The End of the Road

Waking up in Muskogee is not really that easy. We shower, pack, exit the door of our room and have to think about which way the elevator might be. Too many hotel rooms. We drive through a rainy Tulsa, then Wichita and the left turn onto I-70 at Salina. The road seems long.

There is absolutely nothing like the sky in Colorado. It seems to change as we cross the border. More blue, clearer, higher, and home-like. We all four cheer when brown wooden sign says, "Welcome to Colorful Colorado."

We live in a wonderful country, a great and beautiful land. A land of heroes and lovers of freedom, and it is ours if only we will be good stewards of what the good Lord has bestowed on us.

Note from the Road, Near Paris, Arkansas

We pass one of the innumerable churches in the area. It is the Bible belt after all. It is unique. A Primitive Baptist Church. Weird enough, but Rene' misreads it and asks out loud, "What is a Primate Baptist Church?" We take the miff and run with it. Who would baptize a chimpanzee, and why? Speculation ensues. It is the road.

The Sixth: Magazine Mountain, Arkansas

Maybe it is the pork ribs. Perhaps it's the accumulation of miles after seven days on the road. Weariness sets in. 112 miles to Little Rock; another 50 to Russellville; 46 to Paris. And that's the point where the navigating to Arkansas' high point begins. Another 2o miles or so beyond that is the actual trailhead, and then a brief hike. We pass Subiaco Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery near Paris that has an imposing edifice on a hill. It honestly looks like they brought the whole works over from Europe, stone by stone. Paris is a nice little town off the beaten path, and as we make our way toward Magazine Mountain we pass many beautiful homes, and discouragingly, just as many with broken windows and piles of junk in front. We take a brief wrong turn thanks to the poor signage, then find the trailhead. We take a brief wrong turn on the trail for the same reason, then up we go the half mile or so to the top, our final high point of the week. We laugh and take pictures, and take a moment to pray and thank the Lord for a wonderful time together and the safety on the road these many miles. Then down. Then the drive, the long drive to Ft. Smith and on to Muskogee Oklahoma.

Memphis, Where It Is All About the BBQ

Tired of road food. We need a real restaurant. Rene' Yelps BBQ in Memphis and hits the jackpot (this road trip could be an iphone commercial): The Rendezvous. We start iphone mapping our way there, and the darnedest thing happens. We go around the block and can't find the street. The second time around we notice an alleyway, and down the alley sure enough there is a vertical sign to the Rendezvous. We park and walk down this nasty urban alley, and through the door and down the steps into the cellar. There we are greeted by a magnificently massive black man with a basso profundo voice, who, not sparing the decibels announces they are not open but are serving ribs. Would we like a half rack or full? We sit and soon we are feasting on something new: the Memphis Dry Rub Pork Rib. Our eyes are slitted half closed as we gnaw our way through the meal, producing impressive mounds of bones. We finish and sigh and make feeble efforts to clean faces and hands. How could I possibly stay conscious and drive after such a carnivorous display?

On the Road, Western Alabama

Sign: Coon Hound Cemetery. I notice that it is green, and not brown. Not a marker of historical signficance, but an active cemetery. A few miles later... another. These folks are serious about their coon hounds.

Mississippi High Point - A View to a Battle

A short time after leaving Florence, Alabama we were in Iuka, Mississippi, headed to Woodall Mountain. This was no beauty. We wandered through a suburban/rural neighborhood briefly before ascending the hill. At the top were several buildings and radio/telecom towers. A couple of hundred feet below us lies the crossroads where Confederates under General Price fought it out with the Union's Rosecrans and his men in 1862. As some cars zoom by, and others stop at the gas station, it is hard to picture 12000 men fighting for their lives and nations and honor, and 3000 of them being killed and wounded. It happened on this very spot almost 150 years ago. Now we watch war on television, and think from time to time about our service members overseas. We hardly remember the last war, much less this brutal struggle that took place generations ago.

