ON THE ROAD IN NORTH AMERICA

2008-09-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

LATEST POST (September 1, 2008) =
Montana and South Dakota

Contents of all posts starting with Sept 1, 2007:
Ontario to Massachusetts:

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA for your RV?

Rhode Island to Washington D.C.:

Virginia to North Carolina:

South Carolina to Tennessee:

Tennessee to Alabama:

Recognized Areas in Georgia:

Georgia:

Florida:

Ontario to km post "0" in BC:

Alaska Hwy through BC and the Yukon:

Dawson City YK to Artic Circle, AK:

Yukon:

Alaska:

Denali National Park, Anchorage and Valdez Alaska:

Alaska:

BC, WA, OR and Nevada:

Utah and Wyoming:

Montana and South Dakota:

Montana and South Dakota

2008-08-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

August 30, 2008

Montana is often referred to as “Big Sky” and during the time we spent there, it certainly lived up to its name because there wasn’t a cloud in its big, beautiful blue sky. However, there’s something else that’s big about Montana and that is its Big Vistas. I think in the future, when I speak of Montana, I will call it “Big Sky and Big Vista”, yea!
Virtually everywhere we looked, the land stretched out so far and wide, that it appeared to dwarf the buildings, trees, grazing horses and even the mountains. Travelling through this great expansive, unspoiled countryside, we discovered a remarkable landscape of sparkling rivers, gently rolling green hills, valleys and sprawling rugged golden prairies, all underneath the biggest bluest sky we’ve ever seen.

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While on our journey through Big Sky and Big Vista, we happened upon the land of Custer and Sitting Bull and the Little Bighorn Battlefield. It was a lesson in American History, as to why this bloody battle took place. We listened to a story, as every minute detail was recounted. “The year was 1876, the date was June 25th and the day was Sunday, when hundreds of Indian warriors converged on a grassy ridge above the valley of Montana’s Little Bighorn River. On the ridge, five companies of the United States Cavalry, about 210 officers and troopers, fought desperately but hopelessly against many times their number. When the guns fell silent and the smoke and dust of battle lifted, no U.S. Cavalry soldier survived, hence the other name for the battle, “Custer’s Last Stand”.

All along the highway from Cody, Montana, motorcycles outnumbered all other vehicles travelling on the road at least twenty to one. We later learned that where we were headed, was the very same place they were headed. For 51 weeks a year, the small neatly groomed town of Sturgis, South Dakota with its stately elms, population 7,000, where the weekly newspaper still prints a column about who visited whom for Sunday supper, is unhurried and serene. However, for one full week, it swells to over 500,000 (the same population as the entire state) as bikers from all over the world converge for the world’s biggest motorcycle rally. They come on Harleys by the thousands, choppers, motocross rigs, and glitzy touring cycles. Among the beards, tattoos and fringed tank tops are movie stars, policemen, housewives and even preachers. We have never seen so much highly polished chrome, black studded saddle bags, jackets, knee-high boots and chaps in one place in all our life.

Despite the constant throb of a motorcycle engines everywhere we went, South Dakota was way beyond our expectations. Our second day was spent in the Black Hills, which is derived from the Lakota word “Paha Sapa”, meaning, “hills that are black”. It was in those hills that a sculptor by the name of Gutzon Borglum got his inspiration for a Mountain Carving that we know as Mount Rushmore. It took four- hundred men and women to create Mount Rushmore, Conditions were harsh from blazing hot to bitter cold and windy. Carvers climbed 700 stairs to the top of the mountain to begin their work day. The job was dangerous, as 90% of the mountain was carved using dynamite. The powdermen cut and set charges of dynamite, of specific sizes, to remove precise amounts of rock. After the blasting, they drilled holes in the granite close together, called honeycombing, to weaken the granite so it could be removed easily with a chisel. After the honeycombing, they smoothed out the surface with a bumper tool. The four presidents forever immortalized in stone are George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. To give you an inkling of the immense magnitude of these carvings, the following are some dimensions of Washington’s head; Forehead to chin-60 feet, width of eyes – 11 feet, length of nose – 20 feet, width of mouth – 18 feet.

Then on to another larger than life mountain carving, this one is of a Native American Indian named Crazy Horse. In 1947, sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski accepted a commission from the Sioux, to carve a likeness of their hero on Thunderhead Mountain in their sacred Black Hills. “My fellow chiefs and I,” wrote Standing Bear, “would like the white man to know the red man has great heroes, too.” The artist Ziolkowski died in 1982; with luck, his great-great-grandchildren will live long enough to dedicate the finished sculpture. Unlike Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse is being sculpted in the round. The finished creation, depicting a mounted Crazy Horse pointing to the surrounding land to indicate “my lands are where my dead lie buried”, will stand 563' tall.

“A Nuclear-missile silo is one of the quintessential Great Plains objects: to the eye, it is almost nothing, just one or two acres of ground with a concrete slab in the middle and some posts and poles sticking up behind an eight-foot Cyclone fence; but to the imagination, it is the end of the world” – wrote Ian Frazier, Great Plains, 1989. Just recently the base has been opened to tours by the National Parks service and being in the area, we took the opportunity to see firsthand the behind the scenes remnants of the Cold War, when the U.S.S.R. was threatening the world with dominance. At that time in history, the U.S., fearing a preemptive strike and only having the old liquid filled missiles which took 1 ½ times longer to fill than it did for a Soviet missile to wipe them out, had to come up with a solution. This inadequacy, lead to the development of the Minuteman Missile that could be ready on a moment’s notice or whenever the commander and Chief gave the green light. This situation of U.S.S.R. knowing that they would also be destroyed, created a deterrent called M.A.D. (Mutual assured destruction). M.A.D continues to work today, as most sane nations know that an attack on the U.S. means their own destruction. This base was decommissioned in 1993 and the U.S/ U.S.S.R treaty allowed both sides to keep one silo and one launch control chamber for educational and historical purposes.

We spent the afternoon in the Badlands and even before I got home to my laptop, I tried to put into words, my feelings of being in this strange and mysterious land. But, I cannot do it justice. Therefore, I will quote other writers as to their impressions: Freeman Tilden, who describes the region as “peaks and valleys of delicately banded colours – colours that shine in the sunshine . . . and a thousand tints that colour charts do not show. In the early morning and evening, when shadows are cast upon the infinite peaks or on a bright moon-lit night when the whole region seems part of another world, the Badlands will be an experience not easily forgotten.” Thaddeus Culbertson wrote: “Fancy yourself on the hottest day in the summer in the hottest spot of such a place without water – without an animal and scarce an insect astir – without a single flower to speak pleasant things to and you will have some idea of the utter loneness of the Bad Lands.” Or, as Frank Lloyd White wrote, “I was totally unprepared for that revelation called the Bad Lands . . . . What I saw gave me an indescribable sense of mysterious elsewhere – a distant architecture, ethereal . . . , an endless supernatural world more spiritual than earth but created out of it”

Stay tuned as we take you to Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas and Missouri

