wrenching voice message recordings of the last words sent by doomed
passengers and crew members saying goodbye to family, spouses, and children.
“Honey, I love you. I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this. Tell the
children I love them!” “Hey sis, something bad is happening on the flight right
now. If I don’t make it, my banking papers and stuff is in the safe and the combination is…” “Hey, Babe. This may be the last time I get to tell you how
much I love you and the kids. Please don’t forget that.” Most of the people
standing there listening to those messages had tears in their eyes. I did too.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Going through the rest
of the very well done exhibition brought more emotions to the surface –
sadness, confusion (how could someone do that to innocent men, women, and
children, no matter what you believe or how strong that belief is), impotent rage at
the so-called “people” who did that, and yes, a strong need for revenge, a
desire to rid the world of anyone who is capable of doing that to another human
being.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircGYu6VKdEt-kiEhAOGloiT6TBVI3LVkGMIUDDKEOAnvZVwnUhG4254X2IUsdYvI_NrvwZCVskbYRcn0CPt4czf1dmDxDPQ3f_I7NV2CwYBqIkKxzV-mCKh4hwEoLPhbiTh-FxQu9S6E/s525/flight-93-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="525" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEircGYu6VKdEt-kiEhAOGloiT6TBVI3LVkGMIUDDKEOAnvZVwnUhG4254X2IUsdYvI_NrvwZCVskbYRcn0CPt4czf1dmDxDPQ3f_I7NV2CwYBqIkKxzV-mCKh4hwEoLPhbiTh-FxQu9S6E/s320/flight-93-blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The boulder in the field at the end of the path <br />is the spot where the plane hit the ground </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">At the end of the
exhibition hall, there are large glass windows that look out onto the actual
site where the plane hit the ground. There is a large rock that marks the exact
spot. I stood there in deep thought looking at that rock for a long time. So
did my buddy Chip, not saying anything, each lost in our own thoughts. Later, as we
walked outside of the building along the “Flight Path Walk,” (a paved walkway
that followed the final flight path) we passed beside a white wall that was
inscribed with the names of all 40 innocent souls.</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was an interesting,
but sad day. Even now, as I sit here writing about it, I still get emotional.
I’m sure I will for a long, long time. Pulling away from the site, we didn't say much for a long while. We didn't have to. Chip simply said, "Wow." I quietly replied "Yeah." Enough said.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next on our road trip
agenda was Intercourse. Of course, two guys in a car on a road trip had to amuse ourselves for a few miles with crude jokes about the town name. What can I say? It's what guys do when the wives are not around. Getting to the little unincorporated village of
Intercourse, Pennsylvania from Stoystown was a genuinely nice drive of 175
miles through rolling, wooded hills, open green pastures, and small towns.
Along the way, we passed a number of old abandoned homes and barns – all left
to the winds of change and the whims of history, but every one of them has a
story to tell. For most, the story will remain untold. When you don’t know the
facts, you can only fill in the blanks with your imagination. How old is this
old house, the one with the falling in front porch? Who built that old,
weathered barn, the one with that door hanging on just by the top hinge? How
many families called that old farmhouse “home,” the one surrounded by shade
trees and now mostly covered with honeysuckle vines? Every time I see one, I
think about that, and wonder, what happened to the people?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAphDEbIWW83uVnw8I9hlPSQFuKAm0TfhdI9_GtR3kEvYpNhL162b97IQAT5ex3-1F99EVbhux0KCBDHOH0SEy8fHxZPDzuGKEbjZEFSDmolZaTyoE7vrHf8Zb6ZjBsa094MtoICElzp4/s600/buggy-ta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAphDEbIWW83uVnw8I9hlPSQFuKAm0TfhdI9_GtR3kEvYpNhL162b97IQAT5ex3-1F99EVbhux0KCBDHOH0SEy8fHxZPDzuGKEbjZEFSDmolZaTyoE7vrHf8Zb6ZjBsa094MtoICElzp4/s320/buggy-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">A few miles outside of
town, we started seeing Amish in their horse-drawn buggies and distinctive
clothing. As soon as we entered the town’s limits, the streets were filled with
buggies, Amish children riding their strange self-propelled “skateboards” and
lots of tourist’s cars. Somehow, perhaps enabled by the large streets wide
enough for cars and buggies to drive side-by-side, it didn’t seem overly
crowded. We were to be disappointed at our first stop, the American Military
Edged Weaponry Museum. Their website said they were open. Guess it had not been
updated because it was closed with signs on the doors
indicating it was because of Covid-19. We were disappointed, but you gotta
expect stuff like that to happen and just roll with it.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir64FJaZleen2rK3yZqor8kSGh7tMISKgrjXlwCpnk7CxhsMgP14xf40SyicVDuWxAD2so3XmCVgkvbgUnOOGE_gDsbJOdxBDX5Ia2MOb2amSDpMJoJVmYgCEEFJ_LXszi7F9yzy7pzWs/s1000/Jam+relish+fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir64FJaZleen2rK3yZqor8kSGh7tMISKgrjXlwCpnk7CxhsMgP14xf40SyicVDuWxAD2so3XmCVgkvbgUnOOGE_gDsbJOdxBDX5Ia2MOb2amSDpMJoJVmYgCEEFJ_LXszi7F9yzy7pzWs/s320/Jam+relish+fb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Inside the Kitchen Kettle store</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">Next up was just a couple of
blocks away – the Kitchen Kettle Village with its 42 shops and restaurants.
This is where we had a really nice time, shopping for souvenirs, walking around
looking at the handmade quilts, pottery, art, fine leathers, and homemade
foods. We ate homemade ice cream while sitting in the shade under a large oak
tree watching an exceptionally talented duo playing instruments and singing. We
came away with a lot of homemade food items to bring back home to share with
our wives – jams, jellies, various mixes, and bags of jerky. Everyone was very
friendly and interesting to talk with. One of the ladies in the Kitchen Kettle
store (where maybe I got just a tiny bit carried away and bought 4 different
jams and 4 different jellies plus a cornbread mix) told us nobody is positive
how the town name of Intercourse came about, but the most common story is that
the community grew up around the intersection of two main roads, what the Amish
refer to as an "intercourse." It was a very relaxing, calm, and fun way to spend
an afternoon, something we both needed after the emotional visit to the Flight
93 Memorial.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO3QfoZdkp42efiEznwXm_pslsuRJIAkF8ydbmvY2wO5M2BfM1jlH7Jn-p4qHtkfn3d9qgaCV8EVvJdF8uCUgF3DgYFtaD5MX4Hcd6rVhSAHdvV9n0I7F0bwhl6uhCzF-491PASoptL9Y/s500/Ken-ice-cream-fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="382" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO3QfoZdkp42efiEznwXm_pslsuRJIAkF8ydbmvY2wO5M2BfM1jlH7Jn-p4qHtkfn3d9qgaCV8EVvJdF8uCUgF3DgYFtaD5MX4Hcd6rVhSAHdvV9n0I7F0bwhl6uhCzF-491PASoptL9Y/w153-h200/Ken-ice-cream-fb.jpg" width="153" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Trying to eat it all before<br /> it melts!</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;">Reluctantly
leaving Intercourse, we drove a short 20 miles to Lititz, another little town
in Amish country. There, we found the Julius Sturgis Pretzel Bakery. Founded in
1861, it is the oldest pretzel bakery in America. They had many different
flavors of fresh-baked pretzels for sale as well as a bunch of tools for making
your own pretzels, t-shirts, and other souvenir items. Neither of us are big
pretzel eaters, so we weren’t overly thrilled with this stop, but it’s cool to
say you’ve been to the oldest pretzel bakery in America. And being able to
truthfully say, “been there, done that, got the t-shirt” is part of the reason
for a road trip!</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was getting close to
sundown, our usual “let’s find a place to stop for the night” alarm, but we
were both feeling good so we decided to drive 3 hours to our next destination,
– Bethel, New York, to be there early in the morning. Unfortunately, our
prevailing good luck with finding a good hotel each night, even without
reservations, was about to come crashing down. Big time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html">HERE</a> for Day 1. Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-to-woodstock-beyond-days-2-3.html">HERE</a> for Day 2&3. Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-to-woodstock-beyond-days-4-5.html">HERE</a> for Day 4&5.</i></span></span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Intercourse, PA, USA40.0383787 -76.107504339.985808180708645 -76.176168850781252 40.09094921929136 -76.038839749218752tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-62524719984846317012021-08-08T15:36:00.002-05:002021-08-09T10:52:15.982-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Days 4 & 5<p style="text-align: center;"> Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html">HERE</a> to read Day 1 <i style="background-color: #f6f6f6; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-to-woodstock-beyond-days-2-3.html"><b>HERE</b></a> to read Day 2&3</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: #f6f6f6; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08Fqsfp8ZdsR02uxSgQRlfsRxXbrJ7FfNo05gskDaN6mzDN6hAW_U7rxXLBeTuBg0tWg-9_0pVF4gVVUzGXEXuXtc-xCVWw2gxQABrXO_hC7MfgSldjvo0fajxCGfQXqmk9DxIl7iwkI/s600/Front.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="600" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08Fqsfp8ZdsR02uxSgQRlfsRxXbrJ7FfNo05gskDaN6mzDN6hAW_U7rxXLBeTuBg0tWg-9_0pVF4gVVUzGXEXuXtc-xCVWw2gxQABrXO_hC7MfgSldjvo0fajxCGfQXqmk9DxIl7iwkI/s320/Front.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After the Corvette
Museum, it was a nice little 2-hour drive to Louisville, Kentucky, and the next
stop on our itinerary - Momma's Mustard, Pickles & BBQ Restuarant. After our horrible
experience with the barbeque at Tom’s in Memphis, we decided to try for some
good “Q” at another highly-touted eatery. Fortunately, despite the weird name,
this place came much closer to our expectations. It wasn’t great Texas
barbeque, but it wasn’t bad. Clean, friendly service, reasonable prices, and
cute girls as waitresses. OK, in today’s culture that may be considered sexist
by some, but these 2 old guys raised in the old days of yore still appreciate
nice female works of art and we will not apologize!</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When in Louisville, of
course, you must tour the Louisville Slugger Factory & Museum. Looking it
up online, it was “strongly suggested” that you get your tickets before you
arrive as they are often sold out. Our arrival time left only 2 tours remaining for
that day and both were almost full so we checked into a really nice hotel, the
Fairfield Inn & Suites Louisville East. This was one of the best hotels we
stayed in the whole trip - plenty of parking, friendly staff, and clean
facilities. The room was clean and very nice with very comfortable beds. Wi-Fi
was fast and never dropped. In the morning there was plenty of hot water for a
good shower. Quiet all night long. Can’t ask for much more than that! We bought
our Louisville Slugger tickets for the next day, got some sandwiches, and
brought them back to the room to eat while we watched more of the Women’s
Softball Championship.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><b>Day 5</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfUf9KUFRXrE7UINkJBA6611v_Zs9so9KeQBWfk25GEbpV1JUPfEX9eXn-tW46NwksrlUdbJoDphPBoAK1_o960FR5SKTTY4RNoPwKk9yTFxzTe1A83y7ZXml1TApmYkx6MYuKZfgP9E/s575/LS-front-entrance-TA.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="431" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfUf9KUFRXrE7UINkJBA6611v_Zs9so9KeQBWfk25GEbpV1JUPfEX9eXn-tW46NwksrlUdbJoDphPBoAK1_o960FR5SKTTY4RNoPwKk9yTFxzTe1A83y7ZXml1TApmYkx6MYuKZfgP9E/w150-h200/LS-front-entrance-TA.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Entrance to Louisville <br />Slugger Factory<br /> & Museum</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Arriving at the Museum
at the appointed time the next morning, we were amazed to find that instead of the group of 20
for the tour, we were the only 2 people! We had a great tour guide who was able
to give us his undivided attention. It was a really interesting experience. We
learned how the bats are made, the different kinds of wood
preferred by different major-league players, and watching them actually being
made was way cool. Everyone, including the workers, were very friendly. Our
guide was knowledgeable and never seemed to get tired of our many questions. As
a souvenir, we both got a “nub,” (the end part of a bat that is cut off before
the final processing) from a bat destined to be used by a major league player.
At the end of the tour, we were given another souvenir, a small Louisville
Slugger bat. It was a very enjoyable experience and especially interesting to
me as a former user of Louisville Slugger bats when I played youth and high school baseball. I
thought the souvenirs in the gift shop were a bit expensive and I didn’t find a
shirt I liked so I didn’t get anything besides the souvenirs from the tour and a refrigerator magnet for my collection. I
highly recommend this stop.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Other than stopping for
a fast-food lunch, gas, and road food, the rest of the day was spent driving,
telling stories, remembering things we have experienced together, and
generally, just enjoying each other’s company. 360 miles later, we checked into
another nice hotel in Washington, Pennsylvania – The Hampton Inn & Suites,
Pittsburg-Meadow Lands. After driving most of the day, we dropped off for a
nice, restful sleep by 10:30. We had another interesting little side trip
scheduled for the next morning.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LvE2pXr0WO0rp96CO9LbrRgrKCnQbKj335lkw9-XdrAweZ_x5wqcLaoajER6nUxaEw2RvxO7RoMDQffzZcO-mXDUdguLPHNOM8BhCtLWh8ZWYlTQFgi_uXREKkhIK-25BHFDxZ90wgo/s600/SOL-House-4-TA.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LvE2pXr0WO0rp96CO9LbrRgrKCnQbKj335lkw9-XdrAweZ_x5wqcLaoajER6nUxaEw2RvxO7RoMDQffzZcO-mXDUdguLPHNOM8BhCtLWh8ZWYlTQFgi_uXREKkhIK-25BHFDxZ90wgo/s320/SOL-House-4-TA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Another nice breakfast
at a nearby Waffle House and 35 miles on down the road brought us to the small, quiet
little town of Perryopolis, Pennsylvania. Why in the world would we drive so
far to visit such a small, rather unremarkable town? To see the “Buffalo Bill House”
of course. No, not the Buffalo Bill of Old West fame. We’re talking Buffalo
Bill from the movie “<u>Silence of the Lambs</u>.” He of the famous chilling line, “<i>I
ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.</i>” If you watched this
movie for the first time late at night like I did, there wasn’t much sleep afterward as
your eyes stayed wide open and you jumped at every little sound in the night. Here in little Perryopolis is the house used for the exterior shots as the house where Buffalo Bill
had his victim pit and his little dog and his bottle of lotion. Except for the
movie sign in the front yard and the "Private Property" signs, it
looks like just a normal nice house in a small, quiet town. A fun thing to tell
your friends about what you saw on your road trip! Maybe the best thing though
is the relaxing drive getting to the house. You must drive down a well-maintained, pretty,
2-lane road with trees on either side closing in over the top, then down a side street through a tunnel dug through a mountain
which is followed by a one-lane trestle bridge, and then across a set of railroad
tracks. Worth the side trip if you have the time.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: verdana;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4q8E7HLj3pZnL7hr_2k4jIpWCCyG_2tk0qho8Od5F3MTsZmN56zvhWO1AIPuAwh1vaVuYA-g8UxI5966WjB4ZbLKZ3Cu3_rApaxi6Ar2kmQkN1rivhyhtj7a7NGNN6ny4tLDmoBSoGbI/s600/SOL-House-1-TA.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="600" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4q8E7HLj3pZnL7hr_2k4jIpWCCyG_2tk0qho8Od5F3MTsZmN56zvhWO1AIPuAwh1vaVuYA-g8UxI5966WjB4ZbLKZ3Cu3_rApaxi6Ar2kmQkN1rivhyhtj7a7NGNN6ny4tLDmoBSoGbI/s320/SOL-House-1-TA.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"Buffalo Bill's" house</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Just 90 miles away was
our next stop – Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. I mean, who hasn’t had the desire
to see Punxsutawney Phil and visit the famous Gobbler’s Knob where every
February 2nd, the venerable, and supposedly immortal, groundhog holds forth
each year with his weather predictions. The "Inner Circle" members –
recognizable from their top hats and tuxedos – communicate with Phil to receive
his prognostication. This suspension of disbelief, a central requirement for
the festival, extends to the assertion that the same groundhog has been making
predictions since the nineteenth century. According to legend, there is only
one Phil, all other groundhogs are impostors. It is claimed that this one
groundhog has lived to make weather predictions since 1886, sustained by drinks
of "groundhog punch" and "elixir of life" administered at
the annual Groundhog Picnic in the fall.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unknown to most, Phil
does not live at Gobbler’s Knob. His actual home is in a nice, cozy den in the
Punxsutawney Library. We had that information along with the address of the
library, but we drove around for 20 confusing minutes or so because we couldn’t
find a building that looked like a library or had a sign indicating it was a library.
The address where it was supposed to be was a police station with a parking lot
full of police cars. I really needed to relieve myself of the morning’s coffee
so I told Chip (who was driving) to just pull into the police station thinking
surely they had a bathroom I could quickly borrow. He didn't want to do that because "we'll get a ticket." Then I noticed a line of
regular civilian parked cars along one small row so I told Chip just park in there
with those cars. Reluctantly, Chip pulled in and parked. Great friend he is,
“OK, but if we get a ticket, you’re paying it.”</span></span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSyrTbz5sY94QB_ut5ZC9TRzQuOny8Bm2x5vYYMYXMJ94hFeGAtdaH_Ghf5NdUX61bSTsc4pOTcx15MZtyzA0X2jPSZmghfdP4OZZkKpF7BVyReoGRgscttTF9CGZ5el_h42MF89d8eY/s600/Phil-ta.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSyrTbz5sY94QB_ut5ZC9TRzQuOny8Bm2x5vYYMYXMJ94hFeGAtdaH_Ghf5NdUX61bSTsc4pOTcx15MZtyzA0X2jPSZmghfdP4OZZkKpF7BVyReoGRgscttTF9CGZ5el_h42MF89d8eY/s320/Phil-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Punxsutawney Phil relaxing at home</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It was then I finally saw a little sign
that just said, “Library.” Maybe one end of the building was a police station
and the other end was the library? Walking around to the other side of the
building, the side with no parking lot, the side facing a quiet, little park with lots of
grass and trees, the side that had no indication you could see from the road
that it was a library, and there we found the library’s front door and just inside the
front door was, thank goodness, a men’s restroom! A few minutes later, I walked into the aisles of
books and a lady told me the library was closed due to Covid restrictions. I asked
if this is where Phil lives. Yep, over in the corner and yes, you can go over
and see him. Sure enough, looking into an enclosure with a wall of thick glass
was the legendary Phil! Unfortunately, the glass was very dirty and scratched
up so bad, you could barely see into Phil’s home. I noticed there was another
window on the other side that faced outward. We walked outside to the window,
but that window too was heavily scratched and dirty. I took several terrible
pictures of Phil (due to the condition of the glass), who seemed quite relaxed
and paid us no never-mind. I must admit, it was a tad underwhelming. In fact,
it was very underwhelming.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: verdana;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZez1GbgDWeO_6rpvAvn-fWEiH08sFaygMnjgpttH9FrLoc5adiktwUNyk-UEIPJqGWovQOesjNUhPGM01C15KIbc4JeuzzKgjfLaLTtSI3r1Ma2WSsKVpm6haNmfgV0F5sagOfUo5gbU/s600/Gobblers-Knob-2-ta.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZez1GbgDWeO_6rpvAvn-fWEiH08sFaygMnjgpttH9FrLoc5adiktwUNyk-UEIPJqGWovQOesjNUhPGM01C15KIbc4JeuzzKgjfLaLTtSI3r1Ma2WSsKVpm6haNmfgV0F5sagOfUo5gbU/w200-h131/Gobblers-Knob-2-ta.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gobbler's Knob Park</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Making it back to the
car (no ticket!), we then drove about 2 miles outside of town to Gobbler’s
Knob. Until I researched it, I thought Gobbler’s Knob was somewhere in
Punxsutawney, like in a downtown park. Not so. It is about 2 miles southeast
of town, set off all by itself. We arrived to find we were the only people
there, so we took our time driving around looking at the well-maintained stage
and park. It too was a bit underwhelming, but still, we enjoyed seeing in
person the stage and all the Groundhog Day things we’ve seen on TV for years. </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-family: verdana;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzv1Q2f97To1nuymwzzKegBHd527Oow16QJbZFOs49g9tZhXu4qmE_mTQ9mAC8DKoNQTtCZpvgrhNQ0_RpIC9577jUsT7qLoSaF9qSUiaWVQbfslZKv1__kwH2L5nITCYfAPj3sjo_kUM/s600/Gobblers-Knob-3-ta.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="391" data-original-width="600" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzv1Q2f97To1nuymwzzKegBHd527Oow16QJbZFOs49g9tZhXu4qmE_mTQ9mAC8DKoNQTtCZpvgrhNQ0_RpIC9577jUsT7qLoSaF9qSUiaWVQbfslZKv1__kwH2L5nITCYfAPj3sjo_kUM/s320/Gobblers-Knob-3-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The famous stage where Phil<br />delivers his prediction</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We
made our way back to town to eat at Joe’s Drive-In, the highly-rated
old-fashioned diner famous for serving up the best hamburgers in Punxsutawney.
The burgers were ok. Certainly not Whataburger or even In-N-Out quality, but I guess the
Punxsutawney residents are pleased as punch with them.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Putting Punxsutawney in
our rearview mirror, we headed about 80 miles south to Stoystown, Pennsylvania
and the Flight 93 National Memorial. Neither of us anticipated the intense
feelings we would soon feel.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cgNl1zeFaYM4_C_LnLyqhsTXGhxR7w3DXIAt5ERZIqkusgpyJwGDkijZ1F3UGDX4JY1JjsupWNTX6d7jZh9F7V1gogCkaxq1-oni22ymeftcxGYvQ6uCAlMe0Gi4pdmJictVORXsIus/s600/Phil-Statue-TA.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="437" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cgNl1zeFaYM4_C_LnLyqhsTXGhxR7w3DXIAt5ERZIqkusgpyJwGDkijZ1F3UGDX4JY1JjsupWNTX6d7jZh9F7V1gogCkaxq1-oni22ymeftcxGYvQ6uCAlMe0Gi4pdmJictVORXsIus/s320/Phil-Statue-TA.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Phil statue at Joe's Drive-In</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-33151799915512318242021-08-07T18:05:00.003-05:002021-08-09T10:56:20.487-05:00Road Trip to Woodstock & Beyond - Days 2 & 3<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-from-arkansas-to-woodstock.html">HERE</a> to read Day 1</span></i></p></blockquote><p><b><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Day 2 </span></b></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The next morning, we had
a rather frustrating experience in Jackson, Tennessee. Trying to follow the GPS to the
bakeshop, the designated exit was closed due to construction. No big deal,
we'll just go down an exit and come back. The next exit, closed due to
construction. Hmmm. And the next exit, closed due to construction. Three exits
in a row closed due to road construction! Whose bright idea was it to do that?
We finally got to the next exit, went over a couple of blocks and headed back
to the bakeshop's address. We made it to the street where it was located and
found it too was closed for construction! Close to giving up, we
decided to give it one more try so back the way we came and across the highway
hoping we could get across at the right street by going under the highway.