Interlude: 601 Riverview Drive, Florence Alabama

On a chance encounter with a brochure at the hotel desk, Rene' connected us with an interesting American treasure - Frank Lloyd Wright's Riverview Drive - an example of his Usonian phase, built in 1939. Okay, disclaimer time. I despise Frank Lloyd Wright on a personal level. He was a creep who left his wife and children for frivolous reasons. He was also incredibly gifted, and as we walked around the Rosenbaum residence, viewing the home from every angle, we were in awe of his sense of space and geometry. Walk a few feet and something new is revealed: an inner courtyard, the triple undereaves, the windows, the roof... and all the parts complemented the whole in ways we could not fathom. It was like watching a great movie or reading a masterpiece.

Twofer Tuesday... Florida and Alabama... Part Three

It is cloudy and looks misty as we head down the mountain road toward Cheaha Mountain, 2413 feet high. The road goes south and west from I-20, and like other high point approaches is lonely. The scenic overlooks along the way don't do much for us because of the low-hanging clouds. We reach the summit by car and it is socked in and really quite spooky. The summit tower, constructed in the 1930s by the CCC looks positively haunted in the fog. We are silly and giddy here, maybe from the long day in the car, and maybe from bagging another high point. We climb the stairs of the tower, run around in the mist, make spooky sounds, take our family picture and head out. We retrace our steps to Birmingham then head north and west to Muscle Shoals, AL for the night. Vignette: Turner teaches Rene' the hand motions of rap music, including motions for "southside" and "eastside." All are edified. It has been an amazing, fantastic day. Tomorrow, Mississippi and Arkansas.

Twofer Tuesday... Florida and Alabama... Part Two

The day wears on and we pass through Montgomery and Birmingham, then head east on I-20 for Cheaha State Park and the highest point in Alabama. Two road incidents: Incident one: we are the victims of road rage from a pink Mary Kay Cadillac SUV, who tailgates, then passes and glares. Turns out it's a guy. Hmmm. I'd be angry too if I have to drive my wife's Mary Kay Mobile. Incident two: at mile 188, just after Talladega, we encounter a large blue sign. Across the top is written: Attractions, exit 188. The rest of the sign is blank.

Twofer Tuesday... Florida and Alabama... Part One

As we rolled into our Holiday Inn on the west side of Pensacola last night, the sun set behind us, a ruby ball. We had outrun the chilly, cloudy cool that we encountered in Louisiana, and the evening was pleasant. We ordered pizza in, and hit the sack early, hoping to get an early start at the beach. This morning we woke up to the chilly, cloudy cool. It had caught up with us. Not affected in the least we headed south toward Pensacola Beach, and the Gulf Islands National Seashore. Soon we found ourselves on the outer strand of Pensacola Beach. The weather kept everyone not from Colorado and Canada away. We had miles of pure, white, powdery sand beach to ourselves. Rene' immediately found herself in paradise, picking seashells from the high tide line, and the kids dodged the incoming waves with smiles as wide as the Gulf. It was an hour of paradise. We headed north across Eglin AFB to Crestview and the highest point in Florida, Britton Hill, 345 feet and the lowest high point in the United States of America. The road up to that part of Florida's pandhandle passed some magnificent homes, situated on private lakes (private to them alone) surround by willows and spectacularly adorned with azaleas. Wow. Perfect time of year for the azaleas, and they are everywhere this far down. There is something about leaving the interstate and heading for a high point that causes the thrill of the unknown, and the thrill of the hunt. We follow directions from our guidebooks, our road atlas, and our iphones, now switching back and forth with agility born from experience. We notice that enterprising Floridians have re-routed the approach to Britton Hill with signs that keep us entirely in-state, whereas the guidebooks had us going through Florala, Alabama. Good for them, it's their high point. Britton Hill is a parking lot and small park on the west side of the road, with a view to the east that is nothing like the 3000 feet above everything else that is Texas. But it is a stunning green, filled with trees in their brightest spring colors, and it has a charm of its own. We take our family picture and head north on Alabama state road 331, generally in the direction of Montgomery. Alabama 331 reminds us completely why we are doing this. It is a lonely drive through the countryside of small towns, lonely homes, churches... baptist churches, and green. We would never see this otherwise, and it is worth seeing. It is America. Not the America of Disney World, Bourbon Street, the National Parks, or anywhere the crowds go. But America that is the sum of its wonderful people who live everyday lives, who work and play and go to church and try to work out their lives, their liberties, and their pursuit of happiness as the Lord leads them. It is a wonderful land. One thing I love about the south: so many churches have graveyards next door. I think this is entirely fitting to be buried next to the people with whom you worship and serve the Lord week after week all your lives, and I find that I'm jealous.