K&G, somewhere on the road

Utah and Wyoming

2008-07-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS JOURNEY

July 31, 2008

Just after leaving Reno, Nevada, heading east on Interstate 80, the first thing you see in the state of Utah are the Bonneville Salt Flats. They are the remnants of the ancient Lake Bonneville, the largest freshwater lake (75,000-7,250 B.C.) that occupied much of western Utah, and the largest west of the Great Salt Lake. The depth of the salt has been recorded at 6 feet in many areas. The Salt Flat’s uses, other than the harvesting of salt, was first recognized as a potential for a speed-testing ground in 1896 by W. D. Rishel while scouting for a location for a bicycle race course. In 1930's the area became internationally famous when Malcolm Campbell set numerous speed records, not to mention the naming of the legendary Triumph Bonneville motorcycle. The great salt flats stretch for more than 90 mile along Interstate 80 northeast toward Salt Lake City. The salt flats are perhaps most famous for their use as the Bonneville Speedway for high-speed race cars which have achieved speeds in excess of 600 miles per hour. The densely-packed salt pan, that is inhospitable to plant life, is extremely flat and aligned nearly perfectly with the shape of Earth, allowing you to see the curvature of the planet by producing an optical illusion that makes many of the mountains within the vicinity appear to be floating in the air.
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Just as we approached the Great Salt Lake, even with the windows in the motor home closed, I could taste the salt on my lips. I found it fascinating that here in the desert, hundreds of miles from the Pacific Ocean, there could be this much salt in the air. Not only is this body of water salty, it’s five times saltier than the oceans and the largest body of water between the Great Lakes and the Pacific Ocean. We didn’t go swimming but we watched others and it’s true what they say, the salt content in the lake makes you far more buoyant than the ocean. In fact, 25% of your body is above the surface of the water. You can float forever, without using an ounce of energy. Then only downfall, however, is when you do get out and dry off, you are virtually white, but they do provide fresh water showers. Where does the lake, so far from the ocean, get its briny content? The lake receives water from numerous streams originating in the surrounding mountains, the most important of which are the Bear, Weber, and Jordan rivers. There are no outlets from the lake; therefore, the high salinity is an accumulation of minerals over thousands of years from the surrounding mountains after evaporation.

Within the Salt Lake there are 10 islands, with the largest being Antelope Island. From the mainland, this 28,022 acres island appears barren and deserted. But when you arrive, you can see clearly its home to a variety of native flora and fauna. However, the lake itself is far too salty for any life form other than brine shrimp, whose eggs are harvested, caned and shipped to Asia as food for Prawn farms. The island was without its namesake, “Antelope” for many years, but they were reintroduced in 1993. Big horn Sheep, Pronghorn and Mule Deer also call this island home. But the most famous are the American Bison, introduced to the island in 1893 and now numbering some 600 animals.

The next stop in Utah was Temple Square in downtown Salt Lake City and the home of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This sprawling complex in the heart of Salt Lake City is situated on 35 acres. After a walking tour of the grounds, we went to a live taping of their regular Sunday broadcast called Music & the Spoken Word. In this grand 21,000-seat auditorium, we sat motionless, as their celestial voices reiterated their love for God and his son Jesus. There was a slight pause in the program and in the audience; you could hear a pin drop, as the soft voice of Lloyd D. Newell; spoke as if on behalf of the Divine One, announcing their special guest: The following is taken in part from his introduction speech: “They have achieved something more important than stardom. They have kept their family strong. As they continue to entertain us, their love and support for each other show us true family solidarity. The eight sons and one daughter of George and Olive, along with scores of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, are an endurance testament to the power of unity, the strength of faith, and the serenity of love in a family”. If you guessed he was referring to the Osmond Family, you would be absolutely right. It was a thrilling half hour, just listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and doubly thrilling to have the opportunity to hear the beautiful vocals of the Osmond Family.

From the auditorium, we completed our tour of Temple Square with just minutes to spare before the 2:p.m. organ recital at the Tabernacle. There, we listened to their world famous pipe organ, made by Joseph H. Ridges that contains 11,623 pipes carved from Utah timber. On a tour of the Tabernacle earlier in the day, we heard a demonstration of the buildings superior acoustics. As we sat in one of the seats at the rear of the building, the tour-guide dropped a pin near the podium and the sound rang clearly throughout the entire hall, without the aid of a microphone.

Then on to Bingham Canyon Mine outside Salt Lake City, or better know as “The Richest Hole on Earth”. This gigantic operation has yielded more than 17 million tons of copper metal, as well as vast quantities of gold and silver. It is the largest man-made excavation in the entire world. Since open-pit mining began in 1906, more than seven billion tons of material have been removed, creating a pit more than three quarters of a mile deep and two-and a- half miles wide. It is so large that it can be seen from outer-space.

How do you get to Heaven? Be generous; be kind, be forgiving, be God fearing or you can take the short cut, hop on Highway 20 from Idaho Falls, Idaho and as you enter Yellowstone, Wyoming, you’re there.

I guess even God has His bad days because as we drove through Heaven (Yellowstone National Park), I had to pull over to the shoulder, in order to allow a fire truck to pass and as we sat there, in this 2 million acre treed paradise, I thought, this can’t be happening, this can’t be a real forest fire. It’s probably a fire drill or an overzealous camper with too big a fire going or maybe a little old lady’s cat got stranded up a tree and her husband has called in the fire brigade ‘cause there aint gona be no dinner in his trailer tonight, unless her “Little Princess” is rescued. We soon forgot about the fire truck though, as we proceeded to my campsite. However, soon after we set up camp at Fishing Bridge, we could see the white clouds turn red and dark grey above the trees. It was a little unnerving to be in the middle of something so potentially life threatening but the parks officials, guaranteed that everyone was safe. Even with the efforts of numerous firefighters and water bombers, in less than 12 hours, the fire had ravaged 600 acres of forest only 3 miles from our campground, jumped the road and the Yellowstone River and continued to burn on the campground side. By the time we left, the fire was still burning and probably would burn itself out. Most of the brigade had departed and the remaining ones were concentrating their efforts on keeping the buildings in the park safe.

This amazing place created billions of years ago and embellished over eons by Mother Nature herself, sprawls across volcanic plateaus, crystalline lakes, thundering waterfalls, panoramic vistas and steaming geysers, with the most impressive of them being “Old Faithful”. With an error of 10 minutes, Old Faithful will erupt 65 minutes after an eruption lasting less than 2.5 minutes or 92 minutes after an eruption lasting more than 2.5 minutes. Over the years, the length of the interval has increased, which may be the result of earthquakes affecting subterranean water levels. This park was another, once in a lifetime experience.

The Park provides numerous photo ops of animals.

Stay tuned as we take you on the road in Montana and South Dakota

K&G, somewhere on the road

BC, WA, OR and Nevada

2008-07-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS JOURNEY

July 21, 2008

As we travelled due south on the trans-Canada Highway through the Fraser River Canyon heading for Chilliwack, our home base for the next two weeks, we gained a greater appreciation as to why British Columbians have coined the phrase, when referring to their home, “The most beautiful place on earth”. The scenery here was so spectacular; it was difficult to concentrate on driving. While skirting the perimeter of this picturesque river carved Canyon, the only thing we had to look forward to, was just another breathtaking, awesome panorama around the next bend in the road. From scenic out-looks, we watched white water furiously flow in and around rocks and river islands as C.N. and C. P. trains winded and screeched their way around the canyon walls. I was as fascinated as a kid on Christmas morning with a new toy train set, as they hugged sheer cliff faces, disappearing sometimes into tunnels of darkness, only to reappear again just around the next turn.

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The next stop on the B.C. portion of our journey was Vancouver. It’s a most strikingly beautiful city, with the blue Pacific Ocean at its front door, lush green forests and majestic snow-capped mountains at its back door. Amidst its many parks, lush, manicured lawns and gardens, beaches and seawall walks, even the cities glass towers, look as if they were always there, almost mirroring their majestic mountain backdrop. After the normal touristy stuff around the city, including Stanley Park and famous Gas Town, which by the way, gets its name from a Fraser River pilot turned saloon keeper named Capt. John” Gassy Jack” Deighton. (In Victorian times the term “to gas” referred to talking a lot, which ole Jack had become famous for) and lunch in Chinatown, it was time to head north through Squamish to the village of Whistler. From this alpine village, we took a chair lift up to famous Blackcomb, and a section of mountain called”7th Heaven”. At over 7,000’ elevation, the air was so cool, fresh and crystal clear, that for miles around we could see mountain lakes smoldering in hues of Emeralds and Sapphires. Far away, white mountain peaks shimmered like Diamonds, while from nearby valleys a cornucopia of fragrances wafted on the air.