Nope, closed due to construction. That's it! Woodstock Bakery will just have to
wait until some other time. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAVgz4VZmDEwDyBTnRo8oIuRexBKNcsg-xv2fm21UvPh9kYPsSjE6WQ4CnCD9EV8ox-nN_gEvpodtG7zxRaT0z1SWMxImFXszlr7pjQYDXCckpfROUZIc6_qRtwg4tQbnW6u5zTIq3MY/s550/IMG_0156-ta.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="446" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAVgz4VZmDEwDyBTnRo8oIuRexBKNcsg-xv2fm21UvPh9kYPsSjE6WQ4CnCD9EV8ox-nN_gEvpodtG7zxRaT0z1SWMxImFXszlr7pjQYDXCckpfROUZIc6_qRtwg4tQbnW6u5zTIq3MY/s320/IMG_0156-ta.jpg" width="259" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We had to go a block away from the highway so we
could get to an open highway entrance and along the way, guess what we found -
the Woodstock Bakery! Turns out there is a south Innsdale Cove Road and a north
Innsdale Cove Road and we had been trying to go to the wrong one! Not sure all
the hassle was worth it, but we did buy several items each for later
consumption and we had a nice conversation with the friendly, young girl behind the
counter. We really felt old when we told her we were on our way to Woodstock and she didn't have a clue what we were talking about. Everything we purchased and ate was delicious!</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">If you ever find
yourself in Jackson, Tennessee, and if the road construction has been
completed, get a chocolate cupcake from the Woodstock Bakery - yummy! Next up -
Cooter's Dukes of Hazzard Museum and a late lunch with Paula Deen in Nashville.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It's about 135 miles
from Jackson to Nashville. And if you have to keep slowing down due to road
construction, it takes a while to drive those 135 miles. I love going on
road trips with my buddy because we have so much in common. Driving from one
destination to the next, we reminisce about old girlfriends who did us wrong
and recall good times back when we were young and old age and death was remote.
He is sneaking up on 70 and I have embraced 70 so we talk about aches and
pains, bad knees, and lower back pains and we can’t remember where we put
anything. We tell each other wonderful stories and the next day we say, “Hey,
did I tell you the story about the time ...?” and the reply will be, “No, I don’t
think so,” and we’ll do it all over again.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: verdana;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdcYc401alhra5BmnYVJ_9az-apAJ87zWoBBPzQ50_aIPaOMhbgr_tzOBLZYOaTQYdyWx0I5At8kDGeBvsf9nP4uWSO1VKwFToECrH7cUTiiGfUs5kGs5b_oYzUbvLII4lrPc8Tf_9QE/s575/Aisle-1TA.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="575" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdcYc401alhra5BmnYVJ_9az-apAJ87zWoBBPzQ50_aIPaOMhbgr_tzOBLZYOaTQYdyWx0I5At8kDGeBvsf9nP4uWSO1VKwFToECrH7cUTiiGfUs5kGs5b_oYzUbvLII4lrPc8Tf_9QE/w320-h234/Aisle-1TA.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Aisles and aisles of stuff to buy at Cooter's</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">You may remember the TV
show <i>Dukes of Hazard</i> back in 1979 and the early 80's. In today's political
climate, can you even imagine if that show aired now? Most of the regular cast,
Denver Pyle (Uncle Jesse), Tom Wopat (Luke Duke), John Schneider (Bo Duke), and
Catherine Bach (Daisy Duke) went on to fame and bigger roles. Not so Ben Jones
(Cooter) who has made his living being associated with <i>Dukes of Hazzard.</i> Of course, we
had to visit "Cooter's Place" his Dukes of Hazzard museum. It's in a
small building jammed pack full of the show's artifacts and lots of things for
sale like t-shirts, Daisy Duke shorts, bandanas, playing cards, General Lee and
Daisy Jeep model cars, postcards, signs - most anything you can think of. Maybe
most interesting of the whole thing was the actual General Lee (1969 Dodge
Charger), Rosco's patrol car (1978 Plymouth Fury), and Daisy's Jeep (1980
Jeep CJ-7). It was a fun way to spend about 30 minutes and well worth the free entrance fee!</span></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJo8465Og7Plmps7_pEIRRohygjA7e4zn1MfTF-O9nNpC2lDHJgkInDSgm6Wts8jKrJr9hE_MplKyCUdo6i5_vwfvaWTYDDgDCtUIh72Rn-rPk3pHfAFI2R3tD4TP4XTDwqYRJq_EyQQ/s575/PD-store-TA.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="575" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJo8465Og7Plmps7_pEIRRohygjA7e4zn1MfTF-O9nNpC2lDHJgkInDSgm6Wts8jKrJr9hE_MplKyCUdo6i5_vwfvaWTYDDgDCtUIh72Rn-rPk3pHfAFI2R3tD4TP4XTDwqYRJq_EyQQ/w320-h243/PD-store-TA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After Cooter's Place, we
were a couple of hungry guys! We found our way to Paula Deen’s Family Kitchen.
By the time we arrived, it was the early afternoon after the lunch rush hour should
have been over, but it was still very busy and we had to wait for 30 minutes to get a
table. After being seated and getting our food, we found it was well worth the wait! We got to choose 2 entrees and 4 side dishes for the table (served family style)
for about $20 per person. It's a bit expensive for lunch but worth it! I chose
Beef Pot Roast and if I remember correctly, Chip chose the Fried Catfish. We
had Creamed Potatoes, Cole Slaw, Candied Yams and corn for the side dishes.
Each and every item was great! And if you want more of an item, just ask
because it is unlimited refills. You also get a dessert, but we ate so much we
couldn't eat another bite, even for dessert. Fortunately, they are happy to put your chosen dessert in
a to-go container for your enjoyment later. I took a peach cobbler and Chip
chose the Ooey Gooey Butter Cake. They were both a wonderful treat in our hotel
room later that night. Highly recommend Paula Deen’s!</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVLSTkesjf5PSDAikmbTXVC1ToUi6qgwvWPwALddJT6jADtdDJ1pzLX8GUN1f6qzk-LouflI470dqjs6Ge4QHg1ai-dcNkV12DXtNr9_VoFUkpcq5JDxppzJzps66Wy0OD3vj_KTumKw/s574/PD-food-TA.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="545" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVLSTkesjf5PSDAikmbTXVC1ToUi6qgwvWPwALddJT6jADtdDJ1pzLX8GUN1f6qzk-LouflI470dqjs6Ge4QHg1ai-dcNkV12DXtNr9_VoFUkpcq5JDxppzJzps66Wy0OD3vj_KTumKw/w304-h320/PD-food-TA.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">With very satisfied full
tummy's, we got back on the road again headed to Bowling Green, Kentucky,
Unlike Cooter's museum, we were headed for a much different, very interesting
museum.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">From Nashville to
Bowling Green, Kentucky is only 70 miles. We arrived there a little after 4:00,
but after our full-on meal at Paula Deen’s and then driving just a little over
an hour, we decided it would be a good time to take the rest of the day off to
relax a bit. We rarely make hotel reservations beforehand because we want to be
free to stop early or late and we usually don’t know exactly where we’ll be
when we decide to stop for the night. On our road trips, we usually live by the
words of Lao Tzu – “A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on
arriving.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We checked into a
LaQuinta Inn and proceeded to relax, i.e. nap time! Our good luck with getting
good hotels on the fly continued as our room was clean, cold, quiet, and had
very comfortable beds. We woke up just in time to feast on Slotsky sandwiches and chips from the shop next door to the hotel and then settled in to eat our Paula Deen desserts and watch college Girls World Series softball games. It was a very good day.</span></span></p><p><b style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Day 3</span></b></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyq964MCKxiiMeo1JypM5W0TblPvCbZ5cQ6VoNwD1nY74EY7q-J08ATN9ysTh1hqujO2E8-NfG3-UMVOq37_x0NicM4Kczz7Vj2GRHliVrm5aVfiZSptU9bJT7lgDERnmv3nCh6UV_3rI/s575/2-vettes-ta.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="575" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyq964MCKxiiMeo1JypM5W0TblPvCbZ5cQ6VoNwD1nY74EY7q-J08ATN9ysTh1hqujO2E8-NfG3-UMVOq37_x0NicM4Kczz7Vj2GRHliVrm5aVfiZSptU9bJT7lgDERnmv3nCh6UV_3rI/w320-h213/2-vettes-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The next morning, after
a surprisingly good breakfast at a Waffle House near the hotel, we drove to the
reason we were in Bowling Green – The National Corvette Museum. Now this is a
great museum! From the first Corvette to the latest and greatest. There’s a lot
to see here with information on each car, the difference between the year’s
models, and who owned that particular car if it was somebody of importance or
fame. The place is huge – 55-acre campus and 115,000 square feet under roof
with wide aisles and friendly, knowledgeable staff. Before arriving, we figured
we would spend an hour or so here, but it was so interesting, we spent 4 and
could have stayed longer.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHqqZePgAsrojIPw6gOVLGttav7nLSZp_e4K99JvY0fncCziN23RDRuKrUIhScoF5uF_BpGzjeVRUqlmhyphenhyphenWBG_lwZudNEX5LldkyyF9nux6U84J7IFOqJqbuu2mLMsf3TGoran23BxN_s/s575/squished-ta.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="575" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHqqZePgAsrojIPw6gOVLGttav7nLSZp_e4K99JvY0fncCziN23RDRuKrUIhScoF5uF_BpGzjeVRUqlmhyphenhyphenWBG_lwZudNEX5LldkyyF9nux6U84J7IFOqJqbuu2mLMsf3TGoran23BxN_s/w320-h221/squished-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">You may remember when
the National Corvette Museum made international news headlines on February 12,
2014, when a sinkhole collapsed in the Skydome of the Museum in the middle of
the night. No one was in the building when it happened, but security cameras
were rolling and caught the incident on camera. Millions of viewers later
watched on YouTube as 8 very special, very expensive Corvettes fell into the
30-foot cave-in. The museum did an excellent job of covering this. The damaged
cars are on display with placards describing each car’s damage and how much it
would cost to repair (several were beyond repair). The sinkhole is safe now,
but there is a plexiglass-covered hole in the floor where you can look down
into it. Seeing those beautiful cars damaged like that was enough to almost
bring tears to my eyes.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLo0tefoxFuh-kH2bqJ3PbcmgwC0INlhjT3ZKd_PiNQ79_opSWpk7R68m6lbrQkZiIie3lHjL8Ukaqk4l43y9cW2UOpS7eVcm8W5ENFY-OQZtOtogAxMJXa_yIA6PQjOX7djVZSQVaYM/s575/poster-ta.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="575" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLo0tefoxFuh-kH2bqJ3PbcmgwC0INlhjT3ZKd_PiNQ79_opSWpk7R68m6lbrQkZiIie3lHjL8Ukaqk4l43y9cW2UOpS7eVcm8W5ENFY-OQZtOtogAxMJXa_yIA6PQjOX7djVZSQVaYM/s320/poster-ta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And then there’s the
gift shop – one of the best I’ve ever visited at a destination site. Pretty
much any Corvette-related item you could want is there. Most of the items were
a bit expensive, but all were of top-notch quality instead of the usual Chinese-made
cheap tourist keepsakes. I got gifts for family members as well as a t-shirt,
jacket and a great lap blanket for me. The back of our vehicle, Chip’s SUV, is
already starting to fill up with our goodies and we’ve still got lots of places
to see and things to do! Next stop on the road ahead – Day 4 in Louisville, Kentucky.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"><i><span>Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-to-woodstock-beyond-days-4-5.html">Here</a> to go to the next entry.</span></i></span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-65834113059966264112021-08-06T11:41:00.003-05:002021-08-09T11:00:28.606-05:00Road Trip: From Arkansas to Woodstock & Beyond - Day 1<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My
buddy and I recently completed an epic road trip. First stop was for BBQ at
"Tom's Barbeque" in Memphis, Tennessee. I heard it was on Guy Fieri's show
"<u>Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives</u>" and was featured in his book
"<u>Road Trip</u>." It also appeared in an episode of "<u>The Best Thing I
Ever Ate</u>" on TV. Gotta be good, right? Wrong. Terribly wrong.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lV48-Lh2dOrGIevaS6QkuPp5heyVPZfIaR2aIqvEfJpL5aPdXY7AoqAoQXQVlGFii8lyM9mS2WqXB7h9TtoEVIflYOzBu3T3632ezewx8LP7WQJPQ8c30p7k_d4-toC2Feag0z5iIW0/s550/toms-bbq2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lV48-Lh2dOrGIevaS6QkuPp5heyVPZfIaR2aIqvEfJpL5aPdXY7AoqAoQXQVlGFii8lyM9mS2WqXB7h9TtoEVIflYOzBu3T3632ezewx8LP7WQJPQ8c30p7k_d4-toC2Feag0z5iIW0/s320/toms-bbq2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The order window in Tom's BBQ</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background: white; color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Turns
out, Guy was there 11 years ago and the TV show was from 10 years ago. The
restaurant has changed ownership and should now be listed number 1 on the Worst
Barbeque In America. It looked like it has been at least 10 years since the
place was cleaned. As we walked up to the order window, the lady behind the
counter stared at us like we had just kicked her dog. The phone rang while we were
ordering, she turned away, answered it, and ignored us for 5 minutes with us
still standing there in mid-order. An older gentleman came over and said he
would take our orders. After ordering, we went to the other counter to pay and the woman said,
"over 55 dollars." I said, "Sorry?" since all I ordered was
a plate lunch. She looked at me scowling and screamed, "I wasn't talking
to you!" She then continued to talk to somebody I couldn't see behind her. </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K_SF2Gu8jmUT36Vgjbo8A5X20I42q3B85AYSOBwjTIYDRvJghAl-H_9YGCVblSbB5B1eDUKWtWckC8_rMwFj_NcG3NHfYEjz7I45qxmt8j5v02uPpR14e5ZhyelmJIrJHch8NV-vd74/s550/toms-bbq.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8K_SF2Gu8jmUT36Vgjbo8A5X20I42q3B85AYSOBwjTIYDRvJghAl-H_9YGCVblSbB5B1eDUKWtWckC8_rMwFj_NcG3NHfYEjz7I45qxmt8j5v02uPpR14e5ZhyelmJIrJHch8NV-vd74/s320/toms-bbq.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bad, just bad</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background: white; color: #050505; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">When we finally got our food, my sliced beef brisket was a large dollop of chopped beef swimming in some kind of awful-tasting sauce. The beans tasted like they had
been made several days ago and left out on the stove. The potato salad had no
taste whatsoever. We asked if we could have some salt and pepper and were told
nothing is available. My buddy's corn-on-the-cob was an old, dried-up,
shriveled-up ear. He bought a canned coke and said that was the best part of
the meal. We ended up leaving a lot on our plates. Not a good way to start a
road trip. Our considered advice is to stay away from Tom's Barbeque in Memphis
- far, far away! We headed on down the road to Brownsville, TN.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After escaping the
horrid experience at Tom's BBQ (I'd just as soon bite a bug as eat there
again!), we drove 64 miles to Brownsville, Tennessee. Located amongst the
cypress groves where Bald Eagles nest, I have to say we didn't find a lot
there. So why stop? Like a lot of road trip addicts, I love road kitsch,
offbeat Americana, roadside attractions, and Brownsville has a great one -
Billy Tripps Mindfield.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In 1989, Billy Tripp
began work on his life’s project: the "Mindfield," an immense steel
structure just a couple of blocks from the town’s main square. Using salvaged
metal, Tripp constructed the largest outdoor sculpture in Tennessee. The
sculpture is about an acre large and, at the tallest point, 125 feet high.
Tripp has stated that the Mindfield represents his emotions, personal growth,
as well as his significant life events. In 2002, after the death of his father,
Tripp added one of the largest additions to the sculpture, a water tower from a
closed factory in Kentucky.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUW8rAd0M_h6PZF0CM3hqstArGkl_za-usbpGDKQGQQTTbt0XkexddXiEhY0Fr9A309J4Sg0RBwmqQ51WGEJI40krxI0zVZV4dAH0gjT41e_uw3XfSX1eJLq7imSg9GmdyPxLP_3yUEk4/s550/Mind-fb.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="550" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUW8rAd0M_h6PZF0CM3hqstArGkl_za-usbpGDKQGQQTTbt0XkexddXiEhY0Fr9A309J4Sg0RBwmqQ51WGEJI40krxI0zVZV4dAH0gjT41e_uw3XfSX1eJLq7imSg9GmdyPxLP_3yUEk4/s320/Mind-fb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Tripp's <u>Mindfield</u></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Currently, Tripp
continues to work on the sculpture, building pieces in his shop behind the
structure and then adding them. In a published interview, he said, “<i>I see it
as a conversation with myself, but it doesn’t bother me that it can be
overheard by other people.</i>" Tripp has also written a book, <i><u>The Mindfield
Years: Volume 1</u></i>, and is currently working on a second volume. Like the
sculpture, the book is autobiographical and runs 725 pages long. Upon his
death, he intends to be interred within the sculpture. “<i>It will be my
cemetery,</i>” he has said. “<i>It’s my grave marker.</i>”</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After seeing it up
close, I can see my mind and Billy Tripp's do not work in the same way. His
work is certainly interesting, but it may be a good thing that his wife is a psychiatrist.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">We stayed just long
enough to stare at it while trying to figure out how a mind can conceive of
such a thing. We were both quiet for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
Thinking about it was putting a strain on our minds so, giving it up, we got
back on the road. It was near sundown as we headed toward Jackson, Tennessee,
our next destination and we still needed a place to stop and rest our weary
heads for the night.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">After visiting Billy
Tripp's Mindfield, we headed to Jackson, Tennessee for some road trip food
goodies at "Woodstock Bake Shop" which had come highly recommended.
But it was getting late and looking on down the road, there were not many
hotels so we pulled into a decent-looking Comfort Inn along the way. In our
experience, Comfort Inns are usually ok, but not anything to write home about.