On the Road Again

Pensacola, Florida is next, via Monroe, Vicksburg, Jackson, Hattiesburg, and Mobile. We have been determined to eat local food, and were failing miserably. At last in Jackson, MS, after an epic search (What??? the Crawdad Hole is closed? NOOOO...) we found Que Sera Sera. Crab Cakes, Gumbo, and Poboys, and all delicious. Yay. Tomorrow... Britton Hill.

Mt. Driskill, Louisiana

A voice like Hattie McDaniel's wakens us with "Housekeeping! Are you there?" It is 8 AM and we've overslept. But no big deal. Oversleeping is a serious bonus on vacation. We eat, pack, fill-up, and head out of Minden. The Burger King nightmare is firmly in our rear-view mirror. A short while later we take the Arcadia exit and head south on a state road, apparently headed for our next high point. Apparently. Poor directions take us southwest instead of southeast, and we take the scenic route, passing a happy cowboy statue (in Lousiana?), some beautiful homes, and some homes with broken out windows, looking ready for an apocalyptic movie set. Under gray skies with chilly temperatures, the piney woods seem gloomy. We came to the parking lot of the Mt. Zion Presbyterian church near 10 AM. The 15 year old trail directions are still pretty good, though the radio tower, a significant landmark, is gone. The trail is marked with arrows, rendering the book irrelevant. Dogwoods and other spring blossoms dot the forest, and since it was less than a mile, we made the top in about 20 minutes. The place lacked the views of Texas, but had its own charm. Upon returning to the church parking lot, Alex and I decided to check out the cemetery in the churchyard, which was 130 years old. Some of the stones were old, while others were very recent. The Driskill family figured prominently, along with a couple of other family names. It was notable that almost all Driskill men served in the wars of their generations. Good. We made the obligatory stop for gas and goodies, and noted these signs on the door: "No Sagging," and "Hoods Must Be Down." Good also.

Exit 47

It is Sunday afternoon. We head northeast on highway 59 from Houston, planning to spend the night in Shreveport and bag the high point first thing in the morning. Our idea is to find a hotel on the east side of town to minimize driving time. The drive through the piney woods of East Texas is beautiful and relaxing after the mad minutes of car repair, packing, and saying goodbyes. At first, near Houston, the properties we pass are decrepit, with rusting piles of junk everywhere. There is no evidence of new building or economic renewal. It is a rough time here, and probably everywhere in our country. A conversation on the merits and derivations of creedal and liturgical religions keeps us going, and the dense woods are beautiful... Livingston, Lufkin, Nacogdoches, Carthage all quickly pass into our rear view mirror, and as we pass into Louisiana the sun begins to set. On the west side of Shreveport there are hotels in profusion, alongside casinos and restaurants, and our stomachs tell us to stop, but the east side of Shreveport is our plan. As we pass Barkley AFB we notice that the city has abruptly stopped, along with its amenities. Ouch. We keep driving. Minden looks hopeful and sure enough there are billboards for a Holiday Inn Express. A friendly clerk checks us in and gives us a map with directions to the shopping and restaurants of Minden. In the back of my mind I am thinking, "A map... this could be confusing." But off we go. We make a right, then another right, then come to a state road, where we make a U-turn. Then we realize we should have turned right at the state road, and make another U-turn, and a proper right. Not so bad. There's a Burger King, McDonald's, Wendy's and Subway. Woohoo! Choices. I pass by the Burger King, which looks suspiciously dilapidated, but Turner sounds off from the back, that a Cheddar/Jalapeno Steakhouse Burger is just the thing. He also insists that drive thru is the only option. So it is, even though the line is several cars long. Not looking good. The moment we pull in line, another car pulls behind us. Now for a personal record for all of us. We spend nearly 20 minutes in the drive thru line before we even get to the intercom. Thinking the consolation will be burgers and shakes, we stick it out, despite the temptation to drive over the curb and head to the next place. At last we get to the intercom. "Sorry sir, the shake machine is broken." Should have known. Several minutes later we have our burger bag in hand, and Rene' asks if there are four burgers. I feel around and I could swear there are four, so we hang a right and head back to the hotel. Rene' exclaims, "There are only 3 burgers in here!" It's well after 8. We decide to split one and drive back to the Holiday Inn without confronting the hapless Burger King drive thru commander. About when we are concluding the burger discussion, I look up, and it is clear to me that we are lost, driving down a country road with no habitation in sight. Checking the compass, we are heading east. Wait, there's a freeway access sign... I-20. We'll just jump on and head east back to the hotel. On we go. Hmmm. Nope, the hotel is at exit 47. We're at exit 52 and rapidly heading for the Atlantic Coast. Oi. Next exit, reverse direction. Finally the hotel. At least an hour after we started out for "fast" food. Exit 47. Believe it or not, we four all took it in good humor, and laughed our way through the ordeal. "Fast" food.