On to the state of Washington and a view of Seattle’s cityscape as a glass elevator lifts us to the top of the Space Needle. This Seattle landmark was built in 1962 for the world’s fair. The futuristic structure has become a symbol for the city, with its soaring needle topped by a disc, reminiscent of a flying saucer. The structure required a 120-foot-square underground foundation that took 467 cement trucks an entire day to fill. The completed foundation weighs as much as the needle itself .Massive steel beams form its slender legs and upper body. The structure is designed to withstand a wind velocity of 200 miles per hour, several earth tremors have caused the needle to sway.

Our last stop in the state of Washington was Long Beach. This 27 mile serene sand spit is located in the southwest corner of Washington State, where the mighty Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. This peninsula is surrounded by a third powerful body of water, Willapa Bay. Here, Eagles soar, Oysters grow and even in mid-summer, you can walk for hours, without encountering a single soul, except for an occasional Black Bear, of course!

When God created North America, He must have started with Alaska and as He progressed south through the Yukon, British Columbia and Washington became more proficient at His craft, because by the time He got to Oregon, He was ready and produced a masterpiece. Ahhh… the Oregon Coast!

The drive along this coastal Highway was without a doubt the, or one of the, most beautiful scenic drives we have even taken, with its soaring mountainous cliffs, broad pristine beaches, golden wheat fields, mottled green woodlands and the most colossal sand dunes. Every moment was mesmerizingly beautiful. Even before the scenic coastal drive, this state promised to be a work of art. The Columbia River Gorge is just one other example, spanning the Columbia River east of Portland, it’s nestled between Washington’s Mt. Adams and Oregon’s Mt. Hood. During the last Ice Age the Columbian Gorge was a cool, misty place, populated by Mammoths, giant Sloths and 7-foot-long Beaver. In those days, the river channel followed a relatively narrow course through the Cascades … a valley, not a gorge. Then, suddenly one day in Missoula, Montana, all hell broke loose when a proglacial lake (2200 cubic km. of water) broke through its ice dam, sending a wall of water a thousand feet high, charging down the Canyon, carrying vast chunks of ice and boulders with it, tumbling them like pebbles as the raging waters tore away trees, soil, rocks and entire hillsides. Today it’s a beautiful oasis once again; and a Mecca for kiteboarders and windsurfers alike. The day we was there the sky was ablaze with a kaleidoscope of colour as they soared high above the white-capped river.

Our final stop in Oregon was Crater Lake. It is the deepest lake in the U.S at 1,943 feet, five mile wide and encircled by cliffs almost 2,000 feet high. The lake sits 7,000 feet above sea level in the shattered remains of a volcano called Mount Mazama, which erupted and collapsed into itself 7,700 years ago. Frances Fuller Victor, author, describing her 1873 visit to Crater Lake; “At first a dead silence fell upon our party. A choking sensation arose in our throats, as tears flowed over our cheeks. I do not pretend to analyze the emotions, but to me it was a revelation.”

The following is an excerpt taken from the National Parks Service newspaper, which describes the most common reactions people have when viewing the lake for the first time; “People react in different ways to seeing Crater Lake for the first time. Some reach instinctively for their cameras, as though compelled to capture proof that such a remarkable lake exists. Others are moved to silence as they try to take it all in. Some people can’t help but laugh at the surreal sight of a round, blue mountaintop lake. Still others are roused to ask questions, curious about the lakes depth, colour, origin and features. But probably the most common response to seeing Crater Lake for the first time is to utter a single, simple word: Wow!”

My reaction was all of the above, with a lot of emphasis on the “WOW!”

The next state was Nevada, where we caught Interstate 80 at Reno, heading east to Utah. What can I say of Nevada? Well, let me prefix it by saying, I believe that if one doesn’t have something good to say about a person, place or thing, one shouldn’t say anything; however, I’m compelled to say that the Nevada we saw, was hot, dusty and boring, very, very boring. After saying that, I’ll reserve my final comment until the winter of 2009, when we plan to visit the southern portion of this state.

Stay tuned as we take you on the road in Utah, Idaho and Wyoming

K&G somewhere on the road

If you have the time, a worthwhile stop is Hell's Gate while you are driving the Trans Canada highway along the Fraser River Gorge. Take the Gondola ride down and across the gorge to the other side where their are numerous tourist attractions and educational displays about Hell's Gate. For the agile, you can walk down the Fisheries access road which angles down the side of the Gorge to their bridge across the river which also provides free access to the tourist attractions on the other side. Twice the volume of water going over Niagara Falls is passing through this narrow gorge.

Denali, Anchorage, Seward and Valdez, AK

2008-06-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

June 30, 2008

We were told by a native, just after arriving in Alaska, that, if we saw Mt. McKinley while visiting Denali National Park, we should count ourselves lucky. The mountain is so tall; that it creates its own weather conditions. Only 20 % of the time is it visible from anywhere in the state. This was certainly true on our first trip to the park; we didn’t see the “High One” as it was originally named by the Athabascan native people.

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This park is so large and so amazing; that I like to use the term, “A wilderness paradise of epic proportions.” In fact, it’s a 6 million acre paradise, nearly the size of the state of Massachusetts, with Grizzlies and Moose, Cariboo and Mountain Sheep, Bald Eagles and Ptarmigans, Ducks and Swans, Wolverines and Snowshoe Hares.
There are hundreds of species of flowering plants and trees, as well as dozens of species of mosses, lichens and algae gracing the slopes of this magnificent place. Only plants, birds and animals that have adapted to long, bitterly cold winters and short summers can survive in this subarctic wilderness. Deep beds of permafrost – ground frozen for thousands of years – underlie a great deal of the park. In the summertime, only the thinnest layer of soil thaws to support life.

On my second drive through Denali Park, I thought, today, we‘ll see Mt. McKinley. We’ve seen it in photographs and agree with those who have said its Alaska’s most impressive feature. It’s the highest mountain on the North American continent at 20,328 ft, above sea level. Temperatures at the summit are severe even in summer. Winter lows at 14,500 feet can plummet below -95 F! During storms, winds can gust to 150 miles an hour. The mountain’s core is made up of granite and slate and overlain by ice that is hundreds of feet thick in certain areas. This was our second trip to the park, in a matter of days and weather conditions at that elevation, still prevented us from viewing Mt. McKinley firsthand. However, we still have another opportunity; there’s an area near Anchorage where it can be seen on a clear day.

Anchorage is like any other city in North America, cosmopolitan in every respect from its museums and fine restaurants to its designer outlets. However, what makes this city different and unique is its natural beauty, its gigantic mountains, vast forests and icy glaciers right next door. But there’s something else here, something you don’t find in every city every day and thanks to the native peoples and their belief in leaving little imprint on the land, an untouched quality. By the way, even here in Anchorage, Mt. McKinley still wasn’t visible.

We took a side trip toward the town of Seward to visit a couple of glaciers. The first one was Portage Glacier, which is one of the largest in the Portage Valley. Where today, sits an interpretive center and boat dock, a mere 120 years ago, people stood, touched and walked on a thick bed of ice. However, by the 1890’s due to changing climate, the glacier began to retreat, leaving behind, what is now Portage Lake.

The air was cool standing on the open deck of the tour boat but everyone wanted to be outside, getting as close as possible to the mountains surrounding the lake. Mountains whose sides were once gouged and worn by the glacier, now left bare, except for a few Dall sheep feeding on new spring grass. Plying the water, in and around brash and growler ice, the captain brought the boat to within 300 yards of the glacier. From there we could see clearly this massive frozen blue river, approximately a mile wide by 5 miles deep. It also extended upward 200 feet from the surface of the lake and downward into milky-blue water another 400 feet. The milky-blue appearance of the water is due to glacial silt which is caused by the grinding of rock against bedrock, as the glacier moves forward. Every once in awhile, there’s a sound, not unlike the sound of thunder, as a section of ice breaks off and plunges to the ice cold water below. This process is referred to as “calving”.