Surprisingly, this one turned out to be really nice - very clean, new
furniture, very comfortable beds, and even large, fluffy towels. Not much in
the breakfast department, but that was due to Covid, not a shortcoming of the
hotel.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span><i>Click <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2021/08/road-trip-to-woodstock-beyond-days-2-3.html">HERE</a> to read the next entry.</i></span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-67665237440686158322021-03-16T07:17:00.000-05:002021-03-16T07:17:16.436-05:00Red Ghost<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVRvZwWCrKQJNoRK8a7fU2nJKDVwKYWboy4NGloSjkDSzgrpPU-PjfsLXrf-8nGJFeMm26-tcMGmY3dUeBVN8c6XfdRyx8lUme5f-VcKdqscUN0bEtvWtTYhkEhSf2rIBqjFmnq39e8d4/s800/camel+in+old+west2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVRvZwWCrKQJNoRK8a7fU2nJKDVwKYWboy4NGloSjkDSzgrpPU-PjfsLXrf-8nGJFeMm26-tcMGmY3dUeBVN8c6XfdRyx8lUme5f-VcKdqscUN0bEtvWtTYhkEhSf2rIBqjFmnq39e8d4/w400-h265/camel+in+old+west2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Back in the old days in the Southwest, life was tough and often filled with new and frightening experiences. Strange, spooky rock formations abound throughout the land. In some places, it is as desolate as the moon, and in others, the vastness of the open spaces is quite intimidating. Spanish and Native American legends and superstitions were part of the pioneer history, along with the goblins, pixies, demons, and devils settlers brought with them from various European countries. But sometimes, legends sprang up around factual historical events.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">One example is the Red Ghost. One day in 1883, a woman was found trampled to death. Huge tracks and clumps of dull, red fur were found around the poor woman's broken body. A few weeks later, a large creature crashed into the tent of two sleeping miners, again leaving behind giant footprints and red hair. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbveYyP3B23RtTOzaaPWv36R2kya3XC8Toz8Oh9y5yDdd_V699V4hMw8C6ZsIvvoCXDFkNsUVPDU49FuGTUWB-gHafVGjDGP_ddWsJtqkbHfv047iCKNEb0-pDFut22r_F9PRXd3Y9pvg/s350/camel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Camel" border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbveYyP3B23RtTOzaaPWv36R2kya3XC8Toz8Oh9y5yDdd_V699V4hMw8C6ZsIvvoCXDFkNsUVPDU49FuGTUWB-gHafVGjDGP_ddWsJtqkbHfv047iCKNEb0-pDFut22r_F9PRXd3Y9pvg/w320-h240/camel.jpg" title="Camel" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">More sightings occurred in the area until finally, a former slave from North Africa recognized the beast as a camel. They named the creature the Red Ghost. One day, a pair of miners spied the Red Ghost grazing along a dusty draw. One of the men shouted at it and as they watched, something fell from the camel’s back as it ran away. When the prospectors went to investigate, they discovered it was a human skull. For years afterward, people would catch sight of the camel with its headless rider, sending chills down many spines. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">In 1883, a farmer finally shot and killed the camel while it was raiding his garden. Although the beast had finally shed the skeletal bones of its rider, it still wore the saddle and tack.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">This incident has a basis in recorded historical events. In the late 1850s, the military was attempting to develop a supply route from Texas to California, but they found mules and horses were not suited for the rough, dry terrain. They sent an officer to the Middle East to learn about and purchase a group of camels. The military then tested the beasts on the Texas to California route. They were pleased with the result, but the Civil War began before more could be done and the camels were simply turned loose in the desert. For many decades afterward, settlers were startled by visions of camels in the deserts of southern Arizona, California, and Nevada.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">So who was the headless rider carried by the Red Ghost? According to legend, he was one of the soldiers who tested the camels on the first expedition. Although nobody would testify at the time, years later, an old soldier who was a member of the camel brigade, told his doctor a story and swore to its truth shortly before he died. The tale he told was that one of the men was afraid of the beasts and had a hard time learning how to ride one. His fellow soldiers securely tied him to the saddle to help him learn. Then they smacked the critter on the rump sending him plunging off into the desert. Though his "friends" pursued him for several days, they never caught up with their unlucky comrade, who died still tied to the saddle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The last documented sighting of a wild camel in the Southwest took place in 1934 by several men prospecting in the desert. They came upon a relatively recent dead camel body and took a picture of it. Newspapers took up the story and stated that the last American camel was dead. However, unverified sightings continue even today, including visions of the Red Ghost and his headless rider, whose apparitions apparently still roam the deserts of the Southwestern U.S.</span></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Pinal County, AZ, USA32.8162061 -111.284502525.250399345401362 -120.073565 40.382012854598642 -102.49544tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-26785807929182489582021-01-25T00:45:00.000-06:002021-01-25T00:45:38.792-06:00The Men of Lonesome Dove<div><span style="font-size: medium;">When Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving first met, they became friends right away, but little did they know that together, they would alter the history of the American West. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlaMr5N2xDqLQCFXCMrSR93zJONs9pFCSaEe2faDJQ-btCURyxD6GHuSn9piMJfFFOjDfBOwes7pdiMOZiqOX0Z3Wls7WC4gMY_NS8mE-x69fd25hsgb6IQnyRruxOYWlr_auMNvL7MM/s499/charles-goodnight-blog.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="429" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlaMr5N2xDqLQCFXCMrSR93zJONs9pFCSaEe2faDJQ-btCURyxD6GHuSn9piMJfFFOjDfBOwes7pdiMOZiqOX0Z3Wls7WC4gMY_NS8mE-x69fd25hsgb6IQnyRruxOYWlr_auMNvL7MM/w275-h320/charles-goodnight-blog.jpg" title="Charles Goodnight" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Charles Goodnight (historical photo)</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Charles was born on March 5, 1836, in Illinois, the fourth child of Charles and Charlotte Goodnight. His father died of pneumonia when Charles was five and his mother soon married a neighbor, Hiram Daugherty. His step-father decided the family would take advantage of the opportunities offered by the nation of Texas so in 1845, Charles rode bareback on a horse named Blaze for 800 miles to their new home in central Texas. Charles was always proud of the fact he was born the same year the Republic of Texas was formed and arrived in Texas the same year Texas became of part of the United States. This journey was a turning point for Charles as he learned how to ride a horse, how to track, and how to hunt to provide food during their travels. He wanted to be a cowboy from this point on.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Unfortunately, Charlotte was left a widow for the second time when Hiram died in in 1853. Available women were rather hard to find in frontier Texas and it wasn't long before Charlotte found a new husband, the Reverend Adam Sheek. The Reverend was a widower himself and he brought into the union his son, John Wesley. Charles and John quickly became fast friends.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Reverend Sheek's brother-in-law owned the neighboring CV ranch. Charles and John entered a deal in 1856 to take care of the ranch and they would receive every 4th calf born to the herd as payment. Charles and John dedicated themselves to learning everything about the cattle ranching business and in 4 years, they had 180 head of their own. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When the Civil War broke out, Charles served by joining the Texas Rangers and John enlisted in the Confederate army. Before leaving to serve, they carefully branded each cow and turned them loose to freely roam the wilderness until their return. Charles spent four years on the edge of the frontier protecting settlers from attacks by Kiowa and Commanche Indians. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">During this time, he became widely known for his bravery in engagements with the Indians and his tracking skills. He was tasked with tracking down the location of Cynthia Ann Parker, who had been captured by Commanche when she was 10-years old. By the time she was recaptured 25 years later, she was married to a Commanche warrior, had several sons and a daughter and remembered nothing about her former life. She was forcibly separated from her husband, the Commanche leader Quanah Parker and her sons, but was allowed to keep her infant daughter who she had been carrying in her arms when she was captured. Several times, Cynthia Ann attempted to run away to rejoin her husband and her tribe, but each time, she was caught and returned. Unfortunately, while still a baby, her daughter, Topsannah, died. Cynthia Ann, having lost her daughter and knowing she would forever be separated from her sons and husband, refused to eat and died of a broken heart. Later in life, Charles said it would have been better if she had never been found and regretted helping to bring her back to her white family.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">John survived several battles during the Civil War and when it was over, returned home. He and Charles were surprised to find their herd had grown from 180 head to almost 5000 in the 4 years they were gone. They bought the remaining 2,000 cattle from the CV Ranch and rounded up another 1,000 unbranded strays to bring their herd to 8,000. It was about this time when John met a girl, fell in love and decided he wanted to work in town and be a family man instead of a rancher. Charles took over the herd by himself.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When Charles returned home after the Civil war ended, he renewed his close friendship with a neighbor, Oliver Loving. A few months later, in 1866, Goodnight and Loving decided that instead of taking their herds up north, which was being flooded with cattle and thus offered very little profit, they would head northwest to Colorado where there were many soldiers and few cattle. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3jJzrTLpp2bl-j4N4tqTt6fOw-bvqFxZmpMh3MDchmhUMzKsSu2UpmVHaVtD1MP9-A2FDeMW_bhGRczuE_2KvbrOEACtGJFbOiLnMvQBJDXOnOnsE0r4KEcQGgvjQg2syoWOvodDIGw/s550/oliver-loving-blog.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="433" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3jJzrTLpp2bl-j4N4tqTt6fOw-bvqFxZmpMh3MDchmhUMzKsSu2UpmVHaVtD1MP9-A2FDeMW_bhGRczuE_2KvbrOEACtGJFbOiLnMvQBJDXOnOnsE0r4KEcQGgvjQg2syoWOvodDIGw/w252-h320/oliver-loving-blog.jpg" title="Oliver Loving" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oliver Loving (historical photo)</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Oliver Loving was born December 4, 1812 in Hopkins County, Kentucky. He became a farmer and married his childhood sweetheart, Susan Dogget Morgan in 1833. In 1843, Loving, his brother and sister and their families moved to Texas. Within a short time, he had acquired 600 acres of land in Dallas, Collin and Parker counties and became a successful farmer and freight hauler. In 1855, Loving sold his property and moved his wife and their seven children to what is now Palo Pinto County where he opened and operated a store near Keechi Creek. While still operating the store, he purchased more land and started cattle ranching. By 1857, he owned more than 1,000 acres and over 5,000 cows. He and his sons made three successful cattle drives to the fledgling town of Denver, Colorado, bringing 1,500 head at a time. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">In 1861, when war broke out, Loving was commissioned to provide beef for the Confederate army. By 1865, when the war was over, the Confederate government was disbanded owing him over $150,000. With his devastated finances and large family to provide for, he knew he had to come up with some way of making a comeback. Enter his friendship with Goodnight.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The two men together decided to partner and take 2,000 head of cattle to Fort Sumner, New Mexico where troops were guarding 400 Apache and 8,000 Navajo Indians after the 1864 Long Walks. Both the soldiers and Indians were desperate for food. Going to Fort Sumner meant they would have to drive their herd across the Texas Panhandle which was very dangerous due to bandits and the Commanche and Apache Indians who still roamed the lands. Goodnight though, calling on his years as a Texas Ranger, was familiar with dealing with the Apache and Commanche and realized it was better to offer them cattle in exchange for safe passage. They hired 18 armed cowboys to guard against bandits and to help with the drive. To help feed the men, Goodnight invented the chuckwagon by converting an Army surplus Studebaker wagon for more practical use on the long drive. The men arrived in Fort Sumner safely with most of their herd intact and after selling 1,200 head to the army, were paid $12,000 in gold. Loving decided to take the rest of the herd north to Denver while Goodnight returned with the gold to Ft. Worth to purchase another herd. Goodnight brought this second herd on the same path as before and the two men met up again in Fort Sumner to sell the herd. The trail blazed by the two men became the famous Goodnight-Loving Trail. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">In the spring of 1867, Goodnight and Loving decided to make another cattle drive to Denver. Due to bad weather, flooding rivers, and extremely muddy trails, the herd was moving slowly and knowing other ranchers were also driving their cattle to Denver, Loving decided to ride ahead to secure a written contract before the other ranchers flooded the market and drove down the prices. Goodnight, knowing the dangers that lay ahead, made Loving promise to only travel at night. Taking their trusted one-armed scout, Bill Wilson, with him, Loving set out. Feeling that traveling at night was slowing them down too much, the two men began riding day and night. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PipTfdp7NJo96SItL3KM2pRS3nNoF9LHlxLi3cZpu7gay34tfJ6ywI7_GWvvp4mMdm_Gr5eQLB3Td5ylMiwfku_coUJQPNB6Mv7XsEm_qfqICmZ82gVL-Swo22RBu7YGMhIL2aPZQYQ/s500/loving-grave.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PipTfdp7NJo96SItL3KM2pRS3nNoF9LHlxLi3cZpu7gay34tfJ6ywI7_GWvvp4mMdm_Gr5eQLB3Td5ylMiwfku_coUJQPNB6Mv7XsEm_qfqICmZ82gVL-Swo22RBu7YGMhIL2aPZQYQ/w227-h320/loving-grave.jpg" title="Oliver Loving Grave" width="227" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oliver Loving grave</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Unfortunately, coming over a rise in the land, they encountered a raiding party of 100 Commanche. Spuring their horses, they made their way to the banks of the Black River and took shelter there. By then though, Loving had been shot in the arm and side. Feeling himself getting weaker, he sent Wilson back to Goodnight for help. Wilson gave both of his pistols and most of his ammunition to Loving and carrying only a rifle, slid into the river's waters and safely floated past the Indians in the dark. Loving held off the Indians the next day, but feeling his life was drifting away due to his wounds, he decided there was nothing left for him to do except try to escape. Just like Wilson had done, he silently slipped into the river and floated past the unsuspecting Indians. The next morning, the Commanch discovered what he had done and began to track him. Miraculously, he managed to evade the Indians for three days and nights and when he sensed they had left, probably because they thought he must be dead, he started following, limping and often crawling, the trail he helped blaze. Fortunately, a small group of Mexican traders came across him, gave him water and for a gold coin, put him in a wagon and brought him to Fort Sumner. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Wilson, half-starved, barefoot and pursued by wolves, eventually made it back to Goodnight and the herd. He told them what had happened and where he had left Loving. He also reported he had shot and killed the Indian that wounded Loving. He said one Indian had crept through the weeds coming within several feet of them, but just as he was about to rise up and shoot, the men saw a large rattlesnake strike the Indian and he ran away. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCwtgu0cLOuzsGy-HDQEheYWr57RpffEh_cpG4t4HBKyg9BQ4upZ2n0jk2ATRcB5TsbZtOjMc60_fMeOUrTNhHpNyr32UHAgvTgn4j9UAs2CzvcxnADBOp8aTTy3A26vshreJ_5wuTgNM/s500/loving-historical-sign.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="353" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCwtgu0cLOuzsGy-HDQEheYWr57RpffEh_cpG4t4HBKyg9BQ4upZ2n0jk2ATRcB5TsbZtOjMc60_fMeOUrTNhHpNyr32UHAgvTgn4j9UAs2CzvcxnADBOp8aTTy3A26vshreJ_5wuTgNM/s320/loving-historical-sign.jpg" /></a></div>With several of the cowboys, Goodnight raced to the location reported by Wilson only to find Loving was nowhere to be found. After searching for 2 days, the men returned to the herd. Several days out from the fort, Goodnight learned from a passing cowboy that Loving was in the town being treated but the doctor was incompetent. He rushed ahead of the herd to find gangrene had set in his friends arm. To save his life, the arm needed to be amputated, but the doctor had never performed one and was too scared. Goodnight dispatched a rider to Santa Fe to bring back an experienced doctor, but it was too late. Loving died on September 25th, but before succumbing, he made Goodnight promise to bury him back in Texas, "where I can be at home rather than lie in alien soil." </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Goodnight and his cowboys had to finish the drive to Colorado so they fashioned a large tin casket out of soldered together oil cans, placed Loving's wooden casket inside the tin casket, filled the tin casket with charcoal and buried it in the local cemetery. After the cattle were sold in Denver, Goodnight and the cowboys returned to Fort Sumner, disinterred Loving and followed the Goodnight-Loving Trail, returning him to Texas. On February 8, 1868, with his family and many friends and cowboys in attendance, he was buried in Greenwood Cemetery in Weatherford.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Over the next few years, Goodnight continued to prosper by driving cattle north. In 1870, he married his long-time sweetheart, the beautiful Mary Ann (Molly) Dyer, a Weatherford school teacher. They never had children of their own, but they adopted a boy named Cleo Hubbard, the son of their long-time housekeeper. Cleo would later inherit most of the Goodnight fortune. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX27gGZ1XEdMwYfStXxckE_WORKNoOvLUQl-VjrvIhd5DZkznlKe0IO0rmXk2ak_tf-KLa3tRhlAZ1FQ8KlcMR78hehu1hY-LAIZBW2IBmj0jdpWj9S4tleAINz8LIEHJ08O8K23vdDg/s1047/Goodnight-headstone.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1047" data-original-width="650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX27gGZ1XEdMwYfStXxckE_WORKNoOvLUQl-VjrvIhd5DZkznlKe0IO0rmXk2ak_tf-KLa3tRhlAZ1FQ8KlcMR78hehu1hY-LAIZBW2IBmj0jdpWj9S4tleAINz8LIEHJ08O8K23vdDg/w199-h320/Goodnight-headstone.jpg" title="Charles and Molly's headstone" width="199" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Charles and Molly's headstone<br />in the Goodnight Cemetery</i></td></tr></tbody></table>In 1876, Goodnight partnered with an Irish investor, John Adair, and established the JA Ranch in Palo Duro Canyon. By the summer of 1878, the ranch encompassed nearly a million acres with over 100,000 head of cattle and a small herd of buffalo. Later, when the wild buffalo almost became extinct, this herd became the nucleus of the current Texas State Bison Herd located in Caprock Canyons State Park, the last native herd out of the estimated 60 million buffalo that once roamed across the southern plains. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When destitute, starving Indians led by Quannah Parker came to hunt and raid the Palo Duro area, Goodnight made treaty with them by promising and delivering 2 beeves every other day if they would not disturb the JA herd. He made good on his word and the Indians never took any of his herd. By 1880, the area began suffering from numerous cattle rustlers and horse thieves. The Texas Rangers were notified, but being short-handed, they replied they would get there when they could. Goodnight said never mind, he would take care of the problem himself. He established the Panhandle Stockman's Association near Mobeetie and immediately began applying vigilante justice to the area's outlaws and rustlers. Within a couple of months, the cattle rustling and horse stealing had ceased.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXdqqNMB0OrwfP8bxK_R4OFUMOatjzdIkSN4j2vNtRVobygSOVII-PqeD-CKnQ3AsoZl3fMaBEsEh5MqeuTZKX-DQlkmB4-camWXCb6G398Iwe_fUkl9bGtwEICL6mfLePNJiAo2ryYQ/s650/goodnight-grave.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="650" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXdqqNMB0OrwfP8bxK_R4OFUMOatjzdIkSN4j2vNtRVobygSOVII-PqeD-CKnQ3AsoZl3fMaBEsEh5MqeuTZKX-DQlkmB4-camWXCb6G398Iwe_fUkl9bGtwEICL6mfLePNJiAo2ryYQ/w320-h207/goodnight-grave.jpg" title="Charles Goodnight grave" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Goodnight's grave marked by cowboy bandanas<br />left by admirers</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Forseeing the end of the open range, Goodnight sold his interest in the JA Ranch and established his own ranch of 25,600 acres in what eventually became the community of Goodnight, Texas. On December 27, 1887, he and Molly moved into the ranch house he built and he spent his time raising cattle, farming, and taking care of the herd of buffalo he had brought with him from the JA Ranch. After his wife passed away in April, 1926, he continued to live in the home they had shared. In late 1926, Goodnight became very ill, but was nursed back to health by Corinne Goodnight (a distant cousin), a 26-year-old nurse. On March 5, 1927, the 91-year-old man shocked family and friends by marrying Corinne. He had been obsessively dedicated to Molly from the first time he met her and Corinne was young enough to be his great-grandaughter so it was a total shock to all. The couple shocked everyone again a few months later when they sold the ranch house and bought a home in Clarendon, Texas. In 1929, on the advice of doctors, they moved to Phoenix, Arizona for Goodnight's health. It didn't stop his decline and he died on December 12, 1929. His body was brought back to his Palo Duro ranch in Goodnight and he was buried in the Goodnight Cemetery next to his beloved Molly.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Bose Ikard was born into slavery in Mississippi in either 1843 or 1847 (no records exist and Bose stated he didn't know which year he was born). In 1852, he moved with his master Dr. Milton Ikard to Texas where Bose grew up to become a ranch hand and all-around cowboy. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">The war left Bose a free man and after becoming aquanted with Oliver Loving, he hired on as a tracker and guide for the Goodnight-Loving cattle drives. He soon won the respect of both men and became so trusted, he often served as their banker, carrying thousands of dollars in cash and gold until it could be deposited in their bank. There was never a difference of even one dollar less than what he had been intrusted with. After Loving was killed, Bose stayed on with Goodnight for four more years.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNdTBbjYbmjiDnDTm60mCpdyI5rL7o4LA4X7g-OGiRCDczwO9Cz7WYV7n58GfVLy2ft-DLeXHN7QKP8Nhbd-K0BFqPrdDt6FSw2BQP8Nh0JHOC1I-E6qNwWp0sdklAbmNuW7pgmLrsnw/s225/bose+ikard.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNdTBbjYbmjiDnDTm60mCpdyI5rL7o4LA4X7g-OGiRCDczwO9Cz7WYV7n58GfVLy2ft-DLeXHN7QKP8Nhbd-K0BFqPrdDt6FSw2BQP8Nh0JHOC1I-E6qNwWp0sdklAbmNuW7pgmLrsnw/s0/bose+ikard.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bose Ikard <br />(historical photo)</td></tr></tbody></table>The two men were life-long friends and after Bose got married to a woman named Angelina in 1869 and settled down in Weatherford, Texas, Goodnight visited him every chance he got and always brought presents, often cash, for the Ikard family. Bose and Angelina had a long and happy marriage, becoming parents to six children. Bose died on January 4, 1929, just 11 months before the death of Goodnight, and was buried near his old friend, Oliver Loving, in Weatherford's Greenwood Cemetery. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When Goodnight was told of his death, he stated that he trusted Bose Ikard "farther than any living man. He was my detective, my banker, and everything else in Colorado, New Mexico and any other wild country I was in." Goodnight purchased a granit marker for Bose's grave and had it inscribed with an epitaph for his old friend - "Bose Ikard served with me four years on the Goodnight-Loving trail, never shirked a duty or disobeyed an order, rode with me in many stampedes, participated in three engagements with the Commanches, splendid behavior. - C. Goodnight" High praise indeed from a man of Charles Goodnight's stature.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The fictional characters Augustus McCrae, Woodrow Call and their right-hand man Joshua Deets in the award-winning book <i>Lonesome Dove</i> by Larry McMurtry and the mini-series by the same name (nominated for 18 awards and winner of 7 Emmys and 2 Golden Globes) was modeled after these three uncommon men; Oliver Loving, Charles Goodnight, and Bose Ikard. </span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1GiPe2ZANZ0a0WBlw0ryQny0IOe1x1LQlEDMOeMvNyux76Ii-yIHbnX0aRmr5pZzJJ1oMeRQOV3gLLAIVeu0t5CtJLC5bfSeIc7nTy9qh1jaRLGYZaE0uJr_dneWnTXwrZ-ZyUp0Hw0/s500/Bose-grave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1GiPe2ZANZ0a0WBlw0ryQny0IOe1x1LQlEDMOeMvNyux76Ii-yIHbnX0aRmr5pZzJJ1oMeRQOV3gLLAIVeu0t5CtJLC5bfSeIc7nTy9qh1jaRLGYZaE0uJr_dneWnTXwrZ-ZyUp0Hw0/s320/Bose-grave.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bose Ikard grave marker</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-68767993430081632002020-11-29T22:06:00.001-06:002023-03-06T14:54:14.441-06:00Post Card from Shamrock, Texas<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> If you have ever wanted to kiss the Blarney Stone, but haven't because you can't afford an expensive trip to Ireland, Texas has you covered. The town of Shamrock is located in the Panhandle of Texas, just across the border from Oklahoma. In 1890, mail in the area was served by George and Nora Nickel in a dugout on their property. George's Irish mother had often told him to depend on a shamrock to bring him good luck so that's what he named the town. Shamrock loves its Irish heritage so much that in 1959, city leaders managed to buy an actual piece of the lucky rock from Cork, Ireland's Blarney Castle. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd6AJ2S1rtJWMBk9U0aqz-TrbJz546UC5CudtCLDJjWDJH1vUOLO_vLSMGBp6V4AfgcHegg1clI3XNNs2jFCg5ZOS1LwuVfhq0N1Ov6p8CXymHqIieA2wdq0h47KST4fcSFA73qof215k/s550/Blarney-Stone.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd6AJ2S1rtJWMBk9U0aqz-TrbJz546UC5CudtCLDJjWDJH1vUOLO_vLSMGBp6V4AfgcHegg1clI3XNNs2jFCg5ZOS1LwuVfhq0N1Ov6p8CXymHqIieA2wdq0h47KST4fcSFA73qof215k/s320/Blarney-Stone.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">When the rock was delivered with the authentication papers, they embedded it into a theft-proof concrete pedestal, exposed for anyone who wanted kiss it. Why would anyone want to put their lips to a rock that has now had thousands of other people's lips touch it? </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Legend has it that when you kiss the Blarney Stone, you will be given the gift of eloquence and persuasiveness. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Set in an upper wall of Blarney Castle, constructed in 1446 by Dermot McCarthy, King of Munster, the stone, according to popular legend, was originally the stone of Jacob from the Book of Genesis.</span><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: verdana;">It was</span><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">acquired during the Crusades and brought to Ireland. In 1558, Queen Elizabeth 1 decided she wanted the magnificent Blarney Castle (then known as the McCarthy castle) for her own. She sent the Earle of Leicester to seize it, but Cormac McCarthy, the head of the family, had the gift of gab and was so eloquent that he managed to keep stalling the process of turning over his castle to the Queen. The queen became so exasperated by the earl's reports about the lack of progress that she said his reports were all "Blarney." The castle was never turned over to the queen and has since been known as the Blarney Castle. Kissing the Blarney Stone will impart this gift of gab to the kisser.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvryZMN0Y0GlbWA8DDxDg1xX-mNS7sGOuN47ntdACgWqJI04ZJKmOzu2vNJr6bImk_Adza-YzFz7Duhahj9YJ7TqxDd4qy4sU_n6pmokFC57K1n_UVfJiCdEty9ADK6YD_0MCUJLqxF-M/s550/Blarney-Stone-park.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvryZMN0Y0GlbWA8DDxDg1xX-mNS7sGOuN47ntdACgWqJI04ZJKmOzu2vNJr6bImk_Adza-YzFz7Duhahj9YJ7TqxDd4qy4sU_n6pmokFC57K1n_UVfJiCdEty9ADK6YD_0MCUJLqxF-M/s320/Blarney-Stone-park.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, Shamrock's piece of the Blarney Stone sits in it's pedestal in a small park surrounded by older houses. Unless you intentionally go there to see it and actually walk into the park to find it, you most probably would pay no notice to it. The day I visited, the park was empty except for one little boy who intently watched me as he was slowly swinging back and forth on the old swing set. I took a few pictures of the stone which, apparently bored him so much that he left and walked into a nearby house. Just me and the stone so yes, after wiping it down with a Clorox wipe I retrieved from my truck, I bent over and gave that rock a quick little kiss. I don't think it gave me the rumored gift of gab, but my wife and friends might disagree.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shamrock slowly grew, especially in the 1920's when oil and gas were discovered in the area. In 1936, the U-Drop Inn was built at the corner of Route 66 and Route 83. It did a booming business as it was the only café within 100 miles of Shamrock. It was considered one of the most beautiful buildings on Route 66, but when the road was decommissioned, it was abandoned and fell into disrepair. In 1997, however, the crumbling building was placed on the National Register of Historic Places and in 1999, the First National Bank of Shamrock purchased it and donated the structure to the city. The city then received a $1.7 million grant from the federal government and a firm specializing in restoring historical buildings was commissioned to bring it back to its former glory. The firm did an excellent job and today it houses a visitor center, a museum, and a gift center as well the city's Chamber of Commerce. It has become an iconic "must stop" for thousands of old Route 66 travelers and is probably most famous for being the inspiration for Ramone's Body Shop in the 2006 movie, "Cars."</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNmNFT869qYIXcQdV5Ck_N2hhp6T6FSLnp0go_T04saP4jTPpf2hh8ED_dbg2feSSA9cA5ix7Qbp7Q8bUZ5P7TuifiOBMDpTSfcR6HwRdTynJzX4pCxqJopXeqqXbbZyieBoouWWg0S4/s764/Conoco.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="764" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNmNFT869qYIXcQdV5Ck_N2hhp6T6FSLnp0go_T04saP4jTPpf2hh8ED_dbg2feSSA9cA5ix7Qbp7Q8bUZ5P7TuifiOBMDpTSfcR6HwRdTynJzX4pCxqJopXeqqXbbZyieBoouWWg0S4/s320/Conoco.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shamrock has never been very big though. Even at its peak there were only 3,778 residents. When Route 66 and the city was bypassed by the construction of I-40, business declined and the population fell to to its current 1,910. It swells considerably however, during its annual St. Patrick's Day Celebration weekend. Held every year since 1938 (except during WW II), the festival marks the end of its "Irish Donegal Beard-growing" contest. Each contestant must provide photographic proof of a stubble-free face as of January 1st. The men then grow as much beard as they can before St. Patrick's Day. Adult males opting not to participate must buy a $5 shaving permit or risk being thrown in jail during the festival! In addition to announcing the year's Ms. Shamrock, activities include a banquet, parade, Irish stew cook-off, antique car show, carnival, arts & crafts, a bull buck-out and more. And a good time is had by all in this little Irish town in Texas.</span><p></p></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you want to learn more about other states Irish traditions, check out my daughters blog post, <a href="https://cozycornersuniverse.com/the-ultimate-guide-to-the-worlds-shortest-st-patricks-day-parade-what-you-need-to-know-2023/" target="_blank">The Ultimate Guide To The World’s Shortest St. Patrick’s Day Parade</a> in Hot Springs, Arkansas.</span></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Shamrock, TX 79079, USA35.2142167 -100.24900756.903982863821156 -135.4052575 63.524450536178847 -65.0927575tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-89539135318987445112020-10-25T17:06:00.001-05:002020-10-25T17:15:55.505-05:00The Civil War's Tallest Soldier<p><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #36322d;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62zMjZ2DB0_25pbwQL8s8ILWsiRD18rMNeCaKO6Zs13zLTcdxuLI_02cxHm6L_wAKNVmOYKBrZEH6Mr-HylHt0viCm1SJcSiTOX9cXd-HF9ui2-ZZ652N1ExvGYIH9Q9b1no_bU8p6tk/s400/H-Thurston-b.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62zMjZ2DB0_25pbwQL8s8ILWsiRD18rMNeCaKO6Zs13zLTcdxuLI_02cxHm6L_wAKNVmOYKBrZEH6Mr-HylHt0viCm1SJcSiTOX9cXd-HF9ui2-ZZ652N1ExvGYIH9Q9b1no_bU8p6tk/s320/H-Thurston-b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Historical Photo)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: #36322d;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Henry Clay
Thruston was born on May 4, 1830 in Greenville, South Carolina. He grew to 7 feet, 7 ½ inches
by the time he was 19. Henry was the youngest of 5 brothers, all of whom were
over 6 feet tall. His parents moved the family to Missouri soon after he was
born and except for the notoriety of the boys being so tall, they lived a
quiet, uneventful life. In 1850, Henry moved to California to try his hand at
gold mining, but soon came back home to Missouri where, at age 23, he married
Mary Thruston, a distant cousin. He began traveling with the P.T. Barnum show
where he was billed as “The Missouri Giant” or, while traveling through Texas, “The
Texas Giant” and “The Tallest Man in the World.” While touring in the south, he
would lead the circus parade wearing a large “Stars and Bars” flag draped around
his shoulders, but when the circus was in the northern states, he dressed as “Uncle
Sam” and wore the “Old Glory” flag.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #36322d; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">By the time the
Civil War broke out, Henry and Mary had four children. When Union General Lyons
invaded Missouri in February 1861, he broke up the State Legislature and drove
the Governor, Claiborne F. Jackson, from the Capitol. He also took prisoners a
company of State Guards in St. Louis, shot down women and children in the
streets, and proclaimed that “the blood of women and children should run as
water” before Missouri should go out of the Union. The Thruston family held
strong views regarding state’s rights and upon the actions of General Lyons and
his troops, Henry and two of his brothers joined the Morgan County Rangers, a
unit of the Missouri State Guards. Henry remained with the State Guards,
participating in several small battles until after the battle of Pea Ridge
where his well-loved nephew, Joe Thurston, was killed. Henry then quit the
State Guards and joined the Confederate Army, serving as a private under Col.