Family Time

I-10 takes us from Ft. Stockton in West Texas to Seguin, where Rene's parents live. We spend an afternoon catching up with Paul and Mary Lou, talking about family, birds, and the family of squirrels that live in their tree. And of course Paul's monster rattlesnake he killed recently, 7 feet long and fifteen rattles. After hugs and goodbyes it is back on I-10 to Houston, where Rene's sister Michelle and her family reside. We stay up late catching up with everyone, and then enjoy church, lunch, and a swim. Cousin Emma insists that Houston is the high point of Texas, but we move on in any event. Then, after changing out a dead battery at the local auto parts store, we head for Shreveport, Louisiana...

Lone Star High Point

West Texas is solar system vast. I remember in the 55 mph Jimmy Carter days leaving El Paso for Houston and thinking it would take me days to get there. We left Carlsbad and headed for Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Before long, we could see El Capitan rising from the desert floor, bony white, like an open fracture extruding from its brown desert skin. Less than an hour later we had parked at the base of Guadalupe Peak and stared up at the beginning of the mountain in wonder at how the trail might navigate the steep escarpment, and how we might fare this day. The trail climbs 3000 feet in 4.2 miles, topping out at 8751 feet. The elevation isn't that big a deal for us since we live at 5600 feet. I hike almost weekly throughout the year, Turner plays football and runs track, and Rene', amazingly, works out in our basement at 5 AM on weekdays. That leaves our dear Alex, who hasn't lifted a finger since basketball ended more than a month ago. How would she do? The first third of the trek does indeed switchback up the first mountain with engineering genius. Mountain straight up on the left, down on the right, then switch. At one point, horseback riders are encouraged to DISMOUNT AND LEAD (and some prankster has added a line to the final capital D giving it the appearance of a P... dismount and leap, ha). We climbed the first thousand feet and already we were marveling at the vistas. We think of Radiator Springs from the movie Cars as a legitimate point of comparison. Bluffs, mountain ranges and canyons march off into the hazy distance, each a new color: brown, blue, gray. The parking lot and our car are shrinking to tiny dots below us. Alex was out of breath from the beginning as she tried to keep up with Turner and me, and she was a little discouraged until we got to the top of the first mountain and realized what she had accomplished. Now she was good and trooped the rest of the way at her own pace. The trail shifted to the next mountain, and before we knew it we were on a bridge, another DISMOUNT AND LEAP place, and a mere mile from the top. As we turned south and saw the summit itself, we came to another view. The back side of El Capitan was below us by a few hundred feet. Wow. We knocked out the final switchbacks, and suddenly the American Airlines steel pyramid was right above us, the joyful summit. We four had a giddy time as we took photos and shared stories with other highpointers. Smiles all around, and then... descent. It was a warm, windy day, and though we descended in only 2.5 hours, we were beat and parched when we reached the car. Once again we made an IOU to the United Bank of Alex and bought soda pops at the visitor's center. There is something truly delightful and refreshing about ice cold soda after a long and arduous desert hike. ahhhh. We hopped in the car, and drove through Van Horn. The last time I was here I got to meet the judge late on a Friday afternoon, some 26 years before, after not coping well with the speed limit and having a close encounter with a Texas DPS officer. Turns out the judge was a former Marine, and I was headed to USMC OCS. We got along great, though I was a chunk of money poorer for the experience. Van Horn looks desolate and in serious decline. Many closed businesses and once-decent hotels are now unsavory at the least. We drive on to Fort Stockton, for steak dinner, and a dip in the pool and soak in the hot tub. Now THIS is how to do a high point. What a day! Next up, Driskill Mountain, Louisiana.