We got even closer to another glacier later that same day; this one was Exit Glacier in Chugach National Forest. The hike took about an hour from the visitors centre to the side of the glacier and back again.

It was fascinating and at the same time sad, to stand in this valley beside this enormous ice sheet that’s literally thousands of years old, to listen to it creak as it slips and slides forever forward, towards extermination. All along the trail from the visitors centre and even along the road leading to the park itself are markers showing the position of the glacier at various times in history. It’s always been a natural occurrence, this melting process, as long as there have been recordings but never as fast as what has occurred in the last half century. Each winter hundreds of feet of snow falls high in the mountains and over time compacts and crystallizes adding to the glacier at its source but that’s still not enough. Even though, most glaciers are growing an average of 500 feet a year, in recent years they’re also melting an average of 520.

Our final stop in Alaska is the port of Valdez. An impressive entrance to the town is Keystone Canyon. This opening through the mountain was cut by the Lowe River as it forged a pathway to the ocean. Along this beautiful canyon drive, steep granite cliffs as tall as glass-city towers, guides you as the black-top winds along the river bank. At various points along the route, rivulets of white water from melting snow capped mountains, like flowing veils on brides, descend to the deep blue river below.

Valdez is better known to some as the “End of the Trans Alaska Pipeline, or by others as just a continuation of it.” High in the hills above Valdez harbour, huge storage tanks dominate the landscape, full of crude, still warm from deep in the ground, at Prudhoe Bay. With the aid of the harbour pilot, one supertanker a day on average is maneuvered into the oil terminal, filled to capacity and then led out to the deep ice free waters. There, the long journey begins, carrying oil safely down to Washington, California, and occasionally to Barber’s Point, Hawaii, where it will be refined. However, safe transportation of oil wasn’t always the case, as history can attest to.

At 9:12 on March 23, 1989, the oil tanker Exxon Valdez departed the Valdez oil terminal in Alaska with over approximately 53 million U.S. gallons of crude oil bound for Puget Sound. A harbour pilot guided the ship through the Valdez Narrows before departing the ship and returning control to Joseph Hazelwood, the ship’s master. The ship maneuvered out of the shipping lanes to avoid icebergs. Following the maneuver and sometime after 11pm, Hazelwood departed the wheel house and was in his stateroom at the time of the accident. With Third Mate, Alex John in charge of the wheel house and Able Seaman Robert Kagan at the helm instructions were to return to the shipping lane at a prearranged point. Exxon Valdez failed to return to the shipping lane and struck Bligh Reef at around 12:04 am March 24, 1989. Beginning three days after the vessel went aground, a storm pushed large quantities of oil onto the rocky shores of many beaches in the Knight Island Chain.

According to official reports, the ship was carrying 53,094,510 million U.S. gallons of oil, of which 10.8 million U.S. gallons were spilled into the Prince William Sound. Nearly two decades after the Exxon Valdez disaster, researchers have concluded that the ecosystem has fully recovered.

By the way, for those of you who have never seen Alaska, although it’s so much further north and so much colder than Newfoundland; it bears a striking resemblance in its beautiful wild-rich tapestry, from its grey-slate treeless hills and mountains to its evergreen valley floors, from its roving brooks and rivers to its marshes, ponds, lakes and mile upon mile of white capped seas.

Stay tuned as we take you on the road in British Columbia, Washington and Oregon

K&G, somewhere on the road.

Dawson City, YK to the Artic Circle in AK

2008-06-15T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS JOURNEY

June 15, 2008

"Where the river is winding, big nuggets they’re finding, north to Alaska; they’re going north, the rush is on"
From the Classic Country Lyrics - "North to Alaska" by Johnny Horton

From Dawson City, we took a steel barge across the Yukon River, to where we caught the highway heading toward the Alaska border. After loading a few vehicles, the captain reversed his engines and pulled away from the sandy shoreline. Immediately, the swift current of the Yukon swept the ferry down river before the Captain could apply enough power to bring her back. Then as the shoreline approached, the captain gunned his engines pointed her stern into an upstream direction, fighting currents, logs and fallen trees, roots intact, torn away from the river banks maybe as far away as Whitehorse, he brings her ashore.

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA?

From a steel barge on the fast moving Yukon River to a section of road, called “The Top of the World Highway, those are two experiences I won’t forget any time soon. To me the name given to this highway was befitting, but the top of this world? Some other world like Mars, maybe, certainly, it couldn’t be the world we call home. Driving along the crest of these northern mountains with such immense vastness all around us, no guard rails, nothing between us and the great abyss below, had a way of putting things into perspective. It reiterated, how insignificant we were, in this great big wild beautiful land. Molded round hills and deep dark valleys, polished smooth from shifting sheets of glacial ice thousands of years ago. Burnt out stands of charred pencil thin coniferous forest as far as the eye could see. Then, just when I thought this land couldn’t possibly become wilder, we reach an all time height on this highway of 3,955 ft above sea level. Now, we were truly on our own, above the timberline. Up where there aren’t even any sounds other than the whistle of the wind through the motor home’s windows and the drone of her 454 cu inch engine, as I dropped her into second and on occasion first gear, as she slowly but happily took us higher and higher to where the clouds and mountains appear to hold hands. Up where the landscape was totally void of anything but rock and snow. It was a very slow trip, travelling on gravel roads with its base consisting mostly of large grey boulders, covered with such a thin layer of gravel, that each time it rained; it washed away the gravel leaving behind only the boulders that even the Mars Rover would be challenged to scale. Creeping along at a break neck speed of 23 km /hr, we finally reached the Alaska border, a brief security check, a do-it-yourself wash to remove the road dust from the motor home and the car, a campground and a hot shower to wash the dust off us, in a town called “Chicken”. In the winter, Chicken’s population is six and in the summertime it reaches a staggering twenty-seven. Its entire town consists of four buildings, a saloon, (which we took full advantage of, ‘cause a cold beer was just what was needed, after a dry, dusty day on the trails,) a mercantile, a café and a liquor store.

We took the Taylor Highway south to rejoin the Alaska Highway on its route to Fairbanks. The Taylor Highway is famous for the migration of the Fortymile herd of Caribou. When snow and cold weather comes to the alpine uplands, the Fortymile herd of Caribou migrates southeast across the Taylor Highway just nouth of Tok, Alaska, toward lowland stands of Spruce along the Alaska-Yukon border. This Caribou herd numbered more than 600,000 in the 1920s and ranged from Fairbanks to Whitehorse. “I can remember the Caribou goin’ through for days, and you could just go outside the house and hear the click of hooves, and look around and see thousands of them crossin’ the river.” – wrote a Fortymile pioneer. Just imagine a herd of Caribou so immense that it took days for all of them to cross a river or road. Now imagine the same herd dwindling to less than one percent of its peak. By the 1970’s, over harvest, poor weather and predation had reduced the herd to a mere 5,000 animals.

After boarding a tour bus in Fairbanks, we headed north 84 miles to where we caught the Dalton Highway to the Arctic Circle. The road consists mostly of gravel, paralleling the Alaska Pipeline which runs south from Prudhoe Bay in the Beauford Sea to Valdez in the Gulf of Alaska. This highway was originally built to service the 800 miles of pipeline, where 800,000 barrels of Black Gold still flows every day. It’s now open to the public as a route to the Arctic Circle and beyond. The pipeline itself is an impressive sight, crisscrossing rivers and lakes, meandering through mountains and valleys, like a silver spine giant serpent. There are 78,000 Pylons holding this monster above the Permafrost. Where there’s no permafrost, which is rare, it disappears underground only to appear again as you round the next bend in the highway. The Pipeline is constructed of ½” thick steel pipe that’s 48” in diameter. It took 70,000 people to build this engineering marvel at a price tag of 8 Billion dollars in 1977. It can withstand a hit of 8.5 on the Richter scale. It can move laterally on a steel and Teflon cribbing 12’ and 7’ vertically. There are 337 valves that can shut down or control the flow of oil, whether it’s to re-weld a joint due to stress or replace a whole new section due to sabotage. Apparently there was an incident of sabotage some years ago when a man stood and fired repeatedly at the pipe, until the bullets finally penetrated the heavy gauge steel letting the crude oil shoot out at 1100 psi. According to our guide this person is now imprisoned and will never see the light of day.