John Q. Burbridge in the 4th Missouri Cavalry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: rgb(250, 250, 250); color: #36322d; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One day, Henry
and a small group of soldiers were far in front of the Rebel lines serving as
scouts when they came upon a farmhouse. As they approached, a young woman broke
out of the house yelling, “Watch out! The woods are full of Yanks!” A major in
charge of the Union troops came running out of the house and aimed his rifle at
the woman. Before he could shoot however, Henry stood up, fired his rifle and
mortally wounded the major. The remaining Union troops ran from the house and
retreated into the woods. While giving aid to the wounded Yankee major, he kept
saying, “A Reb standing upon a tree stump shot me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #36322d;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyop5VODaFMinPXzLw6Op2UozvTT9WRUwQ2QqcTS82FS4Evz5jISvuZGP-sobQImsc7SUOFuCap5VR2BTFu0ge2clhZ8ZAvy6BHZ8UG6iUVvi03O3w5QEKwohMmlP-gWzpm5k1YPGv4hc/s400/Henry-Thurston-b.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="282" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyop5VODaFMinPXzLw6Op2UozvTT9WRUwQ2QqcTS82FS4Evz5jISvuZGP-sobQImsc7SUOFuCap5VR2BTFu0ge2clhZ8ZAvy6BHZ8UG6iUVvi03O3w5QEKwohMmlP-gWzpm5k1YPGv4hc/s320/Henry-Thurston-b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Historical Photo)</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #36322d;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On another occasion, the two sides were dug in just yards apart on either side of
a pasture. At night, the men would shout at each other across the field. The
Union men told the southerners they better watch out as they had a giant on
their side and he would be coming to destroy them. The Rebs shouted back they
had a giant as well and their giant was undoubtedly bigger. To settle the
argument, the two sides agreed on a truce for the next day to settle who had
the bigger giant. At the appointed hour, Yanks and Rebs left their guns behind,
met in the middle of the pasture and the two “giants” were stood back-to-back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Union giant was only 6’10 1/2” and Henry,
at 7’7 ½” was clearly taller. The Yanks had to admit the Reb giant was bigger.
Afterward, for the rest of the hour of peace, the men swapped each other for
food, tobacco, clothing items and gave each other news of what was happening
elsewhere. It was reported that at least one set of brothers one Yank and one
Reb, found each other and spent the hour in tears while hugging and talking
about their parents and relatives back home. At the end of the hour, each side turned
and went back to their lines. The rest of the day was peaceful, but early the
next morning, a Union soldier shouted, “Duck your heads, Rebs! Here we come!” The
Yankees then charged the Rebel lines and the death and horror of war resumed.</span></span><p></p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Henry survived that
battle and several others as well. A few months later, he was standing in the
second line of a formation for the colonel to “inspect the troops.” The command
“Attention” was given. The colonel looked at the lines of men and shouted “Attention”
himself, but when nobody moved, he drew his saber, ran straight at Thruston yelling,
“By God, I will make you obey orders! Get off that stump now!” Henry said, “Sir,
I’m not standing on a stump. I’m standing on the ground.” Getting close enough
to see that Thruston was indeed just standing on the ground, the Colonel said, “My
God, how the Yankees haven’t killed a target as big as you is unbelievable.”</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Later in the war, Henry was serving
in the cavalry under Major-General Sterling Price who was raiding across
Arkansas, Kansas and Missouri in what was called “Price’s Raid.” It was during
this campaign in 1864 when, amazingly, a mini-ball grazed the top of his head.
He later said, “It didn’t hurt much and only parted my hair.” It was at another
battle in Arkansas in 1864 that Henry’s incredible luck ran out. He was
seriously wounded in the side and was captured by Yankee forces. A Union doctor
managed to remove the bullet and eventually, Henry made a full recovery. He
remained a prisoner of war until being paroled in June 1865 after the war
ended.</span></p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-family: verdana;">After the war, Thruston reunited with his family in Missouri
and soon migrated southwest to Texas, stopping when he got to Titus County. He
bought 100 acres east of Mount Vernon and spent most of the rest of his life
farming and occasionally touring once again with Barnum and Bailey circus.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">
While touring with the circus this time, he took to wearing a tall beaver hat,
high-top boots and a long coat which made him look ten feet tall. Thousands of
people came to see and talk with “The World’s Tallest Man.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsdSY6fDTKzkNKd9RNioD9-2k90D_VXgn5akVpWvnah01QdEsogFk8iqyl_8kXE17vCeP767QTznaHZ8FcvodVbY_sBm4JNZqMntuoIFNTH3GVRDbErfMajX1XweH5jzu6tb-AmWdtmw/s401/marker.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsdSY6fDTKzkNKd9RNioD9-2k90D_VXgn5akVpWvnah01QdEsogFk8iqyl_8kXE17vCeP767QTznaHZ8FcvodVbY_sBm4JNZqMntuoIFNTH3GVRDbErfMajX1XweH5jzu6tb-AmWdtmw/s320/marker.jpg" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;">Henry’s wife Mary
died on September 23, 1891. Several years later, in declining health, he moved
in with his son Edward who lived in Mt. Vernon, Texas. Henry always attended
the Confederate Reunions and was always the center of attention for everyone in
attendance. Shortly after his return from the reunion in Memphis, Tennessee, the
Civil War’s tallest soldier died on Friday, July 2, 1909. He was 79 years old. He
is buried next to his wife and two of their sons in the old Edward’s Cemetery
in Mt. Pleasant, Texas.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGFEhBzAUL9VuwFCTbgED4ske8-7szJMuGNW9ePjMT1ZqKaQT1KiRaYKmFouHK1Ke7e1hFVjRBOL105vW7u-8G2Enht87I296OpMFEOiK6GolzQ2bS5DLls0H1X1XMqXYGNRFfYHvdEg/s500/Thruston-home.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGFEhBzAUL9VuwFCTbgED4ske8-7szJMuGNW9ePjMT1ZqKaQT1KiRaYKmFouHK1Ke7e1hFVjRBOL105vW7u-8G2Enht87I296OpMFEOiK6GolzQ2bS5DLls0H1X1XMqXYGNRFfYHvdEg/s320/Thruston-home.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Henry Thruston home. Now restored<br />and serves as the Mt. Vernon<br />Visitor's Center.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2Mt Pleasant, TX 75455, USA33.1567863 -94.9682689999999924.8465524638211548 -130.124519 61.467020136178846 -59.812018999999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-65381480627541650172020-08-25T12:37:00.000-05:002020-08-25T12:37:00.756-05:00Omar Locklear - Daredevil Extraordinaire<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_t6lTr73ZUCT2soZ5Pr-8ZJcYKXB1YBAGI2ZNckYM4IVUNhxEKbJ7KsjDyIDpwjV3gP2pwj7ZnxZIfrB95Go1I8dYgDfS6G_z3WOF3yF_QT7W6CuMEAzQ2_6QDmHfKTqZDaHiDsGsOk/s486/Ormer_Locklear_i1919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="330" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_t6lTr73ZUCT2soZ5Pr-8ZJcYKXB1YBAGI2ZNckYM4IVUNhxEKbJ7KsjDyIDpwjV3gP2pwj7ZnxZIfrB95Go1I8dYgDfS6G_z3WOF3yF_QT7W6CuMEAzQ2_6QDmHfKTqZDaHiDsGsOk/w211-h311/Ormer_Locklear_i1919.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Omar Locklear, 1919 <br />(historical photo)</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>In Greenwood Cemetery in Fort Worth is a nondescript grave with nothing to distinguish it from all the other graves. Well, except for the large Texas Historical marker next to it. Here lies Omar Leslie "Lock" Locklear. Few people know of him now, but during his short life, he was the world's greatest stuntman, a fearless daredevil, the man who invented wing-walking and the first to transfer from one plane to another while in flight.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Born in Greenville, Texas on October 28, 1891, he was raised in Ft. Worth after his parents moved there in the early 1900s. In 1911, Calbraith Rodgers landed his plane in a nearby field to clear a clogged fuel line. Locklear witnessed the landing, ran to meet Rodgers and to see the plane up close. From that point on, he was intensely fascinated with aviation and airplanes. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">"Lock," as he came to be called, joined the Army Air Corps in October 1917. He was such a gifted pilot that he was made a flight instructor in WWI. He was well-known for leaving the cockpit during flight and crawling along the wings or fuselage back to the tail section to make in-flight repairs when necessary. After the war ended in 1918, Omar happened to see a barnstorming air show and marveled at how the spectators cheered and gave money to the pilots and how the women were enamored of them. He also quickly realized his own regular flying exploits were much more impressive. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He left the Army in early 1919 and along with two of his colleagues and a manager, acquired airplanes and formed their own flying show, "The Locklear Flying Circus." It was a huge success and with Locklear as the star, the men became wealthy. In addition to stunts such as wing-walking and doing headstands on the top wing of his Curtiss Jenny biplane, Omar perfected the death-defying stunts of jumping from one airplane to another and the "Dance of Death" in which he and another pilot in a different airplane would switch places while in mid-air.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7QUh4OLgumCbN4IdSocpUblvd1xrfNrf1RuCh5ahWo_I3GVCA5kJ_cjIaivDBZ_V9IDg7KuxF-iLI_AJSzRvHyr3xhPSZ5zSGgwsmRAYrjvdgsTI_n6LAko6Xdr-c7J_QatjcYzlMjI/s215/Omar+stunt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7QUh4OLgumCbN4IdSocpUblvd1xrfNrf1RuCh5ahWo_I3GVCA5kJ_cjIaivDBZ_V9IDg7KuxF-iLI_AJSzRvHyr3xhPSZ5zSGgwsmRAYrjvdgsTI_n6LAko6Xdr-c7J_QatjcYzlMjI/s0/Omar+stunt.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Historical photo)</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The "Locklear Flying Circus" became such a hit that Hollywood came calling. Locklear moved to California and was hired to be a stuntman in movies. He soon was being billed as the foremost "aviation stuntman in the world." The first movie featuring Omar as the star was "<i>The Great Air Robbery</i>," a film about pilots flying air mail. In the movie, "Lock" performed his famous airplane-to-airplane transfer and a stunt where he transferred from a flying plane to a speeding automobile and then back to the plane moments before the car crashed. The film was a commercial success and he was soon hired to star in a second film, "<i>The Skywayman,</i>" about an American ace battling against German pilots in World War I.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Filming began on June 11, 1920, and, until the final scene was recorded on August 2nd, there were problems. Two of Lock's stunts, one where a church steeple was toppled by his plane and another where he transferred from a flying plane to a speeding train, took a number of takes and almost ended in disaster. On the last scheduled day of filming, Omar was to be in a nighttime spin, pulling out to safety at the last second. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The night before filming, Lock told his girlfriend, actress Viola Dana, that he had an uneasy feeling about the next day and gave her some of his personal possessions. The scene was originally scheduled to take place in the daytime with red filters on the camera lenses to simulate darkness, but Omar demanded he be allowed to perform the stunt at night for realism. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDBNUuVVG84Yp58yQkF8O_gpW-TqTAJ6V1YAA8H7BUcePVFfyVLCRSJJFKgvhjaVoc5hDzckzv5-wW4-z0tKFhBQAvBTedjk6du8QjEfQbcgOnCraeXtwWUYUoi-BhWMUCYem3J-WNL0/s800/omar-Locklear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDBNUuVVG84Yp58yQkF8O_gpW-TqTAJ6V1YAA8H7BUcePVFfyVLCRSJJFKgvhjaVoc5hDzckzv5-wW4-z0tKFhBQAvBTedjk6du8QjEfQbcgOnCraeXtwWUYUoi-BhWMUCYem3J-WNL0/s640/omar-Locklear.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Historical photo)<br /></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Large studio arc lights were set up to illuminate Omar and his plane. The lights were set to turn off when he reached 1,000 feet so he would know where he was at and be able to recover from the downward spin. The dive toward an oil derrick was intended to make it appear in the movie that he crashed into the derrick. As Viola Dana, numerous spectators and the full film crew watched, Omar performed several preliminary aerial maneuvers with lit flares to simulate the plane being on fire. Lock then signaled he was ready to begin the spinning dive. For some reason, mechanical or human error, the bright lights did not go off as planned and remained on, blinding Omar and his long-time co-pilot, "Skeets" Elliot. Instead of correcting the spin at 1,000 feet, they started at 200 feet, not nearly enough time to be successful. The plane crashed nose-first into a sludge pool of oil next to the derrick and the lit flares caused an immediate explosion, killing both men instantly.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowqd_G8iIcfukVDjscipNHK0ZDp67Hp9Sql6xcG5s2wH35CI86H8uWykPDpFpC9BKH2RiGRq5Wzt5SgGKGGSKtgvBCn0a4UG9rvgJEJgOADb6ydPjphBsNQT1syx2dcClDWY7s4p_X8A/s550/Locklear-stone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="550" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowqd_G8iIcfukVDjscipNHK0ZDp67Hp9Sql6xcG5s2wH35CI86H8uWykPDpFpC9BKH2RiGRq5Wzt5SgGKGGSKtgvBCn0a4UG9rvgJEJgOADb6ydPjphBsNQT1syx2dcClDWY7s4p_X8A/w226-h142/Locklear-stone.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>The crash so horrified Viola that she refused to get on an airplane for the next 25 years. With the entire film having been completed except for the night scene, the movie's studio, Fox, decided to cash in on the fatal crash and rushed the film's release. With advertising proclaiming "<i>Every inch of film showing Locklear's spectacular and fatal last flight, his death-defying feats and a close-up of his spectacular crash to earth,</i>" the movie was released to theatres just a month later.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Omar Locklear's remains were brought back to Fort Worth's Greenwood Cemetery where "the world's foremost aviation daredevil" was laid to rest.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE64O3FkNoioKZTK0NjDt7LrEgsvKpXil6Gxa3lMI7lTNhLjdkuHwf-AvM_hjBVr3Hsjn3_iKHXsKnMC2MPT_sLtFu1PMcAZp5L_hCvYtYxbL1sa6SjMZED5jTOXInLRRmMBkQSVmxHas/s526/Omar-Locklear-historical-marker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE64O3FkNoioKZTK0NjDt7LrEgsvKpXil6Gxa3lMI7lTNhLjdkuHwf-AvM_hjBVr3Hsjn3_iKHXsKnMC2MPT_sLtFu1PMcAZp5L_hCvYtYxbL1sa6SjMZED5jTOXInLRRmMBkQSVmxHas/s0/Omar-Locklear-historical-marker.jpg" /></a></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Fort Worth, TX, USA32.7554883 -97.33076584.4452544638211577 -132.4870158 61.065722136178849 -62.174515799999995tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-22042456984307685412020-08-08T05:40:00.002-05:002020-08-08T05:42:40.511-05:00Remember Goliad<span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRiSAD4oRPakRNSgMin_fzoxDVZUopfAbFxv_jHipQlBL610Uhk28IDm3v3MRaPYd9dhA08Hq6fjHakRqaIuSMFYw7Y3GsjcNRKUWlxPSug5zCrQLB5ifCT7MZ4xnS_klaufzC0UbLGs/s474/Alamo.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="474" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHRiSAD4oRPakRNSgMin_fzoxDVZUopfAbFxv_jHipQlBL610Uhk28IDm3v3MRaPYd9dhA08Hq6fjHakRqaIuSMFYw7Y3GsjcNRKUWlxPSug5zCrQLB5ifCT7MZ4xnS_klaufzC0UbLGs/w303-h203/Alamo.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>Most people in America and even a goodly number of people around the world know the phrase, "Remember the Alamo!" Few people outside of Texas know "Remember Goliad!" Both of these phrases were shouted by the Texan forces on Aril 21, 1836, as they launched a surprise attack on the Mexican forces who were enjoying their siesta. Although outnumbered, the Texans, led by General Sam Houston caught General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna's army totally unprepared for battle and completely routed them. Only 9 Texans were killed and 26 wounded in the engagement while there were 630 Mexicans killed, 208 wounded, and 703 captured, including the president of Mexico, Santa Anna. Texas won its independence and became a nation on that day.</span></div></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">What gave the Texan troops such a thirst for revenge that they showed little mercy even when Santa Anna's troops were running away? There was, of course, the Alamo, where Santa Anna proclaimed there would be no mercy shown to Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, William Barret Travis, and the other 179 Texas defenders. He commanded his men to put to death everyone and when his men brought him a handful of captured male survivors, he ordered they be bayonetted to death. He then ordered all 182 bodies to be burned in a huge pyre and let a couple of women, children, and one male servant survive in order to spread the word that nobody should stand against him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo5I71zjIF-O3slqteY69BfpRVC6P9zETW58xxw5Z8DcigC_ygE0eFWNL-AU5-8-9KcaPDdMsFLX0o8L-ky6RuXzae8CHTrRzrwEzUE2kaGV1eCkI4jOk4DMGxikZ5CLrZY6RxPtbh74/s550/Presidio.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="550" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo5I71zjIF-O3slqteY69BfpRVC6P9zETW58xxw5Z8DcigC_ygE0eFWNL-AU5-8-9KcaPDdMsFLX0o8L-ky6RuXzae8CHTrRzrwEzUE2kaGV1eCkI4jOk4DMGxikZ5CLrZY6RxPtbh74/w352-h235/Presidio.jpg" width="352" /></a></div>After the fall of the Alamo, a Mexican force of 1,400 men led by Santa Anna's chief lieutenant, General Jose de Urrea, continued to march east toward the Presidio in Goliad where Colonel James Fannin commanded 400 men. Sam Houston ordered the Texans to move to Victoria, a more defendable position on the other side of the Guadalupe River. For some reason, Fannin hesitated for several days, and then when he did begin the move, they ran into the main body of the Mexican troops while crossing an open prairie. After fending off four separate attacks on the first day, the Texans spent that night digging trenches. However, in the morning they found they were now totally surrounded by the enemy. Almost out of ammunition, Fannin asked for a parley to prevent his troops from being massacred. General Urrea promised the Texans would be treated as prisoners of war and given clemency. Upon surrender, the Texans were marched back to the Presidio at Goliad and placed under the watchful eyes of Nicolas de la Portilla and his detachment of men while Urrea and his remaining troops continued their march south. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Santa Anna, however, was determined to fight a war of extermination and ordered Portilla to execute the prisoners. Having conflicting orders from General Urrea and General Santa Anna, Portilla chose to follow Santa Anna's orders. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAYmMqNe7QgkL_JBLaZ1hgO73a6kXhkTKCH5m2rDu-Xl9iI7TtiChQOcLTPQZFRHJNL7ddxrVvhSRxHsjGkERNF4iW-sj9nMKseepb5LDAvO6yxAroc2ivCbWEg1Lg1ml0KXpDW4Vqsg/s550/inside-the-walls.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="550" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAYmMqNe7QgkL_JBLaZ1hgO73a6kXhkTKCH5m2rDu-Xl9iI7TtiChQOcLTPQZFRHJNL7ddxrVvhSRxHsjGkERNF4iW-sj9nMKseepb5LDAvO6yxAroc2ivCbWEg1Lg1ml0KXpDW4Vqsg/w352-h223/inside-the-walls.jpg" title="Inside the wall of the presidio" width="352" /></a></div>On March 27, the prisoners were divided into quarters. While the sick and wounded remained in the chapel, the other three groups were escorted on different roads out of town. The three groups were told they were on missions to gather wood, drive cattle or sail to safety in New Orleans. Believing their captors, the rebels joked and swapped stories as they walked along. When they were ordered to halt a half-mile from the fort, however, the Texans realized their fates. The Mexican guards opened fire as some of the men began running for their lives. Those not killed by gunshots were slaughtered with bayonets. Back at the presidio, the Mexicans stood the wounded against the chapel wall and executed them. Those too wounded to stand were shot in their beds. Fannin, who had been shot in the thigh during the original engagement, was the last to be killed. His three dying wishes were to be shot in the chest, given a Christian burial, and have his watch sent to his family. Instead, Portilla shot Fannin in the face, burned his body with the others, and kept the timepiece as a war prize. In all, nearly 350 men were killed at Goliad.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdLr3hMhANUXuTaKPQC_ZudqpaV4RRBj4zXQcffTycPRJ0HTCG4a3vzyAwMgLdWqhH2-e_BIfw2l6iYwE9smQ2jF21sJWYX9RhiQJVPnLMGwtzwYdx5miDgCiQXf8eZ_P1bnHGzqjCo8/s551/grave-of-fannin.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="344" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdLr3hMhANUXuTaKPQC_ZudqpaV4RRBj4zXQcffTycPRJ0HTCG4a3vzyAwMgLdWqhH2-e_BIfw2l6iYwE9smQ2jF21sJWYX9RhiQJVPnLMGwtzwYdx5miDgCiQXf8eZ_P1bnHGzqjCo8/w220-h353/grave-of-fannin.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>Santa Anna's treatment of the captured soldiers had the opposite effect of what he intended. He was no longer seen as a brilliant military strategist but a cruel despot. The Goliad Massacre hardened attitudes toward Santa Anna throughout the United States and inflamed and unified the Texas resistance. Less than a month later at the battle of San Jacinto, Sam Houston's men won independence for Texas with the battle cries of "Remember the Alamo" and "Remember Goliad" ringing throughout the Mexican camp. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, almost 185 years later, the old presidio and its adjacent Chapel of our Lady of Loreto still stand. Given the horrific events that happened within and around the site, is it any wonder the walls sometimes echo with the mournful sounds of spirits returning from that troubled and turbulent time? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Visitors often report feeling "cold spots" and uneasy feelings as they walk around the grounds where Fannin and his men were executed. In 1992, a man named Jim reported strange goings-on. As a former deputy sheriff and a security guard for a number of years, Jim was not a man easily frightened or prone to make up wild stories. Hired for a few nights to watch over some equipment at the presidio that was to be used for the Cattle Baron's Ball, he expected quiet routine nights. On his first night though, just before midnight, the silence was broken by the "eerie, shrill cries of nearly a dozen terrified infants." He swore the sounds indicated "pain and suffering." Although understandably frightened, he tried to find where the sounds were coming from. After several long minutes, he finally determined they were coming from one of the dozen or so unmarked graves that are located near the Chapel of Our Lady of Loreto.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As he shined his flashlight on the spot, the cries abruptly stopped but were immediately replaced by the singing of a women's choir. It sounded like it was coming from the back wall of the old fort, but the beam of his flashlight revealed nothing there. After two or three minutes, the singing stopped and silence returned for the rest of the night. When Jim reported his experience, he was teased by his co-workers, but he is convinced what he saw and heard was real and besides, he is not the only person to report strange things in and around the presidio.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Numerous people have reported seeing a strange, 4-foot-tall friar who suddenly appears by the double doors leading into the chapel. His robes are black, tied around his waist with a rope and his face is concealed with a hood. He then walks barefooted to each corner of the church and seems to bless it before walking to the center of the quadrangle and begins to pray in Latin. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A woman in a white dress has been reported kneeling and crying by the graves of the children. When seen, she then turns and looks directly at the person before gliding over to a wall and vanishing. A beautiful soprano voice is often heard emanating from one particular room, but upon investigation, there is nobody in the small space. Visitors who stay late often come back from the fort and comment to the staff about the historical reenactors even though there are no reenactors on the property that day. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It seems there are many restless spirits here. Who are the crying babies? Are they the little lost souls of pioneer infants killed by Indians in a raid or was there an epidemic that took their too-short lives. The woman in white - is her own child buried in one of the unmarked graves? Why does the short friar keep returning? Is his soul in turmoil over so many brave men who were brutally executed? Whose souls are eternally singing beautiful hymns in a choir, unable to leave this chapel? Caught in a timeless web, so many lost souls searching, sorrowing, singing, praying, unable to let go of the life they briefly lived in a little town named Goliad.</span></div><div><br /></div>Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Goliad, TX 77963, USA28.6683252 -97.3883264999999910.35809136382115625 -132.5445765 56.978559036178851 -62.232076499999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-38857352977878693392020-07-24T00:52:00.003-05:002020-07-24T00:52:36.811-05:00Texas Chainsaw Massacre House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">Somehow, years ago, I was talked into watching the movie "Texas Chainsaw Massacre." It is not a fond memory. It has been called one of the most important horror movies ever made. I wouldn't know about that since it is one of only five "horror" movies I've ever seen. The other four I consider horror movies were not even close to Texas Chainsaw Massacre and its tale of a chainsaw welding maniac and his cannibal family. I hated what I saw of it. My eyes were closed most of the time. Originally a farmhouse built in 1909 in Round Rock, Texas, it became an iconic element in the movie. If you've never seen it, the words "chainsaw massacre" will give you an idea of what happens in and around the house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">I kind of forgot about the movie over the years, only remembering when a sequel or prequel of the Leatherface franchise would come out. But then I heard the house in the movie had been made into a restaurant. Now we're talking!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1998, the house was cut into pieces, hauled to Kingsland, Texas and put back together as part of the famous Antlers Hotel. It was completely renovated and became the Grand Central Café and Club Car Bar. I found it while on one of my road trips in Texas. Naturally, I couldn't pass up eating a meal in the cannibals' house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">Pulling up to it, the house is not near as scary as it appeared in the movie. There was a short line of people waiting so I gave my name and waited out on the wide covered porch. I didn't have to wait long before being called inside. Walking across the wooden floor, I was shown into a small room which served as one of the dining rooms. A very nice and informative waitress quickly arrived, gave me a menu and began reciting scenes in the movie that had been shot in this very room. She also told me there were a number of artifacts upstairs from the movie and I was welcome to go up and see them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">A large cheeseburger and a huge mound of fries arrived. Appropriate to the location, a large knife was stabbed into the middle of the burger. It was enough food for two people. The burger was perfect - juicy meat in buns that had just a touch of crisp on the inside and the fries were scrumptious. It was a top-10 burger on my scale! My waitress came back often to check on me and the couple at the next table and I struck up a fun, interesting conversation about the movie, the house and the food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">After doing as much damage as I could to that huge mound of fries, I made my way up the creaky wooden stairs. There were plenty of paraphernalia from the movie, with pictures of the characters and stills hanging on the walls. I didn't spend much time up there as it brought back uncomfortable memories and was a bit spooky as well, but you know what? If I'm ever back in Kingsland, I'll be going there again for the wonderful food. And maybe this time, I'll have a steak, rare.