The United Bank of Alex

In the million things that happen before family vacation, there's always something that gets neglected. As we were zooming along with our home town in the rear view mirror, Rene' looks at me and says, "I forgot the cash." Bummer. Normally that's okay. Any more you don't need it, but because we're highpointing, cash is handy for entrance fees and the like. This morning at 5 AM I'm googling ATM machines in Carlsbad, New Mexico and wondering if I really do remember my pin code, which I haven't used in years. Fallback position: dishwashing. Not me, of course. The kids. I haven't grown to be 50 years old and have teenaged children for nothing. So anyway, as we leave the hotel Rene' and I are discussing our cash-free situation, and 12 year old Alex pipes up, "I have a bunch of cash in my wallet, you guys need anything?" Heh. "Why yes, sweety we do." My daughter is $35 poorer in the beat of a heart, and we're wallet-packed and ready for Guadalupe Mountains National Park and their entrance fee. It's $5 but the leftover cash would have a more significant role at the end of the day...

Spring Break Six Pack

It has been nearly two years since Turner and I were together on a state high point. In May of 2009 we drove up Mt. Greylock, Massachusetts on a spare tire, and enjoyed the New England spring scenery. A blizzard prevented an attempt on Texas earlier that year, and now we are back to try Guadalupe Peak once more. A rosy New Mexico dawn greets me as I write from the hotel room in Carlsbad, New Mexico. We have driven down from Denver on a Thursday afternoon, enjoying the 600 mile trek thanks to the scenery, a book on tape (Jan Karon's Light in the Window), and the amusements of iphones and laptop computers. We have many memories of this route: countless drives to Texas to visit Rene's family and trips to Big Bend and Carlsbad Cavern National Parks. But Guadalupe Peak is just the beginning of this odyssey, and 600 miles a mere fraction of the total we will drive (Lord willing!!!) these eight days. After a brief visit with Rene's family in Seguin and Houson, the high points of Louisiana, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas beckon. And on top of the high points, Alex has also been doing some delicious research, finding wonderful eateries all along the route. More than 3000 miles, six high points, and fantastic food. Now THIS is a spring break!

It is thought-provoking to consider what has transpired in the two years since we sat on Mt. Greylock and looked down on the postcard-like North Adams, Massachusetts. Turner has nearly completed his first two years of high school; there has been football and track; backpacking trips and family vacations; Alex is now in Middle school, and has overcome dysgraphia to be an excellent student. She also has begun her basketball career. We endured a move to Arvada to be closer to school, and have rejoiced at every involvement in the community and in our children's lives. Our church bought a building after 22 years of ministry, or least a part of a building.

Guadalupe Peak is a rigorous climb on a desert trail. We think we will be tired at the end of the day, and already the thought of a pool and a hot tub at day's end sounds amazing. Today marks a turning point. Rene' and Alex are joining us for the first time. Alex is old enough to hike with us now, and there is a certain charm in bringing the whole family together.