The following are inscriptions on a plaque at the Arctic Circle describing the seasons of the north;
A Leap Into Life – In a land desperate for change, the returning sunlight brings dramatic rebirth to the arctic. As the northern regions point more and more towards the sun, its returning daylight brings an explosion of life to the region. Ice ponds melt. Billions of mosquitoes hatch. Ponds, lakes and puddles become feedlots for multitudes of Duck, Geese and shorebirds.

Life In A Hurry - Sunlight bathes the north both day and night as the pole points towards the sun. The further north you travel above the Arctic Circle, the more days occur without a sunset. Racing the light, arctic plants mature quickly after the ice melts, spreading vast carpets of tiny flowers over the tundra. Even in the warm micro-climate close to the ground time is short for flowering and bearing fruit in the sudden arctic summer. For eight intense weeks of summer, the daylight, warmth and rich food lure millions of migratory birds to the region. Summers grand abundance also makes the arctic a survivable home for year-round residence, such as Moose, Foxes, Wolves and Ptarmigan.

Before The Light Goes Out – Daylight fades, temperatures drop as the arctic region begins to point away from the sun. The productive warmth of summer wanes with the approach of autumn’s twilight. By mid-August, soft greens and greys of willow; birch and bearberry ignite into yellow, gold and crimson. The tundra is ablaze. Only the evergreen Spruce remains constant in the riotous mosaic of seasonal change. Snowshoe Hare and Ptarmigan coats transform from mottled brown to pure snowy white. Migratory birds flee as ponds freeze shut, while resident Caribou, Grizzlies and Ravens fortify for the ultimate struggle, arctic’s winter night.

At The Heart Of Darkness – In winter, the northern hemisphere of our earth points away from the sun. Plummeting temperatures and absence of sunlight lock the north in an icy silence. In winters deep- freeze, this is a hungry country. Increasing darkness and lack of food drive fat arctic Ground Squirrels into hibernation and Grizzlies into long sleeps. Lemmings remain active in tunnels under the snow, foraging on frozen green grasses. Hearty stores of body fat fortify the Caribou, and Mosquitoes survive in suspended animation due to internal antifreeze systems. From Moose to Mosquito, Lemming to Caribou, only the toughest survive the ultimatum of the minus 80 degree Fahrenheit arctic night.

For all you berry pickers and connoisseurs, while walking the Arctic Tundra we came upon two types of berries that I recognized from my early days. One is the Newfoundland Partridgeberry and the other the Blackberry. The Partridgeberry as it is known in Newfoundland and by the way, Nova Scotian as well, grows abundantly here in the Alaska Tundra and is referred to as a Low Bush Cranberry. This berry is internationally known as the Lingonberry or Cowberry and is grown in numerous places throughout the world, as Foxberry, Mountain Cranberry and in Labrador as the Redberry. The Blackberry that we so well loved in cakes, is known here in the Arctic as the Crowberry. To the Inuit, of which these berries are a staple, they’re called, “Fruit of the North.”

Greetings everyone from the Arctic Circle at 66°33’39” north in Alaska!

Stay tuned as we next take you to Denali National Park, Anchorage and Valdez, Alaska.

K&G, somewhere on the road

Alaska Hwy through BC and the Yukon

2008-05-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

May, 2008

It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder, It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder, It's the stillness that fills me with peace.
From a poem by northern writer and poet Robert Service entitled “The spell of the Yukon”

As we pulled on to the Alaska Highway at Dawson Creek, B.C., en route to the Yukon, I noticed, there are as many people heading north today as there probably were during the days of the Gold Rush, when everyone was going there, hoping for the mother lode. Travel was difficult in those days. They had to come by steamboat, train, horse, dog sled and even on foot. Conditions were harsh and some didn’t survive the trek. Today, however, we come in the comfort of our travel trailers, our fifth wheels and our million dollar Diesel pushing motor coaches. We travel on paved roads where the only thing that stops us is a few potholes from the past winter’s frost, a once in a lifetime photo opt eagerly presented by some friendly four-legged beauty, or we just ran out of gas, which I don’t suggest you do, because this highway has virtually no services for miles. We make the trek today for reasons even more valuable than Gold. We come to see the Glaciers before they retreat to a few droplets of H2O. To see the wealth of wildlife, unlike anywhere else in North America and its sheer raw beauty before man ends up annihilating it also.

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA?

Canada is such an immense country. We’ve been travelling through only a small portion of northern British Columbia now for more than a day and still have a good day’s drive before we reach the Yukon Territory. Today’s drive was awesome, some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen. Snow capped mountain vistas reflecting in clear calm turquoise lakes, fast moving rivers meandering through deep valleys, the sweet scent of a spring forest just sporting a smidgeon of new green.

We slowed to a snail’s pace to watch Black Bear, Stone Sheep, wild Bison, Caribou, Deer, Moose and wild ponies, graze on the new greenery beside the highway. We even saw a fox; crossing the highway, proudly showing off his just caught lunch, as he scampered toward the canopy of the forest. Today’s trip was worth every penny of the $400 it took to fill the gas tank.

Our second stop on the Alaska Highway was in Laird River Hot Springs Provincial Park in B.C. Just a ten minute hike across a boardwalk trail from our campsite, are two hot spring pools, with temperatures ranging from 42 to 52 C. The source for these hot pools begins as ground water seeps down through natural faults to the hot core below the earth. There, it is heated and under great pressure is forced once again to the surface along natural fault lines. The only downfall is that as the hot water is forced to the surface, it brings along with it many minerals, including the nasty smelling Calcium Sulphate. These amazing wetlands also support hundreds of boreal forest plants, including species of Orchids that couldn’t survive in this northern latitude, if it weren’t for these hot springs. In shallow pools beside the boardwalk we saw an interesting little fish about three inches in length. These lake Chubs or Hot Water Fish, that they are so appropriately named, became isolated from their own kind thousands of years ago and have adapted to the hot water, in which they now thrive.

We stopped at Kilometre 1119.9 on the Alaska Highway and stood at the Great Continental Divide. This is a ridge of high land that separates two of the largest river drainages in North America. Only lumps of sand and gravel separate the west-flowing Swift River from the east-flowing Rancheria River. If, I dropped a leaf into the Rancheria River to the east, it would float to the Liard River near Watson Lake, continue to the Mackenzie River in the Northwest Territories and eventually reach the Beaufort Sea (Arctic Ocean); a long journey of 4,200 kilometers for our waterlogged leaf. If at the same time, I dropped a leaf into the Swift River to the west, the current would take it to Teslin Lake and the Teslin River. The Teslin flows northwest to the Yukon River which cuts across northern Alaska en route to the Bering Sea (Pacific Ocean); a journey of 3,680 kilometers.

All along the Laird Basin Forest, White and Black Spruce dominates the forest floor, while scattered stands of Lode Pole Pine, Alder, Willow, Aspen and Birch provide critical habitat for Caribou and Moose. Rich green marshes, muddy swamps and crystal clear lakes within the Liard River area support the largest population of breeding Trumpeter Swans in the Yukon. There are 33 species of fish in the Liard River and its tributaries.