</span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com1Kingsland, TX 78639, USA30.6582405 -98.440584899999992.3480066638211561 -133.59683489999998 58.968474336178843 -63.28433489999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-5213421658661331642020-05-09T10:17:00.001-05:002020-05-09T10:22:33.701-05:00Postcard From Lost Maples<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lost Maples State Natural Area is located about 70 miles northwest of San Antonio, Texas in the southern Hill Country area and is most famous for the beautiful colors it exhibits each fall. The preserve is a Texas State Natural Area rather than a state park which means the primary focus is protection of the park's natural undeveloped state. All of its nearly 3,000 acres are therefore restricted from recreational vehicles and access is controlled. Only hiking (and of course, photography) on its 11 miles of trails and a few overnight campers are allowed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lost Maples got its name for a large stand of Big Tooth Maple trees. Rather strange is Maple trees have a very hard time surviving in West Texas. No one knows exactly where these came from or how they got here as they are so far removed from any other Maple trees that they are considered "lost." The fortuitous combination of persistent water and high limestone walls have given protection to them since ancient times.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In addition to the Maples, Little walnut, sycamore, Texas oaks and Lacey oaks cover the area and add to the wonderful fall colors. A bubbling stream adds to the beauty of the park and gives a relaxing background for hikers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The park is a wonderful place to visit any time of the year, but the fall season, typically from mid-October through November, is the most popular and therefore the most crowded, especially on weekends. If you are looking for more solitude and relaxation, visit the park mid-week. My visit was on a Wednesday and there were many long stretches of trail where I never encountered another person. If you go (and you really should make the effort), please follow the "Leave No Trace" wilderness code.</span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com1Lost Maples State Natural Area, 37221 RM 187, Vanderpool, TX 78885, USA29.8076231 -99.57060693.7478791000000022 -140.8792004 55.867367099999996 -58.2620134tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-43892987651834727322020-04-14T05:56:00.000-05:002020-04-22T14:00:17.696-05:00Postcard From The Last Picture Show & Beyond<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(Continued from <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/04/postcard-from-middle-of-nowhere-texas.html" target="_blank">road trip post 7)</a> (Go to the <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">first post of this series</a>)</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The wives were expecting us home in a couple of days and we were about 500 miles away with more planned stops along the road ahead so we got up pretty early, ate a quick breakfast and headed west to the nice little town of Eastland, Texas.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCWVGORCO2p2qD2PIWRV9JC_sbWD8P-FCIPJ0TbCzDMXW0GlxzcrQ5X_OrkwrzoGv2MviIL52FnVmhTGMtsP0PHZ29jjtjP9tYpWFY2VdfSXQkSIncaKQ4EzXOp5XMwyhznwRJKudRc/s1600/stamp-mural.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="575" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCWVGORCO2p2qD2PIWRV9JC_sbWD8P-FCIPJ0TbCzDMXW0GlxzcrQ5X_OrkwrzoGv2MviIL52FnVmhTGMtsP0PHZ29jjtjP9tYpWFY2VdfSXQkSIncaKQ4EzXOp5XMwyhznwRJKudRc/s320/stamp-mural.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">From 1957 until 1968, Marene Johnson Johnson ( yes, that's her name) served as the Eastland postmaster. For seven years, once all mailboxes were filled and the packages delivered, Marene worked on her pet project - a giant mural made entirely of postage stamps. When she was finished, she gave up her postmaster job and left the mural, all 11,217 stamps of it, for future patrons to gaze upon and admire.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91R4e8DFSdaT0iGyeGVKeQLHBPwgC9xmdqtxi1MpIktW275wAjkx5z-onSAkawbZqJddMvSUJEzq1dsI3cfCC1RgoHoGBeH8K4pnpr0igOSO67FFkbf5hGg1AOl1P6xJqMmydNZwIOZ4/s1600/stamp-mural-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="379" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91R4e8DFSdaT0iGyeGVKeQLHBPwgC9xmdqtxi1MpIktW275wAjkx5z-onSAkawbZqJddMvSUJEzq1dsI3cfCC1RgoHoGBeH8K4pnpr0igOSO67FFkbf5hGg1AOl1P6xJqMmydNZwIOZ4/s320/stamp-mural-2.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Eastland Post Office Mural</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The centerpiece of the mural is a replica of the United Nations seal surrounded by stamps from around the world. She also created portraits of Abraham Lincoln and Benjamin Franklin (America's 1st postmaster general), a map of Texas and the Confederate flag. Putting a final touch to her work, she surrounded all of it in a frame of yellow roses. It's not a thing that blows your socks off, but it sure is interesting to stand there and contemplate how much work went into it, how much patience and perseverance it must have taken and what a unique talent Marene Johnson Johnson possessed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Putting Eastland in our rearview mirror, we headed west on Hwy 6 for a short 10 mile drive to Cisco and the site of the infamous Santa Claus Bank Robbery. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the time it occurred, the Santa Claus Bank Robbery led to the largest manhunt ever seen in Texas.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On December 23, 1927, around noon, ex-cons Marshall
Ratliff, Henry Helms, Robert Hill and Louis Davis held up the First National Bank in Cisco. The four men met in Wichita Falls while planning the crime and on the morning of the 23rd, they stole a
car and headed for Cisco, about 120 miles away. Arriving just before noon, they were ready to make themselves some easy money.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">During this time period, three or four Texas banks a day were
being robbed. In response, the Texas Bankers Association offered a
$5,000 reward to anyone shooting a bank robber during the crime. This reward helped turn a simple bank robbery into a deadly crime. As the group
neared the bank, Ratliff donned a Santa Claus suit he had borrowed from Mrs.
Midge Tellet who ran the boarding house where they had been staying in Wichita
Falls. Ratliff got out of the car several blocks from the bank and a few minutes later, followed by children
attracted to Santa, he joined the other three in an alley and
led the way into the bank. As Santa entered, he drew all eyes toward him as a distraction. Several seconds later, the other three drew their guns shouting "This is a holdup!" While they covered the customers and employees, Santa grabbed money
from the tellers and forced one to open the vault. Mrs. B. P. Blassengame and
her daughter entered the bank while the holdup was in progress and seeing what was happening, she grabbed her daughter's hand and ran back out of the door. She began screaming for help, alerting most of the
citizenry as well as <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Chief of Police G. E. (Bit) Bedford, who just happened to be nearby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Several minutes later, Santa (Ratliff) had filled his sack with
money and came out of the vault. Seeing someone outside, Hill fired a shot
through the window. A shot was returned. Hill fired several more shots and then a fusillade of gunfire began as many
citizens who owned guns were now outside the bank. The robbers forced all of
the people in the bank out the door towards their car. Several of the hostages were wounded as they emerged into the alley, but most managed to escape. Two small girls,
Laverne Comer and Emma May Robertson, did not break away and were taken as hostages. In a shootout in
the alley, as the robbers tried to get to their car, Chief Bedford and Deputy
George Carmichael were mortally wounded. Ratliff, still dressed as Santa, was slightly wounded while Davis was severely wounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As the four began their escape with their hostages, they
realized they had neglected to get gas for the car and it was almost empty. To make matters worse, before exiting the alley, one of the tires was shot
out. They drove to the edge of town, pursued by the mob, and attempted to
commandeer an Oldsmobile belonging to the Harris family. Fourteen-year-old
Woody, who was driving, gave them the car but ran away with the keys. The robbers
transferred their things to the Oldsmobile in the midst of gunfire which wounded Hill, only to realize they could not start the car. Davis was by
then unconscious and close to death, so they left him in the car and moved back to the first car
with their two hostages. It was not until later they realized they had left
the stolen money with Davis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvCcuqO1YWk_VbJq888J2SDD4sgYdukqpZpictKRWPAhBb3m7e-uBaOcn7H1TFnYHfalqVytYfGuWMSRPScuqEbLMyFidvROnivF9XKmnJk3MreaZ7eqGMO-KlDYjD2_hkWi2JO2VAfU/s1600/Bank-robbery-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="575" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvCcuqO1YWk_VbJq888J2SDD4sgYdukqpZpictKRWPAhBb3m7e-uBaOcn7H1TFnYHfalqVytYfGuWMSRPScuqEbLMyFidvROnivF9XKmnJk3MreaZ7eqGMO-KlDYjD2_hkWi2JO2VAfU/s320/Bank-robbery-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The First National Bank of Cisco building still stands today</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The mob found Davis and the money and temporarily gave up
the chase. The money, $12,400 in cash and $150,000 in securities, was returned to the bank which had an estimated 225 bullet holes in the walls. Besides the two police officers, there had been six townspeople wounded in the
shootout, but no one was sure whether the robbers or the mob was responsible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The robbers abandoned the bullet-ridden car and the two
girls several miles from town and continued on foot. They stole another car the
next morning and managed to evade the search parties for a while, until they
wrecked the car near Putnam. They commandeered a vehicle driven by Carl Wylie,
forcing him to drive and taking him hostage for twenty-four hours. They then
let Wylie have his car back and stole another car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The two wounded men, especially Ratliff, who by now had discarded his Santa suit, were doing very
poorly due to their wounds, lack of food, and the icy, sleeting conditions.
Eventually, the threesome was ambushed by Sheriff Foster of Young County at
South Bend as they tried to cross the Brazos River. Another car chase followed with a shootout in a field as the three tried to make their escape. Cy
Bradford, a Texas Ranger, hit all three men with his 6 shots. Ratliff was hit and fell to the ground. Helms and
Hill were both wounded, but they managed to escape into the woods. Several days
later, after dodging an intense manhunt assisted by an airplane, the two made
it into Graham and peacefully surrendered. Two more
men had been wounded in the manhunt bringing the total number of wounded to
eight, not counting the three surviving robbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Helms, Hill, and Ratliff had several wounds apiece and had
not eaten for days. All survived however, and soon faced trials. Hill pleaded
guilty to armed robbery and in March was
sentenced to 99 years in prison. He escaped from prison three times but was
recaptured each time. After settling down, he was paroled in the mid-1940s,
changed his name, and became a law-abiding citizen. Helms was identified as the one who had gunned down both
lawmen and was given the death sentence in late February. After an unsuccessful
insanity plea, he was executed by electric chair on September 6, 1929. "Santa" Ratliff
was first convicted of armed robbery on January 27, 1928, and sentenced to 99
years in prison. On March 30, he was sentenced to execution for his role in the
deaths of Bedford and Carmichael, although no one could testify to having seen
him fire a gun in the bank. Ratliff appealed his case, going for an insanity plea. He had begun acting insane the day that Helms was
executed, and thoroughly convinced his jailers that he was. His mother, Rilla
Carter, filed for a lunacy hearing in Huntsville. However, the citizens of
Eastland County were infuriated that he had not been executed yet, and even
further aggravated to know that Ratliff was attempting the insanity plea. For his safety, he was transferred to the Eastland County jail. While there, he convinced his jailers that he really was insane as they had to feed him, bathe him, and take him to the toilet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On November 18, Ratliff attempted to escape, killing Tom Jones in the process. He was quickly recaptured and put back in jail. A crowd began to gather the next morning and
by nightfall had grown to over 1,000. They began demanding Ratliff be given to them. The sheriff refused but was overpowered as the mob rushed in and found Ratliff. Dragging
him out, they tied his hands and feet and headed for a nearby power pole. The
first attempt to hang him failed when the knot came loose and he fell to the
ground. The second time, however, the knot held. Ratliff was
pronounced dead at 9:55 P.M. on November 19. Jones' death brought the total number of dead, including three bank robbers, to six. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">No one was ever tried in association with the
lynching, even though a grand jury was formed, as nobody came forward as a witness. The whole town declared they had not seen anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Leaving Cisco, we jumped on Hwy 183 north for 29 miles to Breckenridge to see a large mural painted on the side of a building. Tiny mirrors were mixed with the paint so the sign would sparkle in the sunlight. We also intended to see Breckenridge Aviation Museum's collection of World War II airplanes and memorabilia. Plus, there was an intriguing little sculpture generally known as a "Purple People Eater" thingy in a farmer's field just outside of town. I love road kitsch, offbeat Americana, roadside attractions. How could I pass up something with a name like that?</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Plus, in general, it's on our </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">back roads</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> route home so why not?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zprU_jI31FBsJTGSUGA9Jie-nuccd1K4JP-UR92T1w36lDR3Uh1yCySEZL79FzZu_ikCsefyt1mwmQLpvcszIweo5r2AvH22PwRp4DfWNPUnKXRKRqlwSWBD5ipdhyphenhyphennYQQib4dGD3cA/s1600/Breckenridge-mirror-mural.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="575" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zprU_jI31FBsJTGSUGA9Jie-nuccd1K4JP-UR92T1w36lDR3Uh1yCySEZL79FzZu_ikCsefyt1mwmQLpvcszIweo5r2AvH22PwRp4DfWNPUnKXRKRqlwSWBD5ipdhyphenhyphennYQQib4dGD3cA/s320/Breckenridge-mirror-mural.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Where's the sparkles?</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. We arrived on a Sunday only to find the museum is not open on Sunday unless you call several days ahead to make arrangements. We did find the mural and it was indeed very large and it did indeed have little, tiny mirrors embedded in the paint. I expected to see this really cool, sparkling painting, but I'm afraid it didn't live up to my expectations. Even in bright sun on a cloudless day, the sparkles were minimal and you had to get up close and tilt your head on an angle to see the sparkles at all. Maybe in it's youthful heyday it was much more, but now that it's older, it has lost some of its vitality and sparkle. And we never saw the Purple People Eater thingy. I later found out the last time somebody reported seeing it was three years earlier and it had started to rust. A lot of things can happen in three years. I'm sure Breckenridge is a wonderful town with a lot of wonderful, happy folks living there, but I'm afraid we drove there excited and drove away disappointed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CxeqUBrCiI4__kOwMa1LCW-b5-mcneynVJvqvDkmBDKuKundaDWPHNL6UIBJKRaVZT5m_Uy0qXjCQXQWivhDK0t7S1ih6JzBlr2n9au7-Ujk-9xtXuoj7ASAiX3VVRuWtFY0IhMf0RY/s1600/The-Royal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="383" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CxeqUBrCiI4__kOwMa1LCW-b5-mcneynVJvqvDkmBDKuKundaDWPHNL6UIBJKRaVZT5m_Uy0qXjCQXQWivhDK0t7S1ih6JzBlr2n9au7-Ujk-9xtXuoj7ASAiX3VVRuWtFY0IhMf0RY/s320/The-Royal.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Royal Theatre</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We took Breckenridge in stride as we are road tripper experienced enough to know not everything is as exciting when you get there as it was when you were just thinking about it. Sure enough, our mood began to lighten again as soon as we got on our way to our next destination - Archer City, home of Larry McMurtry and the town where "<i>The Last Picture Show"</i> was filmed. "<i>The Last Picture Show</i>" earned 8 academy award nominations and won two. The movie has been rated as a top 100 movies of all time. The film critic Roger Ebert gave it four stars out of four and named it the best film of 1971. He added it to his "Great Movies List" writing, "the film is above all an evocation of mood. It is about a town with no reason to exist and people with no reason to live there. The only hope is transgression."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We had another disappointment when we found McMurtry's bookstore was closed. Over a few years, he opened four bookstores in Archer City and stocked them with over 400,000 fine and scholarly books he had hand-picked for his personal collection. When he turned 76 years old and none of his children expressed any interest in operating a bookstore, he decided to sell 300,000 books at auction. The auction was a huge success and he closed 3 of the stores. Now there is only one left which contains between 150,000 and 200,000 books. A</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">s most of the sales now come from online orders, h</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e also reduced the time the store is open to only 4 hours per day, Thursday through Saturday . </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The blinking yellow light</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Royal Theatre, which plays a major part in the movie is still there. At least the front is. Not many people know in real life, the back half of the theater burned down in 1965 and it has never been rebuilt. With its closure, the heart of the town was lost. The movie, released in 1971, used the front of the movie house, but filmed the interior scenes in a theater in Olney, a town a few miles south of Archer City. The blinking yellow light is also often seen throughout the movie and it is still there, still blinking. The whole time we were there, we saw just three or four people and very few cars. Even on a Sunday, with a population of 1,700, you would think there would be more life, but when the oil crash hit and McMurtry closed his bookstores, I got the feeling the town has actually taken on the rather sad life of Anarene, the name given to it in the movie. If you haven't seen "<i>The Last Picture Show</i>," I strongly recommend it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Always happy on a road trip!</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And with that, it was time to head back home, a distance of about 475 miles. It was already afternoon by the time we left, so we'll stop in Wichita Falls, Texas for a bite to eat and find a hotel room for our last night on the road. Between Archer City and Wichita Falls however, is the interesting little ghost town of Mankins. We had just enough daylight hours left to stop by there. Why go by Mankins? Because it is the only place in Texas, perhaps even the nation, where a monkey crossing the road was hit and killed by a car! To read all about Mankins and that poor monkey, click </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2018/03/that-time-in-texas-when-monkey-was.html" target="_blank">here.</a></i><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-43267212042257344592020-04-10T12:39:00.001-05:002020-04-22T14:23:10.570-05:00Postcard From The Middle Of Nowhere Texas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Continued from (<a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/03/postcard-from-painted-churches-of-texas.html" target="_blank">road trip post 6</a>) (Go to the 1st post <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">here</a>)</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Fredericksburg Comfort Inn was actually better than expected and at a decent price - clean, good wifi, good shower and a comfortable bed. From our experience, Comfort Inns range from good to "never again" so this one goes on our "Acceptable" list. Of course, the fact that it was rather late when we checked in after a frustrating afternoon and evening (<i>see previous post <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/03/postcard-from-painted-churches-of-texas.html" target="_blank">here</a></i>), plus the fact we were both very tired probably had some bearing on a good night's sleep. After partaking of the pretty decent "free" breakfast and a fill up for the truck, we pointed her northwest on Highway 87 to Koockville where we caught Hwy 29 to Menard and then jumped on Hwy 83 North toward Eden. An interesting side note about Eden, Texas - the population is 2,560, but about 1,300 of those residents are inmates at the Eden Detention Center, a for-profit prison under contract to the Feds. Once past Eden, staying on Hwy 83, we might not have been in the middle of nowhere, but we could see it from there.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbCaRqSltvbLIaVim2nf7oVMtAZ9_8CcKMIwOl7YSyCK97xNR0uWNz4xzE0t4XfVWm1BdVB0F44v74g34TOmWHO95WmeJJtNRP6CrvuGT9qN8ZrWHcDRA_BcJUlBALo6VskMwCF8nAyI/s1600/Barrow-front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="575" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbCaRqSltvbLIaVim2nf7oVMtAZ9_8CcKMIwOl7YSyCK97xNR0uWNz4xzE0t4XfVWm1BdVB0F44v74g34TOmWHO95WmeJJtNRP6CrvuGT9qN8ZrWHcDRA_BcJUlBALo6VskMwCF8nAyI/s320/Barrow-front.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The pasture in front of the museum with a couple of<br />railroad cars and inoperable windmills</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After miles of open spaces and seeing almost no other cars, we came to the intersection with FM 765, a little 2-lane black-top road. Going west on this road, after a few more miles of nothing but stunted mesquite trees, widely dispersed farm houses, a few cows and wide open spaces, it became just a hard-packed dirt road. Now we were definitely in the middle of nowhere! </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We eventually saw a sign nailed onto a fencepost that announced we would reach our destination after a short drive down a private, dirt road past a herd of Longhorns - The Barrow Ranch Museum. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So far out in the boonies that you have to be going there to get there, we had found a most fascinating collection of "stuff." Ernest and Dorothy Barrow constructed 3 very large metal buildings around their house to hold over forty</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> years of collections from their extensive travels and donations from their many friends. Ernest and Dorothy are both gone now, but before their passing, they set up a non-profit foundation with a Board of Directors in order to keep the museum open to the public and to provide funds for its upkeep. To that end, entrance is free, but a donation is requested.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYu7Eu6qSgbqgjmiAqx7zEBccXQZSFk0Cvn3-nTURXP0FtrxgHR62ATQU7mJ127siDonu-nlawIed8Hv21vjMQwCBn9t3C1H_gSLzJMyKdKqcVXgarTW1CoqfY5veGUeb5Y25XDVEnYY/s1600/Barrow-yard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="575" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYYu7Eu6qSgbqgjmiAqx7zEBccXQZSFk0Cvn3-nTURXP0FtrxgHR62ATQU7mJ127siDonu-nlawIed8Hv21vjMQwCBn9t3C1H_gSLzJMyKdKqcVXgarTW1CoqfY5veGUeb5Y25XDVEnYY/s320/Barrow-yard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pulling up to what appeared to be a working ranch house, we parked in a small gravel parking lot. Besides a few longhorns milling around watching us, it appeared we were the only living things in the vicinity. There were a couple of railroad cars and non-functioning windmills sitting in the field with the longhorns, several old tractors and a good bit of old, rusted metal pieces from farm implements just laying around the grounds. It was eerily quiet. There were no signs saying "Enter Here," no doors marked "Entrance" and nobody to greet us. Just as we were about to get back in the truck and leave, an older gentleman came from the house and asked if we were there to see the museum.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He introduced himself as Gary Glass, caretaker of the ranch and museum. Gary has worked on this ranch for over 40 years, helped build the museum buildings and has many interesting stories to tell, which he is more than happy to do. He gave us a personal tour of each building and talked about most every item. Except for a few questions, we rarely were able to get a word in, but he was so interesting, we didn't mind. I can understand that. It's very quiet and must be very lonely out there. He said there's very few visitors so he really enjoys it when somebody shows up.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGcWzNq9BZfT9QmWm4cGc4dniix7TFIlvO2Oji-SNBMtUxklZFpSrZf-9IF3HYG91NxWOJCIoa2TbEUp9jAyHNochUQpq9zbS6j0aNSEJLLexJwqjgOVbPFe2W5gbJChs0-2ZmrArVlI/s1600/Barrow-saloon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="575" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGcWzNq9BZfT9QmWm4cGc4dniix7TFIlvO2Oji-SNBMtUxklZFpSrZf-9IF3HYG91NxWOJCIoa2TbEUp9jAyHNochUQpq9zbS6j0aNSEJLLexJwqjgOVbPFe2W5gbJChs0-2ZmrArVlI/s320/Barrow-saloon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He invited us to follow him into a huge metal building which we found held an amazing amount of, well, of "stuff." It can only be described as a hoarder's vast collection of things. From early-American dining rooms to a 1950's soda fountain to old pump organs, antique washing machines, radios, record players and archeological artifacts, the groupings made no sense. The world's largest collection of Indian arrowheads (about 15,000 in all), old west rifles and guns sit next to gems, mineral specimens and sea shells.