The Yukon Territory is huge. It is twice the size of Great Britain with less than 32,000 living on this frontier. As a matter of fact, it has more Moose living here than people. Its summer days are warm and long, with temperatures creeping into the mid 20’s C and daylight hours lasting up to 22 hours. There is no wonder that this part of the continent is called “The land of the midnight sun.” We spent several days in the Yukon and it seems no matter when I go to bed its daylight and regardless of how many time I awaken, its daylight and when I get up in the morning, it’s always daylight. I think it might be daylight 24 hours a day. However, in winter days are short with only three hours of sunlight and a temperature of -35 C. But even in the short days of winter, not all is lost; they have their Northern Lights dancing across a perfect polar sky. “And soft they rolled like a tide upshoaled with ceaseless ebb and flow”- by Robert Service

We spent a couple of days in Whitehorse, which gets its name from the historic rapids on the Yukon River, which to the native people resembled the manes of charging white horses.

All along the highway from Whitehorse to Dawson City, we saw evidence of past forest fires just about everywhere. Some of them were caused by careless campers and others by Mother Nature through lightning strikes. Although it’s sad to see the devastation of the forest by fire it’s also a necessary evil. If it weren’t for the fire, certain species of trees wouldn’t reproduce. Once they reached old age, they would die off and that would be the end of that species. An example is a certain species of pine, when a forest fire occurs, it melts the sap coatings on the pinecones, thus releasing their seed to other areas of the forest, allowing that species to continue.

Our final stop in the Yukon was at Bonanza Creek, in Dawson City. Yes, the very same creek where on a sunny afternoon in August in 1896, George Carmack, Dawson Charlie and Shoohum Jim were walking along Rabbit Creek, later renamed Bonanza Creek and saw Gold glistening between rocks in the creek bed. The other version of the discovery has Mrs. Carmack making the find while doing George’s washing in the creek. In either case, this is where it all began – “The Great Klondike Gold Rush!”

We walked a small section of the Bonanza Creek, in heart of the Klondike where numerous claims are still being worked today. We were both a little disheartened however, by the raping of the land. Sitting in huge piles as far as the eye can see are living testimonials to what has been done to our beautiful land, all for the riches of gold. These tailings (left over dredging) remains an eye sore and will for eons’ to come.

Dawson City itself however, is charming with most of the original buildings still standing. Due to an influx of newcomers in the summer of 1898 a city was created virtually overnight, larger than anything west of the Rockies. By the turn of the century, Dawson City had become refined, with grand Government Buildings, stately homes complete with running water, electricity and telephones.

We didn’t allocate a tremendous amount of time for Dawson City, but we did make time to visit Diamond Tooth Gertie’s gambling casino and dance hall. During the Gold Rush, Diamond Tooth Gertie was the main attraction in Dawson City. She and her girls kept the men folk entertained, plying them with booze and allowing the customers to hold them for a few minutes, during a 25c dance. Gertie had a gap between her teeth and would wedge a diamond between them while she was entertaining, hence getting the name “Diamond Tooth Gertie”.

A little bit of Klondike trivia;

200 lbs. Bacon, 800 lbs. Flour, 200 lbs. Corn meal, 150 lbs. Beans, 75 lbs. Sugar, 150 lbs. dried fruit, 50 lbs. Rice, 75 lbs. Coffee and 1 case of condensed milk were a list of mandatory goods all miners were required to bring over the Chilkoot Pass to enter into Canada.

88% of the gold mined in the Yukon came from the Dawson area.

A gold nugget was unearthed in the Klondike that weighted over 72 oz. In 1898, the nugget was valued at $1,158. Today, it would be worth well over $110,000.

More than 250 sternwheelers plied the Yukon waters from 1896 to the mid 1950’s. At one time, there were 70 of these majestic riverboats on the Yukon River alone.

The engines that turned the massive paddle wheels on the Yukon’s riverboats burned a cord of wood per hour.

Stay tuned as we take you on the road in Alaska.

K&G, somewhere on the road

An additional side trip, if you have time:
Take a drive to the top of Midnight Dome high above Dawson City. The view is spectacular of the the Yukon River and its valley as well as the city nestled against the hill side far below and the gold fields of Bonanza Creek. It is a steep climb so a smaller vehicle may be best.

Ontario to km post ”0” in BC

2008-04-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

April, 2008

After a short time at our home in Ontario, reacquainting ourselves with the neighbours and getting a little yard work done, we packed a mess of warm clothing for western Canada, the Yukon and Alaska. We had a little preventative maintenance done on the motor home and, despite the fact that gasoline prices had hit an all time high; it was time to hit the open road once again.

Crossing the Ambassador Bridge over the Detroit River that separates Windsor, Ontario from Detroit, Michigan, you get a bird’s eye view of the glass skyscrapers that makes up downtown Detroit. This city was made world famous by Henry Ford as “The Motor City” and more recently by the music icons like the Four Tops, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations and of course The Supremes as “Motown”. The river itself is famous for what lies beneath this bridge of steel and concrete and far below the fast current of the water itself. That is, one of the world’s largest concentrations of sea salt. These salt deposits were left behind after the ancient oceans receded and evaporated more than 400 million years earlier and are still being mined today. In addition to the salt deposits under the river, 1,200 feet underneath the industrial heart of Detroit lies a gigantic abandoned salt city, which was still in operation until 1983. The mine, formerly operated by the International Salt Mine Company, spreads out over more than 1,400 acres and has 50 miles of roadways.

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA?

While skirting the south shore of Lake Michigan, and being within a stone’s throw of Chicago, we had to make a brief stop into this windy city. I’m not sure whether it was to visit the city itself, made so famous by Elliot Ness in the 1959 TV series “The Untouchables” or maybe to see if we might catch a glimpse of the ghost of Elliot’s nemeses Al Capone? We had chosen an inconspicuous restaurant; known to have been a favourite of Capone’s, to grab a bite. As we entered the restaurant, I noticed that every inch of the walls were covered with photographs and memorabilia of Capone and his cronies. As we sat there eating our Italian sandwiches, I sensed the ghostly presence of the notorious gangster himself. Sitting in a back booth, dressed in a black pin stripe, a canary yellow silk shirt, matching silk tie and handkerchief, a cream coloured wide-brimmed hat, a Racoon coat draped over the back of the booth, and of course, the image wouldn’t be Capone unless one finger was donning a boulder size diamond, while holding a big black cigar. There, sitting with his underlings, their machine guns barely out of view, while Al’s 38 sits in plain sight beside his whisky glass, cocked, ready for the expected as he plans his archrival’s demise.

Over the next few days we whizzed by Wisconsin, Minnesota and North Dakota (which we will see in more detail when we have time later in this trip). Through the province of Saskatchewan, where the remains of last year’s harvest is still evident with only a suggestion of spring green showing through straw coloured fields. Then, a quick drive through Regina, the Capital city and Northwest to Saskatoon. Greg had spent five years of his life back in the 60’s teaching at the University of Saskatoon and wanted to revisit his past and see how it had changed. Then he took me on a University and City tour.

There are seven river crossings in the City of Saskatoon all built four lanes wide, back when there was only horse and buggy. Obviously, someone knew that the horseless carriage would be big someday. Because of its many river crossings, Saskatoon is called the "City of Bridges" (it is also occasionally referred to as "The Paris of the Prairies", for the same reason).

From Saskatoon, the highway parallels the North Saskatchewan River to North Battleford. There, we met a group of senior citizens (160 in total) that were on a river trip by canoe from Rocky Mountain House north of Calgary, Alberta en route to Ontario. On the several thousand miles of waterways they will travel from Alberta to Ontario, they will have to portage only 150 miles. They called themselves the Voyagers.

Then, on to Edmonton, Alberta and the West Edmonton Mall. This mall is the fourth largest shopping mall in the world with over 800 stores, 23,000 employees and parking for 20,000 vehicles. Being this close to such an achievement of modern engineering, we had to take the time to check it out.

For the adventurous, there is the Galaxy Land. There thrills and spills await them in this indoor amusement park. I watched kids and adults alike as they rode the mindbender rollercoaster, where gravity pinned them to their seat, as they screamed through a triple loop. After such an exhilarating ride, they cooled off in the world‘s largest indoor wave pool, where the weather is balmy every day of the year. Whether, its -30C or +30C outside, inside the temperature is a tropical +30C. You can splash, slide, climb in the wet, wild and wonderful Caribbean Cove. There are plenty of water activities, like miles of waterslides, bungee jumping for those who dare, hot tubs, and a play area for toddlers.

Under the glittering glass dome of the Ice Palace, we watched a group of future Olympians practice their artistry and polish their skills, as they prepare for an upcoming figure skating event. Great music and the sparkling lights around the rink add to the magic of the Ice Palace.

Ahead, the atmosphere felt sultry. The subdued lighting made it feel night-like, and for a moment, I thought we were back in New Orleans. No, this is Bourbon Street in the Edmonton Mall, where the aroma of Creole food permeates the air and the Cajun beat is contagious and where it’s Mardi Gras all year long.

Now, imagine yourself on a European adventure as you take in the sites along this unique and beautiful Europa Boulevard. Shop for high-end fashion designed by some of the top designers or stop in for coffee at the café on the corner or just sit on a patio and watch the people go by, as they do in Rome.

Then, if you not too tired, experience a taste of the Asian culture in the traditional Chinese market place, where a Koi pond is the center’s focal point surrounded by elements rich in symbolism to the Chinese, such as rocks, calligraphy, ornamental paving and the colours red and gold.

Just so, you aren’t cut off totally from the rest of the world, as you visit the mall; there are two Internet Café’s. The one we stopped in for an Espresso is conveniently located on the second floor above the bustle of famous Whyte Avenue.

In addition to the few exhibits I’ve mentioned and the hundreds I haven’t, there’s an inter-denominational Chapel, 3 radio stations, a petting zoo and a large-scale replica of the Santa Maria, one of the ships sailed by Christopher Columbus. It sits in a mini ocean, with four submarines ready to take people on a tour of the reefs below her hull. There is so much to do and see at the West Edmonton Mall that you need to spend several days just to take all of it in. Maybe another time, as for now, The Yukon waits.

Stay tuned as we next take you on the road to Northern BC and the Yukon

K&G somewhere on the road.

Florida

2008-03-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

March, 2008

Let’s begin this month’s travel log on the Emerald Coast, Northwest Florida’s Jewel. Although the preferred activity is “relaxing and doing as little as possible,” undoubtedly the most mesmerizing distraction on the Emerald Coast is the sun drenched white sand beaches that stretch for 24 miles along Emerald waters. Sprawling beaches provide seating for performances by dancing dolphins and sandpipers with postcard perfect sunrises and sunsets over the Gulf.

After visiting one of our favorite beaches in Florida, let’s stop in at one of the world’s most famous beaches, “Daytona”. It achieved this notoriety for its 23-mile, 500-ft wide beach which served as a speedway in the early days of the automobile. Automobiles are still permitted on the beach during daylight hours but only at a maximum speed of 10-MPH. Daytona Beach also became infamous for it’s, everything goes, no holds barred, March break parties. In fact, traditionally for many years, one week each spring more than 200.000 high school, college and university students descend on this Atlantic beach resort to let loose. However, this wasn’t always the preferred locating. Up until the 1980’s, Fort Lauderdale, was the notorious spring break destination. Due to increased drinking and sexuality, public nudity and damage to property, local government passed laws restricting parties in 1985. Spring break partygoers responded by moving to the more liberal community of Daytona.

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA?

Next destination Disney’s Epcot Centre, another one of Walt Disney’s dream parks. When Walt Disney planned Epcot, he envisioned it as a real working city, thus the name E.P.C.O.T (experimental prototype community of tomorrow). He said, “It will be a community that will never be completed but will always be introducing, testing and demonstrating new materials and systems”. Epcot centre is split into two distinct areas, Future World and World Showcase. Future World is also split into several areas, with each examining and investigating the way different aspects of our lives have evolved with regard o health, communication, transportation, our use of energy and the environment. Moreover, how all these aspects are progressing into the future. This may sound dull but it isn’t with rides that let you soar high above the ground in a hang glider, travel into space or under the sea or allow you meet creature of yesterday. Future World is anything but dull. World Showcase allows you to see and experience the world in a day. From Canada’s aboriginal Soapstone art to a plank walk on a Viking ship from Norway. From a Japanese Sushi bar to mouth watering chicken and couscous from Morocco. From a pint of refreshing German Koclsch to colorful Talavera pottery from Mexico. From a glass of Bordeaux from the wine regions of France to the innovative fashions of Italy.

Florida is a great place to visit with its multitude of temptations, like theme parks, great seafood, warm lazy days, sun-drenched beaches and fabulous nightlife. However, the highlight of my Florida travel was being at Kennedy Space Center for the February 7 shuttle launch. After spending the morning touring the centre, reliving earlier space flights from the first unmanned rocket to Neil Armstrong’s momentous walk on the moon, it finally came time to jostle a gazillion people for a better view of the launch. We figured since it was far too sunny to be sitting in the open for several hours, the best spot was still beside the car back in the parking lot, and being closer to the exit, meant a quicker escape, when it was time to leave. After tuning the car radio to the Kennedy Space Center station, we grabbed our lawn chairs from the back of the car and found a cool spot under a shady palm. Suddenly, we’re not alone as more and more people came up with the same idea to avoid the hoards of people and traffic.

The sky had broken clouds all morning and it was looking doubtful as to whether there would even be a launch. As usual, there’s a ten-minute window, when the space station is directly above Cape Canaveral and during that period, if everything is a go, mechanically and Mother Nature cooperates, we’ll have lift off. Then, as if something or someone parted the clouds, exposing a clear blue sky, the announcer’s voice, crystal clear counted off the remaining seconds to launch. T-minus three, two, one, we have lift off. From four ½ miles away breaking the tops of the trees at 2:40 pm Atlantis came into view, followed by a ball of yellow flame, smoke and steam. It was eerie at first, watching this soundless beast looking skyward, chomping at the bit, moving ever so slowly at first, as if held captive, like a horse at the starting gate. Then, suddenly she breaks free and sputters a thunderous roar that finally reaches the spot we’re sitting where the ground shook beneath us. It was truly a once in a lifetime experience.

Twelve days, eighteen hours and twelve minutes later, at 8:52 Wednesday morning I heard the sonic boom – actually, two distinct claps less than a second apart, as Atlantis sliced through the atmosphere faster than the speed of sound, in preparation for another perfect glider landing at 9:07 at the Kennedy Space Centre.

We’ll just breeze through Palm Beach, as we’re heading for the Keys. Originally, an island of Vanderbilt’s and Astor’s, Palm Beach is still an exclusive playground for people with pedigrees. “The Donald” owns a winter home here, previously a sprawling Moorish estate built by Marjorie Meriwether Post. The Kennedy family owns a large compound as well. Also famous in Palm Beach is the Flagler Museum, the former home of railroad magnate Henry Flagler. In addition, there is the fashion district of Worth Avenue with high-end shops, right up there with those on Hollywood’s Rodeo Drive.

The last stop on our Florida travels is the Florida Keys. This tropical paradise of 1700 islands runs 110 miles south, southwest of the Florida Peninsula. Life in the Keys is different from anywhere else in Florida. It’s a lifestyle of relaxation, sun and fun, from fishing for Tuna and Marlin from a charter boat off Key Largo to the most spectacular sunsets on earth from a Raw Oyster Bar in Key West. However, if you’re looking for soft, sugar-white sand beaches, you’ll be disappointed. Although, there are beached on the Keys, they’re made up of crushed coral, not white and not suitable for walking bare foot. If you go, take sandals.

Stay tuned as we take you from Ontario to the Alaskan Highway Mile Post "0" in BC.

K&G somewhere on the road

Recognized Areas in Georgia

2008-02-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

February, 2008

This Month’s Journey will take us through some of the more recognized areas in Georgia.