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once we made it through this building, Gary led us to a large second building (he told us that when they ran out of room in one building, they would just build another one) that was just as full of things as the first! A vast collection of china and Oriental carvings was displayed next to World War II memorabilia which included captured German and Japanese flags. Old dolls and dozens of Hummel figurines sat next to medical and dental tools and stuffed animals. The 3rd building contained mostly farm implements, drilling equipment, old cars, an antique fire truck and odds 'n ends such as some kind of farm implement embedded in a tree stump which had grown up around it. As we finished this last building, Gary led us outside and pointed out what each of the rusted items in the yard were along with a few more stories about life on the ranch.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The old soda fountain inside the museum</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We were there for about 2 hours and enjoyed all of it, but even today, I still am overwhelmed at the number of items in those buildings. Just as we said goodbye to Gary, another car with a man and woman drove up an parked next to us. Gary's face seemed to light up and with a smile he asked the new arrivals, "Are you here to see the museum?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Seeing as how it was time for lunch, we headed to Balinger and the infamous haunted Gonzalez Restaurant for a good Tex-Mex meal. Bad, bad decision. When we arrived, the only customers were just one family of 4 in the whole place. That normally is a big warning sign, but what the heck, Chip and I both love Tex-Mex cuisine and we're here so we might as well partake of the buffet and who knows, maybe we'll even see the ghost everyone calls Norton.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDKXiwEQ1JIju7Jnvu8NcjEME0YGNFguZgvILPPFcxOk1aEZW36kIClwJtd5V9ffzY1N1_MYLV9soQxYiVwb8b84mMw40jYHRbyCIJ9J9EvjD3zVsK3IIS8Tux-Onqivs0UPMUa6XJGEk/s1600/outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="390" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDKXiwEQ1JIju7Jnvu8NcjEME0YGNFguZgvILPPFcxOk1aEZW36kIClwJtd5V9ffzY1N1_MYLV9soQxYiVwb8b84mMw40jYHRbyCIJ9J9EvjD3zVsK3IIS8Tux-Onqivs0UPMUa6XJGEk/s320/outside.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Entrance to Gonzalez Restaurant</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">According to legend, a local outlaw was spotted in town and the police gave chase. He ended up hiding inside the restaurant, but the police found him and when he pulled a gun, they shot him dead right there inside the building. Since then, staff and customers have claimed to see a ghostly apparition wearing cowboy clothing, sometimes walking through walls. Norton also moves things around, especially dishes, silverware, salt shakers and cooking implements. Often, people will experience unexplained cold spots within the building and some have reported an invisible hand touching their necks and arms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As we walked in, we were greeted by an older Hispanic lady who showed us to a table. We ordered tea and said we would have the buffet. I cannot tell you in strong enough terms just how bad the food was. The crumbled beef was a sickish, gray color and it tasted like wet chicken feathers. The chicken looked disgusting enough that I didn't touch it. The refried beans were the same color as the beef and was the consistency of soup. The lettuce for a salad tasted like it had been cut and then left open in the refrigerator for three days. The best thing on the whole buffet was the rice, which was passable. When we returned to our table, we found a bowl of cold, greasy chips and a bland salsa that was obviously straight out of a can.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsm2MGnlG_mgm-7CJac0l5p2XKh7G0v1faHXORJQOUtShB0Aj_bdLV_AvFjrrW48jzmQa57xWGiQ_npfdEJkGlV2Anw5cN54WT6PoG9aVeEKBTEZvXEPEuOZxQML8RDZGz5Ixeag0_gg/s1600/empty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="575" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsm2MGnlG_mgm-7CJac0l5p2XKh7G0v1faHXORJQOUtShB0Aj_bdLV_AvFjrrW48jzmQa57xWGiQ_npfdEJkGlV2Anw5cN54WT6PoG9aVeEKBTEZvXEPEuOZxQML8RDZGz5Ixeag0_gg/s320/empty.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>No customers at 1:00pm on a Saturday should<br />have given us a warning</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I have dozens of road trips under my belt as well as numerous vacations and hundreds of business-related travels where I have eaten at least 2 and often 3 times a day in restaurants, cafe's, dinners, hotels, bars, bowling alleys and dance halls. This one stands out above all those places as the number one worst meal! And the really weird thing was the one lady who was the greeter, waitress and cashier (we never saw another staff person) sat down across the empty room and stared at us the whole time. She never came over to check on us, never said a word, rarely blinked...just sat there staring at us.</span><br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWHlJklolfb0kiwrijur-gGMM9ODxdORagPh2Qiniu0zAGzAllLp4fVYlJyNPJ1B-iN7ngFMzIGLiVCuRIYIrKbqN2FF4p1JUDvFJ_x_tkhGh11G6geTaE2JzXJxEWLmHhGmMS6qNZQ8/s1600/buffet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="575" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWHlJklolfb0kiwrijur-gGMM9ODxdORagPh2Qiniu0zAGzAllLp4fVYlJyNPJ1B-iN7ngFMzIGLiVCuRIYIrKbqN2FF4p1JUDvFJ_x_tkhGh11G6geTaE2JzXJxEWLmHhGmMS6qNZQ8/s320/buffet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The buffet line</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm not a picky eater, but I couldn't eat most of the buffet food so I made a small meal of rice and flour tortillas. Chip didn't think the food was as bad as I did, but I noted he didn't go back for seconds. When we got up to leave, our staring friend got up and took our money. She never smiled, but at least she did say thank you. We left feeling ripped off, still hungry and we never did see Norton.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Backtracking south on Hwy 83 for about 12 miles, we then went east on Hwy 1929 until after a few twists and turns on several other small 2-lane Farm-to-Market roads, we reached the town of Mercury. Founded in 1904 when the Fort Worth and Rio Grand Railroad reached this point. Mercury soon became a bustling livestock shipping point and by 1914 it had over 550 citizens and a number of commercial businesses. A major fire burned down most of the town's buildings in 1919. In 1929, just as the town's business came back to where it was before the fire, another fire once again destroyed most of the buildings and the town never recovered. Growth stopped and when a major highway bypassed the community in 1938, Mercury began to decline. By 1940, the post office was discontinued and most businesses closed. The final nail in the town's coffin came in 1949 when the Mercury schools closed. Today it is a virtual ghost town with a scattered population of about 150 people living in the area.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So why did we drive through Mercury? Because just south of the town is the geographical center of Texas! Being a native Texan, I just couldn't resist. There is a historical marker on Hwy 377 about 2 miles south of Mercury, but the marker is not exactly where the center of Texas is located. The actual center is at </span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">N 31° 23.492 W 099° 10.238 which is about 5 miles away, but you can't go there because it is on private property and in Texas, that means no trespassing or you just might find yourself trying to outrun a load of buckshot! Neither Chip nor I got to be as old as we are by being fools so we made it to the historical marker and called it good enough.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We had just enough time left in the day to visit a place on my Texas bucket list - the Regency Bridge. If you are as big of a fan of the TV show <i>Texas Country Reporter </i>as I am, then you are familiar with the Regency Bridge because it is the bridge they drive over during the opening and closing segments of the show. The 325-foot, one-way, wood-surfaced bridge is located in a very rural area at the intersection of two gravel roads - Mills County Road 433 and San Saba County Road 137. It's another place where you have to be going there to get there. You most probably won't find it by accident. The local farmers and ranchers call it "the swinging bridge" because as you cross, it swings from side-to-side and rolls up and down - rather disconcerting, but evidently safe as it has never collapsed. I posted an earlier blog entry about the bridge which you can read <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2018/04/postcard-from-regency-bridge.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Regency Bridge aka The Swinging Bridge</i></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We were done for the day and it was about time to head on back home. We'll be stopping at a few more interesting places along the way, but for this night, there was a room waiting for us at the Holiday Inn Express in Stephenville. </span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com1Mercury, TX 76872, USA31.412222 -99.1572225.8901875 -140.46581600000002 56.934256500000004 -57.848628000000005tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-41356968325416326502020-03-31T11:23:00.000-05:002020-04-22T14:34:20.255-05:00Postcard from the Painted Churches of Texas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Continued from <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/03/postcard-from-east-texas-backroads.html" target="_blank">(roadtrip post 5)</a>. Go to the <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">(first roadtrip post)</a>.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another night in a decent Best Western and another "free" breakfast. Breakfast is pretty much the same at all Best Western hotels and we're starting to get a little tired of eating the same every day so tonight we'll try to find a different brand. It's just us two guys so as long as the hotel is reasonable in cost, safe and clean, we're not picky. Planned for today is a drive to the little town of Schulenburg to take a tour of the famous "Painted Church's of Texas."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the mid-1800's, Czech and German immigrants came to America fleeing poverty and settled in central Texas to chase a new dream. Although they embraced their new lands, they retained their traditional values, culture, food and faith. They settled near each other in communities of 600 families. Each community worked together to build their own church, painting the interiors in colors and symbols which reminded them of their homelands and pooling their money to buy statues for donation to the churches. From the outside, they look nice, but go inside and you will find a European-styled painted church with stained-glass windows, incredible statues, and elaborately painted interiors of brilliant colors. Today, fifteen of these churches survive and four of them can be toured during the week.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">St. Mary's Catholic Church: High Hill is at 2833 FM 2672, Schulenburg, TX. 78956. Built in 1906, this is the crown jewel of the Painted Churches. The altar is particularly elaborate. There is a beautiful chandelier and a pipe organ provides accompaniment for the songs of praise each Sunday. Stations of the Cross were imported from Italy and there is a reproduction of Michelangelo's "Pieta." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The apse (the large semicircle arch </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">containing the altar) is painted a pale blue accented in gold leaf with marble painted with turkey feathers. There are eighteen stained glass windows portraying biblical scenes. Each of these were purchased from Germany by separate families and each window contains the name of the family that purchased it. There are only 85 local parishioners, but the church receives numerous visitors for the services.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The apse with the altar</i></td></tr>
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Just a few miles away at 4148 FM 1383 in the town of Dubina is Saint Cyril and Methodist Church. Dubina (derived from the Czech word for "Oak Grove") was settled in 1856 and is considered "The Mother of Czechs in Texas" as it was the first community in Texas whose residents were all Czechs. Many of the citizens, particularly the older ones, prefer to be called "Bohemians" since Czechoslovakia did not exist until the end of World War I and the region where the original settlers came from was called Bohemia.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The first church was built in 1877 with an iron cross on top which was forged by a freed slave named Tom Lee. That building was destroyed by a hurricane in 1909. In 1912, it was replaced with the salvaged iron cross back on top of the building. Within a year however, that building, along with nearly all of the town's commercial buildings, was destroyed by fire. The church was once again rebuilt with the once more salvaged iron cross back on top. Unfortunately, most commerce was being relocated to the larger cities and only one of Dubina's commercial buildings was rebuilt. The lack of commerce has restricted growth since then and the town remains mostly a farming community. In 1952, conservative church officials decided the bright colors inside was a distraction so they had the interior completely white washed. Fortunately, in 1983, a church member who happened to be a county judge led an effort (endorsed by a large majority of the members) to remove the white wash and restore the original colors. For a number of years, every Sunday after services, church members themselves worked on the long and tedious restoration.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today you can see the the historically accurate recreation of the brilliant blue ceiling with gold stars, floral stenciling and hand-painted frescoes of angels. The inside is bright from the many large, curved windows which let the sunshine in. Colorful patterns of stylized vines and flowers trace the outline of the windows. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the west side of the church is the Saints Cyril and Methodist Cemetery. Owned by the church, it has been in continuous use since Dubina's founding. The entrance to the cemetery is marked by a large, stone cross dedicated to the original settlers. Many of the old-style headstones date to the 19th and early 20th centuries with inscriptions written in Czech. It provides an interesting historical perspective for the town and church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">St. Mary's Catholic Church in Praha was our next stop. Originally named Mulberry in the 1840's, the community was populated with outlaws and misfits. The first Bohemian settler, Matej Novak, arrived in 1855. Soon, more Bohemians arrived and began ridding the town of undesirables. By the end of the Civil War, the town was fully populated by Bohemians and Moravians and they changed the town's name to Praha </span>(the Czech name for Prague, the governing city of Bohemia). By 1882, there were 200 families, two saloons, a post office, café, herb center, liquor store , blacksmith shop, wheelwright shop, meat market, dance hall, a cotton gin and a school.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A small stone chapel was built in 1865 which was replaced by a larger wooden structure in 1876 and that one was replaced with the current structure in 1892. The beautiful, ornate ceiling and walls were painted by the famous fresco artist Gottfried Flurry. The parish holds an annual well-attended homecoming, "Prazda Pout" which is held every August 15th. A Veteran's Day Memorial Service is also held every year in honor of the nine native sons who lost their lives in World War II. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have taken dozens of road trips and enjoyed every single one. Generally, our fluid itinerary consists of a starting point on a specific date with a number of places to see before a vague end date. You never can tell what interesting thing you might run across while traveling back roads so there is no real schedule set and rarely are reservations made until my traveling partner and I agree it's "done for today" time. After all, the point of a road trip is to be spontaneous and enjoy the journey. This sometimes leads to an interesting predicament. Actually, I have never taken a road trip where everything went as expected - sites unexpectedly closed, particular stores or restaurants we wanted to visit recently gone out of business or driving into the late night trying to find a hotel with a vacant room. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This trip did not break that string. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To say the rest of the day didn't go as planned would be to engage in careless understatement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our next intended stop was the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. I know, looking at flowers doesn't sound very manly, but Chip and I are both comfortable in our heterosexual manhood, flowers are pretty and you can take some really good photos so that's where we headed. Unfortunately, the Wildflower Center is on the southwest side of Austin, we were on the northeast side and we entered Austin city limits right at rush hour. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm a native Texan. I got my degree from the University of Texas. I used to love Austin. But that was before it became "the place to be" and grew into a gridlocked </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">metropolis of a million people, each with their own car and all of them driving at the same time on streets that were barely adequate for the city 25 years ago or roads that are perpetually</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> under construction. In stop-and-go traffic (mostly stop), it took us 2 hours to get across town near the Flower Center only to find the road into it was closed due to construction. By the time we kind of sort of figured out how to get to it, it was closing time! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">OK, so now we're both tired, worn out and frustrated. To heck with it, we'll get a room and settle in for the night. Well, that's what we thought we would do. We stopped at a Marriott, a Hampton Inn, Holiday Inn, LaQuinta - no room anywhere. As I drove us west, Chip was on the phone calling every hotel we could find. Finally found a Comfort Inn with an available 2-bed room in Fredericksburg, 80 miles away. We jumped on it. The room was a decent price. By the time we arrived, we would have paid more! I'm pretty sure I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.</span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2Schulenburg, TX 78956, USA29.6819003 -96.903036529.6267203 -96.9837175 29.7370803 -96.8223555tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-57186325529727280882020-03-20T12:22:00.000-05:002020-03-20T12:22:34.020-05:00Postcard from East Texas Backroads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Continued from <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/02/postcard-from-huntsville-texas.html" target="_blank">(roadtrip post 4)</a>. Go to the beginning <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">(roadtrip post 1)</a>.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After leaving the Prison Museum, we grabbed a bite to eat and then spent an unremarkable night in another unremarkable Best Western hotel. Neither of us were all that sleepy, but there wasn't anything interesting on TV so at 10:30, we turned off the lights, climbed into our respective beds and lay in the dark trying to go to sleep. We finally gave up and so we lay there talking lies and telling sad truths we hoped the other would think were lies. The talking finally wore us out and we drifted off to sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After partaking of the hotel's "free" breakfast, we headed out in the cold and very overcast day to the charming town of Columbus, Texas and the famous Columbus Court Oak Tree. Columbus is the oldest plated town in Texas. It was plated in 1823, but in 1836 during the fight for Texas independence, both Columbus and the nearby town of San Felipe were burned to the ground rather than have them fall into the hands of the approaching Mexican soldiers. After the Texans won, the town's settlers returned to rebuild. Logs were ordered to be floated down the nearby river which were to be used for the building of a courthouse, but a heavy rain flooded the river just before the logs reached Columbus and they floated right on by in the swift current.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Until a courthouse could be built, trials were held under a large Oak tree in the middle of town. The judge was Robert McAlpin Williamson, a.k.a. "Three-legged Willie" who received his nickname due to having a good leg, a crippled leg which was permanently bent at the knee, and a wooden leg which extended from his crippled knee to the ground. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The earliest recorded case held under the Court Oak Tree was in May, 1837, when William Babbs was charged with Grand Larceny. He pled guilty and threw himself on the mercy of the court. Unfortunately for him, Three-legged Willie wasn't feeling particularly merciful that day and sentenced him to receive 39 lashes and his right hand was branded with a "T" so everyone would know he was a thief.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Of course, a proper courthouse was eventually built, but the massive oak tree continues to give shade. At 70 feet tall, a trunk circumference of 329 inches and a crown spread of 111 feet, it is estimated to be over 500 years old and is the second largest Live Oak in the state.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We left Columbus headed to the little unincorporated town of Kenney. With an estimated 200 residents living in the extended area, the community of Kenney is one of those little towns that's nothing but a wide place in the road between "Litter Barrel" and "Resume Speed." However, it is the location of The Kenney Store, a bar/saloon/cafe/dance hall establishment famous for live music, its ancient dance floor and great downhome cooking. With a motto like "It is what it is," we just had to check it out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Built in the late 1800's, the building has previously been a general store, post office and a beer joint. Now you can enjoy the delicious made-from-scratch burgers, meatloaf, roast beef, pork chops, and mouth-watering pies while listening to talented local bands in jam sessions and popular well-known bands performing every Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It sure didn't look like much from the outside, but we walked in to an iconic Texas saloon, dance hall, restaurant kind of place. Friendly staff greeted us as we walked across the well-worn wooden dance floor to a table and our waitress arrived about 10 seconds later. The food is made to order so it took a little while, but that gave us time to enjoy the atmosphere over a glass of sweet tea. Soon enough, I had a huge, perfectly cooked jalapeno pepper jack burger and a whole lot of hand-cut fries sitting in front of me. I have to say, that was one of the best burgers I've ever had! I managed to devour most of the burger and a lot of the fries, but I had to give up and push the plate back, unable to finish it all. I had my mouth all set for a slice of pie, but that was before the burger and fries. Pie will have to wait for next time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Independence, Texas was our next stop. The Independence Baptist Church organized on August 31, 1839, is the longest continuously active Baptist church in Texas. However, that was just one of the reasons for our visit. Sam Houston, often called the father of Texas, the man who served as the first and third president of Texas, and was the leader of the Texan forces who defeated Santa Anna's Mexican troops to secure independence for Texas, joined this church in 1854 and often attended services here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In 1840, Sam married his 3rd wife, Margaret Lea. Margaret and her mother, Nancy Moffette Lea were both deeply religious and they worked hard to restrain Sam's carousing, drinking and cigar smoking. He is known to have complained about their constant harping at him. However, their unceasing efforts to lead him to a more settled and devout life proved to be at least partially successful as he would be in attendance for church services most of the time when he was in town. He had a favorite pew where he always sat and after he died of pneumonia on July 26, 1863, it was preserved and marked. The pew is still marked for people to see and is still used today during services.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sam and Margaret had a home in Huntsville and when he died, he was buried there in Oakwood Cemetery. Margaret moved back to Independence where she died of Yellow Fever in 1867. Due to the danger of contagion, her body could not be transported to Huntsville to be buried next to her husband so she was buried next to her mother in the family cemetery on church grounds. With 60 miles between Sam, his wife and her mother, perhaps he is finally resting in peace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On to Schulenburg for the night in another Best Western Hotel. Tomorrow is slated for us to tour four of the famous "painted churches." </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Lea-Houston family cemetery on the<br />church grounds</span></i></td></tr>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Columbus, TX, USA29.7066232 -96.539693329.6514547 -96.6203743 29.7617917 -96.4590123tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-81233299374043917472020-02-24T21:31:00.001-06:002020-02-24T21:31:50.147-06:00Postcard From Huntsville, Texas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Continued from (<a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2020/01/postcard-from-youree-chapel-oldest.html" target="_blank">roadtrip post 3</a>)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In case you are entertaining a trip to Huntsville, Texas and wondering about where to stay, be aware that the Best Western my road trip buddy and I stayed at is pretty much a hit-or-miss. The location is good, the price was less than $90 and the room was clean and decent sized, but the wifi was slow when it worked and would periodically drop. The "free" breakfast was just ok, the ice machine was broken and the pool was full of green water. I doubt we would stay there again as there are a number of other like-priced chains that might be a better option. Just my opinion from this one stay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were headed to the Texas Prison Museum, but first we stopped at an interesting home - the famous "Boot House." There’s probably no other house quite like this one. Only in Texas does a boot-shaped home seem fitting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The "Boot House" is a design of the world-famous
artist Dan Phillips who works with The Phoenix Commotion, a group that
builds with recycled materials. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This 700-square-foot home stands at an impressive 35 feet tall and while it seems more like a huge work of art than an actual house, the interior is very cozy
and livable. Inside, there's a working kitchen, a loft for the
bedroom, a full bath, and an extension which adds plenty of room to the boot
house. Even more impressive is the attention to detail inside the boot: granite
floors, a fireplace, and a bright red spiral staircase. There’s even a roof
deck located at the very top of the boot, offering an impressive view of the
town. If you are interested, the boot house can be
rented for $1,200 a month.</span><div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Disappointed that we couldn't tour the Boot House or even walk around it (private property and heavy rush-hour auto traffic on the road in front of it), we drove to the Texas Prison Museum. Huntsville is home to five state prisons and is the headquarters for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ). Located just off Interstate-45, the red-brick museum is where most of the existing memorabilia for the whole Texas Corrections System is housed. The five prisons along with two county jails make incarceration Huntsville's largest industry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Upon entering the museum, after paying the $7 per person entrance fee ($5 for seniors), you watch a short video about the Texas prison system and improvements — like offering education and job training — it has made over the years. Then you are free to wonder around and see the</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> many interesting artifacts on display, all of them the real, actual items. There's a gun that belonged to Bonnie & Clyde which was retrieved from their death car. There are many contraband items, like a knife which had been hidden in a flip-flop sandal, a coke can with a false bottom and dozens of "shanks." When a person is desperate, has limited resources and unlimited drive and time, they can do some pretty innovative things. The museum shows how anything can be turned into a shank if you have enough time. They have shanks made from toothbrushes, plates, trays, paper, glass, almost anything you can think of. There is also an</span></span> art display which shows what else inmates create with time and limited materials: a jewelry box and cross made from matches, a rosary made from pencils, a hand-drawn game of “Prisonopoly,” patterned after a Monopoly board with real estate named for Texas prison units.</span></div>
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of the most moving item is a wall of pictures of inmates and members of their victim's families along with quotes from the condemned just before they are put to death and from the victim's family members who watched them die. A few of the condemned are just plain mean, bad individuals to the very end who made the world a better place with their demise, but most seem genuinely sorry for their bad deeds, don't make excuses and accept their punishment as deserved. Of course, when you are facing imminent death, I guess it's natural to get religion, tell your loved ones how sorry you are to cause them such pain, and want forgiveness from those you've wronged.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWO7BiX_riNt_EbLrePA4_sn6eSfCsREo_GAiCxc74ZvIyzdaHUGJMjFL5wd8l5rBh9-gtmCiDIHVga1BgdzrpwMEX_08ilnF45NuZjGCFauN1rP68tj868qkrTL08A9bBmn1W7mN0pc/s1600/Old-Sparky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="550" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWO7BiX_riNt_EbLrePA4_sn6eSfCsREo_GAiCxc74ZvIyzdaHUGJMjFL5wd8l5rBh9-gtmCiDIHVga1BgdzrpwMEX_08ilnF45NuZjGCFauN1rP68tj868qkrTL08A9bBmn1W7mN0pc/s320/Old-Sparky.jpg" width="320" /></a><span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Probably the most interesting item on display is Old Sparky, the actual electric chair which was used to kill 361 people. It sits in a replica of the red-brick death chamber at the Huntsville Unit prison less than 3 miles away. The inmate-built oak chair glems beneath a spotlight with its leather straps curled around the chair's arms and footrests. Metal housings for the electrical works wrap around the side of the chair. It's pretty darn sobering to stand just a few feet from that chair and think about all the people that died in it.</span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is also an exact replica of a jail cell you can enter and shut the cell door behind you. I did that and almost immediately opened that door and came back out. It only took a few seconds to confirm what I was always sure of - jail is not for me!</span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the way out, there is a small gift shop mostly filled with products the inmates themselves have made. The $25 nickel key chains reading "Death Row" are very popular. Also for sale are t-shirts, some with the image of Old Sparky and reading "Home of Old Sparky." For $4 you can buy an Old Sparky shot glass or for $2 you can get a box of "Solitary ConfineMints." A portion of the money made from the sale of an inmate-made item is credited to their commissary account. A visit to this museum seems to be a bit dark, but it is interesting, for sure.</span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After leaving the museum, we naturally had to visit the inmate cemetery nearby. The official name is the Captain Joe Bird Cemetery, but most people know it as "Peckerwood Hill." Peckerwood is derived from an old African-American insult for poor white trash people. Since most of the graves hold poor people, the nickname stuck. This is the place where the bodies of prisoners who were not claimed by family are buried. Within its 22 acres are about 3,000 graves of convicts who were buried by other prisoners who serve as pallbearers, chisel names in headstones and dig the graves using shovels. A lot of the graves are only marked by concrete crosses with prison ID numbers and date of death. Some have names and birthdates inscribed. Headstones of executed prisoners have ID numbers that start with "999," the state designation for a death row prisoner, or a simple "EX" or just an "X." </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJbX7dgwHi5g6OXpzuD7S0twyZ67OAHpBkUc0KYMtuPvMH1FXIu1CArtECoDWq2NBLMgpuAtrx7SUZ6bNPSuPCCZAllReowZklNUQFRnXW6knqqb-7xePR2Ssx0sf1C_n_zNnaCrvNJY/s1600/cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="550" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJbX7dgwHi5g6OXpzuD7S0twyZ67OAHpBkUc0KYMtuPvMH1FXIu1CArtECoDWq2NBLMgpuAtrx7SUZ6bNPSuPCCZAllReowZklNUQFRnXW6knqqb-7xePR2Ssx0sf1C_n_zNnaCrvNJY/s320/cemetery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is an empty grave located here that stands out. It is the grave of a Native American, Santanta (White Bear), the famous Kiowa war chief. He was born around 1820 during the height of the Plains tribes power and was one of the best and last Kiowa chiefs. He established an enduring alliance with the Comanche and fought with them at the First Battle of Adobe Walls and in many engagements and raids against the encroaching white men. Finally realizing it was futile to continue fighting, he negotiated a treaty and promised his people would move onto a reservation. Unfortunately, his people had to hunt for food and prepare for the move first, so when they didn't move to the reservation fast enough, General George Custer arrested him and held him hostage until the move was accomplished. </span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In early 1871, with white men hunting on their reservation lands, Santanta led a raid on a wagon train and killed several men. When he returned to the reservation, General William Sherman assembled a large force of soldiers and arrested him along with two sub-chiefs. Santanta was taken to Jacksboro, Texas to stand trial for murder, the first Indian to be taken to trial. He was found guilty and the judge ordered the sheriff to "hang him by the neck until he is dead, dead, dead." Before that could happen though, Edmund Davis, the governor of Texas, commuted his sentence to life in prison. He was a model prisoner and was paroled in September, 1873. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpP8nA-S_wkjqtNC7XIYn-dWcZIhmx_kxGJXhausGE-T0e4-tzI5JH7RRpFBuUeiDUy3RVzVKPfx8nR0LIFyPaIsXtaqQlFutjSVaMriRmAkwYQMlacwxNRZRGZVOZw5kSyw2r1iidcUQ/s1600/Chief-Santanta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="524" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpP8nA-S_wkjqtNC7XIYn-dWcZIhmx_kxGJXhausGE-T0e4-tzI5JH7RRpFBuUeiDUy3RVzVKPfx8nR0LIFyPaIsXtaqQlFutjSVaMriRmAkwYQMlacwxNRZRGZVOZw5kSyw2r1iidcUQ/s320/Chief-Santanta.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A few months after his release, members of his tribe attacked and killed several buffalo hunters who were hunting on their reservation. Santanta was blamed and even though all the members of the tribe said he was innocent and not even at the fight, he was found guilty of violating his parole and once again sentenced to life in prison. He was taken to the state penitentiary in Huntsville to live out the rest of his life. Forced to work on roads and building railroad tracks as a member of a chain gang, he gave up hope of ever being free. His spirit was broken and he spent hours looking through the bars of his cell's window back toward the north, the hunting grounds of his people. </span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On October 11, 1878, he was taken to the prison hospital which was the top floor of a 3-story building. Deciding not to spend the rest of his life in a white man's prison, he commited suicide by throwing himself out of a window head-first. He was buried in the prison cemetery, but in 1963, his grandson, an artist named James Auchiah, received permission to move his remains to Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Out of respect, his former grave has been marked and maintained. </span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-style:="" font-weight:="" inherit=""><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">An interesting side note of Santanta, the character of Blue Duck in Larry McMurtry's book "Lonesome Dove" was partially based on his life and death.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0491 TX-75 N, Huntsville, TX 77320, USA30.7357157 -95.584509430.7084117 -95.6248499 30.7630197 -95.5441689tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-58169561000685910422020-01-16T10:36:00.002-06:002021-04-02T10:20:22.456-05:00Youree Chapel & The Oldest General Store in Texas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><i>Continued from <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/12/postcard-from-uncertain.html" target="_blank">(roadtrip post 2)</a></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Highway 2198 through the Caddo Lake National Wildlife Refuge is a pretty road, lots of Pine trees and it took us just long enough for my road trip buddy and I to get into a lively discussion about why there is no underbrush among all the trees we passed by. One of the reasons I love having Chip accompany me on these road trips is because, every now and then, with a totally straight face and full of absoluteness, he makes some "statement of fact" that I find outlandish BS. We can "discuss" these statements for hours, coming to no resolution before dropping the subject and then we'll pick it back up where we left off 6 months later during the next road trip. I have yet to positively determine if he is convinced of the truthfulness of his statements or if he is just having fun at my exasperation. It's one of the benefits of being best friends for going on 50 years!</span><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfYkf741VO6cUZgIDaJe5K_H0xFw8C5dEZbTB6GU_tsISz388PdcAeHr5VDrF8NzRrdoaJQwulx5StEoPqle476hbynF3hd1aKBOBftopXCSiH4_wYP85uhBjUOg4i5h9kcJJpBXAH9g/s1600/Scottsville-cemetery-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfYkf741VO6cUZgIDaJe5K_H0xFw8C5dEZbTB6GU_tsISz388PdcAeHr5VDrF8NzRrdoaJQwulx5StEoPqle476hbynF3hd1aKBOBftopXCSiH4_wYP85uhBjUOg4i5h9kcJJpBXAH9g/s320/Scottsville-cemetery-2.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Youree Memorial Chapel</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Connecting onto Highway 43 toward Marshal and then taking several little backroads, we came to our next destination, the Youree Memorial Chapel. Built in 1904 and fashioned after a chapel in England, it has a hand-carved interior with windows by Tiffany. The chapel was built by the parents of Will Youree after he died at age 31 of yellow fever. It is still used today for funerals and the occasional wedding. The historical Scottsville Cemetery joins the chapel property.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The beautiful grounds of the cemetery contain some of the largest and most elaborate, and no doubt, most expensive, gravestones to be found anywhere. One of the first things you'll see is a 25-foot statue of a Confederate soldier, commemorating those who died in the Civil War. Just beyond the statue is a pond a number of ducks call home and a really nice gazebo. The graves are shaded by many pines and shady elm trees giving the whole cemetery an aura of quiet and peacefulness.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Scottsville Cemetery</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="verdana, sans-serif">Unfortunately, the chapel is not open for public viewing. When we arrived, there was still snow on the ground, the temperature was in the 20's and that oh-so-cold wind was still blowing. After just a few minutes outside the warmth of my truck, we decided to forego our usual routine of respectively walking around the grounds and viewing the headstones. Just too darn cold.</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviBWitTU85ArCuiu7AYRGoX0QnvvOHDreQvXc_2ixUdUxZ6lJRH67bQkrQsJSvLX-lQ4hy9rwLaFMG7u2xmMqQficxX6_O7CDBfZLN9VPmWb82-cGpiCclR96O_RM2x4mfns4fIuoRx8/s1600/Jonesville-store.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviBWitTU85ArCuiu7AYRGoX0QnvvOHDreQvXc_2ixUdUxZ6lJRH67bQkrQsJSvLX-lQ4hy9rwLaFMG7u2xmMqQficxX6_O7CDBfZLN9VPmWb82-cGpiCclR96O_RM2x4mfns4fIuoRx8/s320/Jonesville-store.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Next stop - the tiny crossroads community of Jonesville. Located at the confluence of Hwy 134, County Road 2729 and County Road 2727, it's called a community because calling it a town would be ridiculous. It's one of those communities so small that the "Entering" and "Leaving" signs are on the same post. So why was this little hamlet on my "must stop" list? Because that's where the oldest general store in Texas can be found. The TC Lindsey store first opened in 1847 and it hasn't really changed since. Part store, part museum, the moment you walk in you are transported back in time. Only open Tuesday thru Thursday 10:00 - 2:00, Friday and Saturday 10:00 - 4:00, we had to beat feet to get there before closing time.</span><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFIDG_WzB1QDjfQa1At1nSEPpvY25zn0eSGmEj-qZXRk02b05KJqxihEK78lRg0Ijq685tfvuCzotQj3KAjaHwoUPjq7_thnCCOuc2d7VTOOyA4_M2CImeRyghvfQX3cpog8r_h3vnk4/s1600/Lindsey-store-3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFIDG_WzB1QDjfQa1At1nSEPpvY25zn0eSGmEj-qZXRk02b05KJqxihEK78lRg0Ijq685tfvuCzotQj3KAjaHwoUPjq7_thnCCOuc2d7VTOOyA4_M2CImeRyghvfQX3cpog8r_h3vnk4/s320/Lindsey-store-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The ceilings are tall and the old time-worn wooden floors creak as you walk. The shelves are stocked with lots of old cans, bottles, and boxes, some just old empty relics, some you can buy and actually use. Many items used by the homemaker of years past are still in stock. It's amazing how much "stuff" there is - from clothing to history books to iron skillets. There is also a large selection of locally hand-made jams, jellies, salsas, and honey. In the middle of the store, just past the books and knick-knack shelves is a seating area with a couple of tables. At the counter is a cheese cutting block, the type you see only in museums or movies. Ask for a chunk of cheddar cheese and some crackers, get a soda and have a snack while you have some interesting conversations with the very friendly folks who work there and any other customers. </span><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ehpWwsCpL7Ozp1Cryymd_YLW55NoJVmn-Lx3rKwHEUTZUnD3Ij0R19uL7U9fLvIeKBZbcEYT8BxR0zL28nSRBmidV5yHuDphcImEVuVgQLvlCg2kkSuPOQ9lM2cXERpm2Dc5wiwzjgI/s1600/Lindsey-store-1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ehpWwsCpL7Ozp1Cryymd_YLW55NoJVmn-Lx3rKwHEUTZUnD3Ij0R19uL7U9fLvIeKBZbcEYT8BxR0zL28nSRBmidV5yHuDphcImEVuVgQLvlCg2kkSuPOQ9lM2cXERpm2Dc5wiwzjgI/s320/Lindsey-store-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">On the left side of the store is the hardware section filled to the brim with farm implements, hand tools, empty old soda bottles, oil cans, and leather goods of all ages. There is even the last bale of cotton that was baled at the gin many years ago. In the back corner is the old Jonesville post office (now closed). Look close and you will also find some amusing, odd items for sale - like cans of dehydrated water - something in all my travels I haven't found anywhere else.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">There have been 10 movies which made this store a part of their movie productions and you can find a list of them on a wall. The store has also been featured on several TV shows like 60 Minutes and CBS Morning News.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">I bought a few items I just couldn't turn down, including a can of dehydrated water, along with some road food - a couple of peanut patties, several other candy bars, a bag of chips and a book. Chip bought a few items himself and it felt good to support a small business like this one even in a small way.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The TC Lindsey store is a throwback to how Texas used to be, a time many of us remember fondly. It was definitely a good, interesting stop on this road trip. If you are ever in the area, make a special effort to stop, browse and remember. </span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">After an interesting, if cold, day, we headed to Huntsville where a Best Western hotel was holding a room for us. Time to find a place for a bite to eat and rest up for the next day's adventure.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com0Scottsville, TX 75672, USA32.5404281 -94.23824710000002432.4868831 -94.318924100000018 32.5939731 -94.157570100000029tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-30621239730997964892019-12-30T15:08:00.002-06:002021-04-02T10:21:59.427-05:00Postcard from Uncertain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Continued from <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">(roadtrip post 1)</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Leaving the town of Jefferson and the very cold, haunted Excelsior<span style="background-color: #f6f6f6;"> </span>hotel in our rearview mirror <a href="https://1dustytrack.blogspot.com/2019/11/postcard-from-haunted-excelsior-house.html" target="_blank">(see that post here)</a>, we headed to nearby Caddo Lake. Unknown to my good friend and traveling companion Chip, I had made reservations for us to take a personal guided boat tour through the bayous, channels, waterways and sloughs of the </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">beautiful, but mysterious lake. Home to a forest of cypress trees, waterfowl, over 240 species of birds plus an abundance of wildlife, it was sure to be an interesting excursion and a nice surprise for my buddy. It was not to be, however. The day had dawned with a cloudless sky and a bright sun, but the temperature had only risen to 30 degrees and there was a consistent cold wind blowing. Spending the morning on a lake in an open boat in weather like that was not my idea of a good time. While Chip was on a potty break, I took the opportunity to call our boat guy to cancel the tour. He said he was just about to call me and ask if we could cancel. Seems he didn't want to be out on the lake in that cold either. Nice guy, he waved the late cancellation fee. I'll surprise Chip with it later on one of our road trips in warmer months!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Taking Texas Highway 134 east about 18 miles brought us to the little town of Uncertain, Texas. Being the inquisitive kind, I wondered how in the world a town came by the name "Uncertain." Seems back in the early days when Texas was a country, the town existed right on the boundary line between America and Texas and everyone was uncertain whether it was in America or Texas. Many of the 250 or so citizens of the town were owners of fishing, hunting, and boating businesses. Like most people, they were not excited about paying taxes so when the tax collector from Texas showed up, they claimed to be on the American side and when the American tax collector showed up, they claimed they were on the Texas side. Since the boundary wasn't formally set yet, the tax collectors had to walk away empty-handed.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In the 1940s, the boundary had been set with the town being declared in Texas. Trying to promote tourism, city officials decided to incorporate in order to provide places of legal alcohol consumption. The vote to incorporate was a close one, city officials were uncertain whether the measure would pass or not. When the vote to incorporate was won, the town's history of uncertainty was used for the town name.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBh6s7LBbt5tGq0ANnnYQcbZ1NPWFMIttAdGlQqe11L7BpKqojT0k3mogRfFKYjEeuQiZi6P-V8EWAfyoj_6_ewjzHWy2NDo19qUJmbt325WNAr4BYn3zzhkHSjWvJ7W5w3lNahfHf2k/s1600/Uncertain-church.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="550" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHBh6s7LBbt5tGq0ANnnYQcbZ1NPWFMIttAdGlQqe11L7BpKqojT0k3mogRfFKYjEeuQiZi6P-V8EWAfyoj_6_ewjzHWy2NDo19qUJmbt325WNAr4BYn3zzhkHSjWvJ7W5w3lNahfHf2k/s320/Uncertain-church.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">At one time, there were almost 250 residents of Uncertain, but that number has dropped since the 1980s. The population from the last census shows only 97 now call Uncertain home. The day we slowly drove through, you couldn't prove anybody lived there. We drove around for almost an hour, finding several Uncertain places of business, the Uncertain storage, the Uncertain antique store, and even the Uncertain church. None of them appeared to be open. It wasn't really a surprise when we found the Church of Uncertain to be non-denominational. And we never saw a single person out and about. Maybe they were all being smart and staying inside out of the cold.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">We left the quiet little town behind us to its uncertain future, drove through the Caddo Lake National Wildlife Refuge and the town of Karnack and jumped on Hwy 43 headed to the historic and beautiful Scott Plantation Cemetery in Scottsville. Stay tuned.</span></span></div>
Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com2Uncertain, TX 75661, USA32.7120883 -94.12129649999997132.6853688 -94.161634999999976 32.7388078 -94.080957999999967tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-49311568142593663182019-11-14T15:10:00.003-06:002022-06-14T00:57:33.963-05:00Postcard from the Haunted Excelsior House Hotel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">I woke up this morning and it was 14 degrees outside. The weather lady said the wind chill was 8 degrees. It reminded me of a road trip my good buddy, Chip, and I took one winter. For a number of years now, about 3 times each year, we pack a few things, leave the women and children behind and head out on a road trip, a "Mancation" if you will. We used to feel guilty going off on a grand adventure to who knows where and not bringing the wives, but now that we're both retired and our main occupation is hanging around the house, it seems the women-folk are more encouraging we do this than they were before.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Chip and I have been best friends for going on 50 years now, ever since we met in Pensacola, Florida while in the Navy. Somehow we kept getting assigned together and for almost 4 years we saw some "interesting" times together sailing the world's oceans and sleeping about 2 feet from each other, me in the top berthing rack and him in the middle one. It cemented our brotherhood. And now, even though we live in different states, we usually don't go more than a couple of days without touching base with each other just in case we need to argue about something.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">I have always enjoyed reading and every time I read about someplace or something interesting, I put it in my "Places To See" spreadsheet and spend many hours researching to find the history and back story of those places and things. I also like to eat so every time I see something like "Top Ten BBQ Places" or "Top Ten Hamburgers," I add those to my spreadsheet too. Over the years, I've noted almost 500 of these places and it's my intention to visit them all and write about the more interesting ones. Call it my retirement job.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">In order to check out some of these places, Chip and I had made plans to go on a Texpedition; driving around Texas to see some of those sites and eat at places recommended. We made reservations for our first night at a hotel that is reputed to be one of the most haunted in the whole state, the Excelsior House Hotel in Jefferson, Texas.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The day before our scheduled departure, Chip drove the 325 or so miles to my house and spent the night. We planned to get an early start the next morning but became a bit concerned when the weather forecast called for severe cold down Texas-way over the next few days. No problem we figured, as I have a good truck with new tires and we'll just take our big coats and bundle up.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">A little after night changed to day, we headed out in clear, balmy 39-degree weather. After stopping for breakfast at a nearby IHOP, we turned the truck southeast and hit the road. Riding along we had much great fun in the typical fashion of two male friends on a road trip - crude humor, tasteless jokes, and numerous castings of dispersion on each other's mental capacity, driving ability, looks, and tastes in women, movies, books, and cars. During these times, we often solve all the world's problems - if people would just listen to us!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjli6W5-MLXDzboSLiDzpmVmP_rRHG049kMugrVvafxm0Lw6VboUZ_qG30HY4Un_PrXc9bhsek0LI9tDDosLfKGax8UwnesdxQYWHL3TrW3grzdW61mxPPvnBdJQIcInumVQaNyG5yzNfc/s1600/ice-wheel.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="550" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjli6W5-MLXDzboSLiDzpmVmP_rRHG049kMugrVvafxm0Lw6VboUZ_qG30HY4Un_PrXc9bhsek0LI9tDDosLfKGax8UwnesdxQYWHL3TrW3grzdW61mxPPvnBdJQIcInumVQaNyG5yzNfc/s320/ice-wheel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Interesting ice formed on the hub of my truck</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">About a hundred miles into the trip, we noticed clouds rolling in and the outside temperature gauge showed a steady decrease. It began to rain which rather quickly turned to sleet. Being the manly men we think we are, a quick conference decided since we were halfway there already, to just keep going. </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Soon though, we went down some backroads, roads that the locals evidently knew to stay off of when ice falls from the sky. The sleet got heavier and the roads became icy. Our talk turned to quiet as the tick, tick, tick of the sleet on the truck became heavier and our anxiety grew. I slowed down to about 20 miles per hour as the truck kept sliding from one side of the road to the other. Driving a pick-up in conditions like this with nothing but a couple of suitcases in the covered back is not fun. Thinking more weight might help, we stopped in a town and filled up with gas. The truck was covered with ice which fell off in sheets as we opened the doors.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Somehow, a few miles later, we arrived at our destination without getting stuck on the side of the road or rolling over in a ditch. The drive had taken a lot longer than expected, but we were still a little early for check-in at the Excelsior House. We went inside to let them know we were there so don't give our room to someone else. The front desk lady was extremely nice and told us we could go on to our room since it was ready. She also told us the Garden Club was holding a chili supper in the dining room that evening and we were welcome to have some really good homemade Chile if we wanted. She didn't have to ask us twice! </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Located in the heart of Jefferson's Riverfront district, the Excelsior House is the 2nd oldest continuously operating hotel in Texas (the Menger Hotel in San Antonio is slightly older). Around 1855, riverboat captain William Perry realized there was a need for a hotel in the rowdier part of Jefferson so he purchased land and built a hotel he named "Irving House." </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">After Captain Perry died, the hotel was bought and operated by a succession of owners. In 1877, it was purchased by Kate Wood and renamed the Excelsior House. Over the years, additions were constructed and it underwent several restorations until it was sold to the Allen Wise Garden Club in 1961. Since then, many volunteers have spent thousands of hours updating and restoring the hotel. Each room has been furnished with period antiques harking back to its glory days.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Many famous historical figures have spent nights in these rooms. Presidents Grant, Hays, and LBJ have signed the guest register as well as folks like W.H. Vanderbilt, John Jacob Aster, Oscar Wilde, Steven Speilburg, and Jay Gould, who wanted to bring the railroad to Jefferson. When the city fathers turned him down, he put a curse on the town and left. He promised the end of Jefferson and said "grass will grow in the streets and bats will roost in the church belfries." Gould's curse almost came true when the town's steamboat port had to close and the population went from 35,000 to 1,000. To serve as a reminder of what might have been, the Garden Club purchased Goud's custom-built railroad car, placed it across the street from the hotel, and today offers guided tours through it.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Stories of the hauntings of the Excelsior House are numerous with many people who do not know each other and are unaware of the stories all telling of the same, strange and unexplainable happenings. Several of the rooms are named after the historical people who slept in them. While there are three rooms that seem to be the most haunted, the Gould Room is by far the most famous. There have been many reports of an ethereal headless man who has been seen walking the hallway outside the Gould Room. A number of guests have told of a woman in black sitting in a rocking chair rocking a baby in the Gould Room. It appears there is a least one ghost who likes to lightly touch people on their face or tickle their neck while they sleep. Sometimes it will yank the covers off in the middle of the night. Voices speaking in German have been heard coming from rooms where nobody was staying. Many reports have been of guests smelling a strong perfume in one room which quickly dissipates when the room is entered. A well-liked prostitute known as Diamond Bessie, tragically murdered in the nearby woods, used to stay in the room and was known to always wear a strong, sweet-smelling perfume. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The famed movie director, Steven Spielberg, was booked to stay in the Excelsior House in the early 1970's while filming <i>Sugarland Express</i>. As it happened, he was given the Jay Gould Room. According to him, as soon as he walked into his room, he felt uneasy, as if someone was watching him. It had been a long, hard day and he wanted to lay down for a few minutes so, dismissing his unease, he walked on into the room and casually tossed his briefcase onto a rocking chair in the corner of the room. The briefcase immediately flew back into his face, as if it had been thrown back at him. He decided to go eat and get to bed early, but when he returned and lay down, he had trouble sleeping, again feeling as if someone was watching him. Finally drifting off, he was suddenly awakened by a little boy tugging on his nightshirt and asking if he was ready for breakfast. While staring wide-eyed at the little boy, the figure slowly vanished and through the apparition, Speilburg could see the rocking chair in the corner rocking back and forth. It was only 2:00AM, but he got up, packed his things, woke up his film crew, and made everyone drive 20 miles to the nearest Holiday Inn where they stayed for the rest of their time filming around Jefferson. After filming on "<i>Sugarland Express</i>" ended, Spielberg wrote the screenplay for his next movie, "<i>Poltergeist</i>."</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrz3Vh8r3Q4pJACiuWtRu9YzUgubVl_hfnNNDeDrx7mUcFCypW1lWPHHDogkIIWE9inOkov8_ZJX5qG15mO88-PR32b2c32U0v6NOxzGAtACzNNQ0sDMov2Ss5mARf5eG7ipW5IA8pds/s1600/room-1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrz3Vh8r3Q4pJACiuWtRu9YzUgubVl_hfnNNDeDrx7mUcFCypW1lWPHHDogkIIWE9inOkov8_ZJX5qG15mO88-PR32b2c32U0v6NOxzGAtACzNNQ0sDMov2Ss5mARf5eG7ipW5IA8pds/s320/room-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Our Room</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">When Chip and I arrived, we found the lobby area to be filled with interesting old pictures and antiques. The lady who checked us in, gave us an old-fashioned room key and told us how to get to our room in "the original section of the hotel." She informed us they had turned on the wall furnace so the room should be warm, but if we needed, there were extra blankets and quilts in the wardrobe. Grabbing our bags from the truck, we passed through a door from the lobby, walked a short way down a hall and hauled our bags up a skinny flight of stairs which creaked and groaned with each step. On the 2nd floor, we turned left to the end of the hall to our room. While inserting the key into the lock, the door creaked open. It had not been locked. I guess the maid just forgot to lock up.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">On entering and closing the door, we found the room to be clean and fully furnished with old antique furniture except for the flat-screen TV. The bathroom was antique as well with an old sink and claw-footed tub, but there was also a tiled shower stall and, of course, the toilet. It was only then I started remembering some of the stories I had read - a rocking chair in the corner of the room, two beds with</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> <span style="color: #3d3d3d; display: inline; float: none; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; word-spacing: 0px;">carved, wooden head and footboards made of Circassian Walnut, a large wooden wardrobe, a club-footed tub - we were in the Jay Gould Room! In for a dime, in for a dollar, and besides, who really believes in ghosts? As we unpacked a few items, it seemed the room, even with the ancient wall furnace turned all the way on high, was not warming up. After such a tiring drive and it being several hours until the chili supper, we decided to take naps. The outside temperature was in the upper 20's and it didn't seem to be much warmer in our room. Covering up with the covers on our respective beds, we both crashed.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qF1jbEqagv39l-zLxICtQPKD7m6lsXOVC2zRBi53jvjaMtE61DtQRJnROtw05FSLdefv-ZKIYPMnDS8D7oNNhPO5GJbbbWxJ9O7azQC7jrkTFeUivXmynJNZNq9MP-OR_7WAYUsoKaU/s1600/room-3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qF1jbEqagv39l-zLxICtQPKD7m6lsXOVC2zRBi53jvjaMtE61DtQRJnROtw05FSLdefv-ZKIYPMnDS8D7oNNhPO5GJbbbWxJ9O7azQC7jrkTFeUivXmynJNZNq9MP-OR_7WAYUsoKaU/s320/room-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="display: inline; float: none; font-family: verdana; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Waking up a while later, we noticed the door was slightly ajar. I was sure I had locked it before my nap. Worried that maybe someone had come in and taken something, we took inventory of the things we had brought up with us. Everything was right where we had placed it except for one thing - Chip's iPad. We searched high and low, in his suitcase, everywhere. Nope, it was not there. Finally, I asked, "Are you sure you brought it in from the truck?" "I'm pretty sure," he replied. "Well, let's get bundled up again, go outside and look in the truck just to be sure." We searched the truck. Not there either. Well, crap. We locked the truck doors and started to head back inside to report the theft when Chip said, "Hey, here it is!" And there, wrapped in its black leather case sitting on top of my black pickup bed cover, now under a good 1/4" of sleet pellets, was his iPad, right where he had set it while getting his suitcase out of the truck. It had been sitting out in public in full view of anyone passing by for several hours in mid-20's temp and getting covered in sleet. We rushed back inside, back to our room and found the door once again partially open. Chip turned on his iPad and low and behold, the thing started right up!</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDT60liATqCdCrIhnoCCVN9-iqoLReP5RglPUl7KKd5RqVteAXSatuNOC8KKHqK_bobhp8-6PVEA3OZWwJviRJpcOirrQb6t4XbBXWiljGV_DBElkZKohgdVAUIzPa-G7e5rGt-DT0zD8/s1600/Room-2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDT60liATqCdCrIhnoCCVN9-iqoLReP5RglPUl7KKd5RqVteAXSatuNOC8KKHqK_bobhp8-6PVEA3OZWwJviRJpcOirrQb6t4XbBXWiljGV_DBElkZKohgdVAUIzPa-G7e5rGt-DT0zD8/s320/Room-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Our bathroom - before the deep freeze</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="display: inline; float: none; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Before heading down to the "new" section of the hotel to the dining room, we turned our attention to the door that wouldn't stay closed. After several minutes, we figured out that if you lifted up on the door, the lock would fit into the cutout and be secure. Our haunted door was nothing more than a misaligned lock.</span></span></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="display: inline; float: none; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="display: inline; float: none; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Getting back downstairs and milling around with some of the Garden Club members while waiting for the chili and fixings to be spread out on a table, we talked with the lady who had checked us in. She said it should be quiet for us tonight as we were the only ones in "the old section." I asked her, "Do you mean anything by saying it "should" be quiet for us tonight?" "I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied. So I asked her, just to be sure, "Which room are we in?" "Oh, you guys are in the Jay Gould Room, one of our most comfortable. If you need anything, Phyllis will be the night manager on duty." Seeming to not want to answer any more questions, she excused herself and walked away.</span></span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="display: inline; float: none; font-size: 100%; font-style: inherit; font-variant: normal; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The chili was great. There must have been ten different topping choices, free sweet tea, and cupcakes for dessert. Everyone was friendly and we had a number of good conversations. Several of the Garden Club members seemed to make funny, sideways glances before edging away from us when they found out we were staying in the Gould Room, but that was probably just my imagination. After eating our fill, we headed back to our room for a good night's sleep.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip64oCmHDc-VgQy6YfK4Jj3Z-15TGgvrYK8-Ux7-0KqArhlNgTqd2ifyXYSLUQP85CO0RnpGhIFoiqzm9ahwbZHfk6P89OeZwgiJRkg6UxTKMUTonribi6AQQPzUlaPmDgqL2IIIfqrQY/s1600/door.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="374" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip64oCmHDc-VgQy6YfK4Jj3Z-15TGgvrYK8-Ux7-0KqArhlNgTqd2ifyXYSLUQP85CO0RnpGhIFoiqzm9ahwbZHfk6P89OeZwgiJRkg6UxTKMUTonribi6AQQPzUlaPmDgqL2IIIfqrQY/s320/door.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The door that refused to stay locked</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">It was quiet going back to our room and very obvious we were indeed the only guests in the whole section. Arriving at our door, once again, the damn thing was ajar. I was positive I had jimmied the door so it locked securely when we left earlier. Entering the room, it seemed even colder than before. Chip took a chair and jammed it up against the door to ensure it stayed closed and nobody could get in while we slept. We fired up our laptops to check email and the news. It had gotten colder outside with the temperature now down to 18F. I don't know how cold it was in our room, but it was cold, damn cold. We got ready for bed by pulling out and dividing up all the blankets and quilts in the wardrobe and piling them on those already on the beds. Keeping our clothes on, we crawled under about 25 pounds of covers on our respective beds. Quite often, we will stay up late talking lies and telling sad truths we hope the other will think are lies, but not this night, not when it's so cold you can actually see your words leaving your mouth. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">It was warm under all those covers and I slept pretty comfortably through the night. No weird sounds, no empty creaking rocking chairs, no covers pulled off and nothing touched my face or neck. Evidently, it was too cold even for restless spirits. What was really hard was crawling out of those covers into our very cold room. Eventually, my bladder told me cold or not, you better get out of bed and take care of business. In the bathroom, I held things up as looking down into the toilet, I found it was a solid hunk of ice. I turned to the sink and turned on the hot water - nothing. I tried the tub and the shower - not even a drop of water. The pipes were frozen. I turned on the TV as I told Chip he needed to get up since we had to go find a bathroom somewhere. The weather guy on the TV informed us the temp had dropped to 8 degrees - a record low for that day!</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9h0mUvbPyHqa7XDiQI8jCcprCkfXeg1v1OlcCedQ-m_hegZ91wIln7qNkihEO2BJmSj43PZJszVHWcCUEzQuJZA298OkCKG8MEQMzcshYlt28168q1b3mKBz1Sy2v5sqANsvYw7GITFY/s1600/hallway.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9h0mUvbPyHqa7XDiQI8jCcprCkfXeg1v1OlcCedQ-m_hegZ91wIln7qNkihEO2BJmSj43PZJszVHWcCUEzQuJZA298OkCKG8MEQMzcshYlt28168q1b3mKBz1Sy2v5sqANsvYw7GITFY/s320/hallway.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">The hallway outside our room where</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">a headless man is said to walk</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">Grabbing our overnight kits, we headed over to the newer section hoping to find a suitable place to take care of our needs. The chair against the door was still in place so we moved it out of the way and quickly went down the stairs. In the lobby, it was, thankfully, much, much warmer. We met Phyllis and after telling her about our frozen pipes, she heartily apologized and showed us to a little bathroom. She explained they only serve breakfast on weekends (we were there on a weekday), but she had a fresh pot of coffee going and she broke out some breakfast muffins. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">After a couple of muffins each and starting on our 2nd cup of coffee, we got to talking with Phyllis about the hotel. She gave us a wonderful little tour and told us all kinds of interesting information about each of the many pictures on the walls and items in the display case. She showed us the famous signatures in the hotel's register. We got her to talk about the hauntings and she admitted sometimes late at night, she would hear things - footsteps, voices. But she claimed nothing bad had ever happened and she didn't get scared. She also told us about the old hotel across the street, The Jefferson. She informed us that the Excelsior is famously haunted, but in her opinion, the Jefferson has more ghosts and some of them are not nearly as innocuous as the Excelsior's. </span></span><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuoJktt8Z1W_UeaE01zmVzs4ZAwIu4iOCuoRjDCdRtueIetzJi8EJ4ySPwEDXQNkyaAsIwZ_jukuGMIWEBY8YYRagG1I9L9FVnVxEZl4zzHUTL0TEy-Ybk0pXncB87VR4LTJfUAAgbZY/s1600/courtyard.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeuoJktt8Z1W_UeaE01zmVzs4ZAwIu4iOCuoRjDCdRtueIetzJi8EJ4ySPwEDXQNkyaAsIwZ_jukuGMIWEBY8YYRagG1I9L9FVnVxEZl4zzHUTL0TEy-Ybk0pXncB87VR4LTJfUAAgbZY/s320/courtyard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">The courtyard from the balcony outside</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: small;">our room. That's not snow, it's sleet</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">She told a wonderful story about a poor fella that accepted a job as night clerk at the Jefferson. Since the nights sometimes were long and dark when there were few or no guests in either hotel, they would cross the street and visit to pass the time. One dark night, she saw the gentleman run out of the front door, jump in his car, and drove away like a bat out of hell. That would be the last time she ever saw him. He called her the next day to say he couldn't take it anymore and he would never go back. He said he had heard footsteps on the 2nd floor and knowing there were no guests that night, he went upstairs to find out who had snuck in. He walked all the way down the hall, not seeing or hearing anything until he came to the end of the hall when all of a sudden the locked door to the room swung open and he saw a pair of red eyes staring at him. He turned and ran back down the hall, but the disembodied red eyes followed him and as it went by the individual rooms, each and every door slammed open! The eyes followed him all the way to the front door as he ran away screaming. The gentleman and his wife quickly sold their house, moved aw</span></span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">ay, and have never been back.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The fountain in the courtyard in the morning</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">As we checked out, Phyllis talked about her husband and how he goes fishing nearly every day on nearby Caddo Lake. She said she doesn't mind because when he stays home, he gets bored and finds things to fix, but he's not very good at it and just generally gets in her way. She then jokingly said, "If you meet my husband, don't tell him what I said!" Before heading out the door, we asked for her recommendation of a place to get breakfast and she directed us to the Port Jefferson Outpost, "the place where the locals go."</span></span><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGT_us7VXbPUOpDNA4FSiCpYXazyKNQPsMvBDmi1G2Ep50t0McWlxugYqtulW2LoDjK4VFJmGHxTtLvsHb51os6GX3Js7bVBIOKHsXV_Y1SxbUh3M6zDRr2JUJsUYU-WmB00Up1tksa5g/s1600/outpost.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGT_us7VXbPUOpDNA4FSiCpYXazyKNQPsMvBDmi1G2Ep50t0McWlxugYqtulW2LoDjK4VFJmGHxTtLvsHb51os6GX3Js7bVBIOKHsXV_Y1SxbUh3M6zDRr2JUJsUYU-WmB00Up1tksa5g/s320/outpost.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The Outpost just before the local guys arrived</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000;">Following Phyllis's directions, we found the Outpost a few blocks away. The front 3/4 of the store is one of those little Mom-&-Pop places that sell all kinds of things like scented hand-made soap, knick-knacks, signs, sauces, and jams. Go all the way through though and in the back is an ordering counter, several picnic tables, and a sit-down counter. On a little table at the end were several urns of hot coffee where you can help yourself. The girl we gave our order to was very nice and a full breakfast was very reasonably priced. We wondered a little if this really is where the locals come since we were the only customers. However, just a few minutes after we sat down, a couple of older gentlemen came in, then a man and his wife, then a few more guys, all wearing gimme hats from Massey Ferguson, Farmall, John Deere, or Janes Farm and Feed. Everyone was friendly, smiled, and said hi. Finally, a bearded gentleman in another gimme hat strolled in and everybody called him by name. He was obviously a popular guy. Getting a cup of coffee and telling the counter girl he would have his usual, he came over and took the last open seat which just happened to be next to us. They all talked about fixing tractors, barn roofs, and boat motors, but mostly they discussed fishing - were the fish biting, where are they biting, what are they biting and who all is going fishing today. The conversation took a lag so Mr. Popular turned to us and stated with authority, "You guys aren't from around here." Every head in the room was focused on us, wanting to know our story. We told him no, we were just passing through and had spent last night at the Excelsior House. "Oh," he exclaimed, "then you must have met my wife, Phyllis!"</span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="background-color: color: #001000; font-family: verdana;">Small world! We talked about various things for a while and then the guys started drifting out one-by-one to go fix something or to go fish. Our breakfast was finished so with bellies full and cups of coffee for the road, we said our goodbye's to Phyliss' husband and headed out for our next destination, the town of Uncertain. Don't worry, Phyliss, we never said a word.</span></span><br />
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com10211 W Austin St, Jefferson, TX 75657, USA32.7559795 -94.3455987.2339405000000028 -135.654192 58.2780185 -53.037003999999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3753354415097749540.post-80365648735336848972019-10-29T15:51:00.004-05:002021-04-02T10:39:54.279-05:00Money Maker<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">No, not talking about Wall Street or starting your own business; we're talking about the Bureau of Engraving and Printing (BEP), where they make the actual paper bills you use to buy stuff. Most people don't know there are only two of these in the world where all the American paper bills are made - Washington, D.C. and Fort Worth, Texas, and both offer free tours (Tuesday - Friday, 8:30 - 4:30) where you will learn all kinds of interesting information and actually watch money being made.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">If you do decide to take a tour, be aware you will have to leave your camera and smartphones at home or in your car (parking at the facility is free and is fenced and guarded) as there is absolutely no photographs allowed inside the facility. Don't think you can sneak one in either as you will have to enter the building through a metal detector just like at the airport except the guards are very diligent about watching the x-ray machines and the metal detector is turned up to catch anything metal. Although the guards are friendly and helpful, they are extremely watchful and they are everywhere! Follow the rules and you are guaranteed to have an interesting and very informative time!</span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Here are just a few money tidbits:</span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #404547;">All of the bills are designed at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing (part of the U.S. Treasury) by professional artists. After the overall design is approved, the artwork must go through a lengthy approval process by the </span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Federal Reserve Board, the Federal Reserve Banks, the U.S. Department of the Treasury’s Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and the U.S Secret Service</span><span 1.4em="" arial="" center="" elvetica="" face="verdana, sans-serif" font-family:="" font-size:="" helvetica="" neue="" ource="" pro="" quot="" roboto="" sans-serif="" sans="" text-align:="">.</span><span face="verdana, sans-serif" font-family:="" sans-serif="" verdana=""> Once it's a go, certified Engravers using </span><span face="verdana, sans-serif" font-family:="" quot="" sans-serif="" verdana="">specialized </span><span face="verdana, sans-serif">tools carve the drawings into metal plates. To be a certified Engraver requires ten years of study and work as an apprentice!</span></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #404547;">It takes 4 weeks to produce a bill from the start of its life as a sheet of highly specialized blank cotton and linen paper to being finished currency.</span></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #404547; font-family: verdana;">In 2018, it costs 5.6 cents to print a $1 dollar bill. The cost for the larger denominations is: 11 cents for a $5 dollar bill, 11.7 cents for a $10, 10.8 cents for the $20, 12.9 cents for a $50 and 13.2 cents for the $100.</span></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #404547; font-family: verdana;">Denominations larger than the $100 bill were last issued in 1969.</span></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #404547; font-family: verdana;">The motto "In God We Trust" only became a part of the design of paper money by an act of Congress in 1955.</span></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">You can fold a piece of paper currency forward then backward about 4,000 times before it will tear.</span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The estimated life span of a $1 bill is 5.8 years; 5.5 years for a $5 bill; 4.5 years for a $10, 7.9 years for a $20, 8.5 years for a $50 and 115 years for a $100.</span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">The design of the $1 bill has not changed in more than 50 years, longer than any other denomination.</span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">A picture of Thomas Jefferson is on the front of the $2 bill. Before he became president, he wrote the Declaration of Independence. That is why there is a famous painting about the Declaration of Independence on the back.</span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" sans-serif="" style="font-family: verdana;">Alexander Hamilton is on the front of the $10 bill. He was the first person to run the U.S. Treasury, which is why there is a picture of the Treasury Building on the back. The $10 bill is one of only two bills that do not have a picture of a president on them. The other? The $100 bill with Benjamin Franklin's picture. One of the many things he is famous for is printing some of America's first bills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span color:=""><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">As of December 31, 2017, there was $1,571.1 billion in circulation, totaling 41.6 billion notes in volume.</span></span><br />
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<span color:=""><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">For the year 2019, the Federal Reserve ordered 7,046,400,000 individual bills to be printed with a total of $206,905,600,000 in dollar value.</span></span><br />
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<span color:=""><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">The facility in Fort Worth completes the production of bills at the rate of approximately 18 million notes per day worth approximately $31 million.</span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-family:="" sans-serif="" verdana="">Visitors who take the tour will enjoy two floors of interactive exhibits and displays showcasing the history of paper currency and the production process. Before starting the tour, be sure to watch the educational film "How Money is Made" in the theater. </span></span><br />
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<span color:="" font-family:="" sans-serif="" verdana="">The facility is located at 9000 Blue Mound Road, Fort Worth, TX 76131. For more information, call (866) 865-1194.</span></span><br /></span>
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Kenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02465520316827410421noreply@blogger.com09000 Blue Mound Rd, Fort Worth, TX 76131, USA32.899825 -97.34572727.3793295000000008 -138.6522877 58.4203205 -56.039166699999996