If you could look to Mr. Webster, to characterize the definition of Georgia, there would probably be a thousand words that would be very suitable. Words like; beaches, rivers, woodlands, marshes, cotton fields, Pecan Groves, Live Oaks or Sea Oats. However, if you could ask him for the definition of a “Southern Gentleman”, there could only be two possible words, "Jimmy Carter" Therefore, there is no better place to begin our journey in Georgia, than in Plains.

Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA?

Plains High School, the very same one both Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter attended is now a National Parks visitors center, with exhibits on the president and Mrs. Carter’s life and career. The exhibit chronicles the humble beginnings of this soft-spoken, son of a farmer, who helped produce peanuts and cotton, raise chickens, and pigs, to his days at the Naval Academy and a short naval career, through one of the highest profile appointments and back home again.

When his father passed away in 1953, Jimmy resigned from the Navy and came home to run the farm. He entered the first phase of political life that same year, as a School Board Trustee and was there for the U.S. Supreme Court decision, ruling school segregation unconstitutional. He served as GA’s state senator from 1963 to 1966 and was there, when L.B.J, the then president, signed the Civil Rights Act into law. In 1971, he began serving his four years as the Governor of Georgia, setting a new progressive course, advocating civil rights and waging war on crime and corruption. When Jimmy decided to run for President, his fellow townspeople of Plains, jumped in and ran a grass-roots campaign from an abandoned train depot, stuffing envelopes, making phone calls and organizing covered-dish fundraisers, while Jimmy delivered speeches that echoed the ideals of his down-to-earth upbringing. He won victoriously as the 39th U.S. President in 1976 and took on the dust covered Washingtonians on the hill, like a new broom, sweeping his way into the history books as a man of integrity and compassion.

By 1981, the Carters had come full circle; from small town American farmers, living a quiet life in Plains to possessing the most prestigious address in the world and back home again. They now reside once again in their modest ranch bungalow in their home town of Plains, GA, where they are involved in programs to alleviate human suffering and promote human rights and world peace. They both work with Habitat for Humanity building houses for the needy around the world. Jimmy teaches Sunday school at their local Baptist church, where he and Rosalynn, helps with everyday maintenance, including Janitorial work. I dare say that when they walk their small town on a sultry Georgia evening, even though, they’re shielded somewhat by the secret service, when they meet and greet old friends, as first and always, they are simply, Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter from Plains.

Covered bridges were a common sight back in the days before steel and concrete. It was the only means of keeping the wooden underpinning free from decay. There are only 15 such bridges, remaining in Georgia and only a few open to car traffic. The one we visited was built in 1840 by freed slave and noted bridge builder, "Horace King." Constructed of massive timbers spanning 115-ft across Red Oak Creek, the bridge stands 20-ft at the centre point, with sidewalls erected over a web of planks crisscrossing in a lattice pattern, fastened together with wooden pegs. After driving across the bridge and back again, we parked the car to the side of the road and ambled back again by foot. Disappointed at the amount of Graffiti but astounded by the feat of engineering that went into this impressive structure when, we heard voices from underneath the bridge. Stopping to get a closer look, we saw the perfect picture, straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. There, sitting on a knurled tree stump on a Red Ochre mud flat, was an old man, teaching a small boy the art of fishing. Greg’s first instinct was to go on by and leave them be, but not having known either of my grandfathers, I longed to live a little through them of what I missed when I was a child. Grabbing our fishing rod and tackle box that we always carry in the car, just in case, we scurried down the embankment, where we shared with them a picnic lunch that we had bought at a local Deli. By day’s end, we had made two new friends and learned a little about fishing for Catfish from a creek in Georgia.

A Bag of Boiled Peanuts for Bait- $3.95
A Nine-Piece Southern Chicken Meal, with Biscuits’ and Gravy- $ 12.99
A Six-Pack of Miller - $7.99
A Day Fishing in the Magnolia Midlands of Georgia, PRICELESS!

It’s been two weeks now since we met our new friends Mark and his grandson Tyler fishing off the red mud flats and time we put some of our old tackle and Mark’s words of wisdom on the technique of catching catfish to the test. We bought a new tackle box a while ago, maybe it was years, come to think of it, it was years ago and kept adding Flies, Lures, Floats, Sinkers, 8 lb test, 15 lb test. We even have a reel of stainless steel line; Greg’s brother gave us after a fishing trip in Northern Ontario, that was years ago as well. Armed with the appropriate licence, peanuts for the fish, chicken, biscuits’, gravy and the other sustenance of life, like a six-pack for us; we decide to head out on our own. After eating the nine-piece and inhaling the six-pack, all we managed to catch, were some Z‘s.

The City of Savannah was founded in 1773 by General James E. Oglethorpe and is today renowned for its gracious way of life and prominent architecture, from its Federal-style to its Greek revival, from its Regency to Gothic, from its Georgian- to Romanesque. However, for me, what makes Savannah exude Southern gentility, is her precious Emeralds, her many Historic Squares. Each one an oasis filled with Magnolias and centuries old, Live Oaks draped in Spanish Moss, bronze statues, ornate Wroth-Iron fencing, streetlamps and water fountains, where people meet and greet friends and neighbours to exchange news and idle chitchat.

These Squares are as unique as the city itself, from the northernmost Washington square, once bordering the original Trustees’ Garden, where the colonist grew a variety of experimental crops to the southernmost Calhoun Square with its abundance of shade trees and perfect reprieves from sultry summer days. From the easternmost Greene Square, named in honour of General Nathanial Greene, an aide to George Washington during the Revolutionary War to the westernmost Franklin Square named in honour of Benjamin Franklin, where day labourers go to seek work. In addition, there’s, Chippewa Square. Not only does it honour the battle of Chippewa during the War of 1812 but also it’s where Forest Gump, from the movie with the same name, sat on a park bench said with that southern drawl, “Lauufe’s- aw- boxxe -aw -chaulklets. Ya -naaaver- knooo -waut- ya- gonna’ geet”.

Stay tuned as we take you along the Atlantic coast of Florida.

K&G, somewhere on the road.

Also of interest:
Providence Canyon State Park

Westville Living Museum

Tennessee to Alabama

2008-01-30T12:00:00.000-08:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

January, 2008

This is for all you girls and guys who went weak in the knees, just listening to the smooth seductive voice of Elvis Presley, softly crooning, as if just to you alone. Songs like, Love Me Tender, Are You Lonesome Tonight, Can’t Help Falling in Love, sometimes on the sly or when your parents weren’t home or maybe on a small transistor under the bedclothes, when you were supposed to be doing your homework. This is for you, welcome to Memphis! Today we will take you on a tour of Graceland, a place the King called home. I hope this brings back fond memories for you.
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The moment you step through the massive doors flanked by four tall white Corinthian columns, you feel the Kings presence all around you. It’s a large house, constructed of Tennessee limestone with almost 16,000 sq ft of living space; however, the upper floors are off limits to the public. It was off limits while Elvis was living, he considered it his inner-sanctum and therefore greeted people on the main floor and they have kept that tradition today. It’s decorated in the garish styles of the 50s, 60s and 70s; however, since that “retro” thing is back in, it’s right back in style. Throughout Graceland, everything is typical Elvis from the Rhinestone studded stage costumes to the white Ostrich feather throw cushions on a red velvet sofa. His love for his mother is evident throughout the mansion and no more so than in the deep purple elegant bedroom on the main floor where everything still remains as she left it when she died, including a closet full of clothing. In the Racquetball building against the west wall sits a small upright piano, dwarfed in comparison to the baby grand piano in the main living room but it’s the one he’d chosen for his finale. “Unchained Melody” and “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” are the two pieces he played for friends before retiring to his room in the morning of August 16, 1977, the day the world mourned again.

The last stop before leaving the mansion's grounds and continuing our tour across on the other side of Elvis Presley Blvd is the Meditation Garden, where he now rests with his parents, a twin brother named Jessie Garon and his paternal grandmother. The family plot is in a semi-circle backing onto a circular pool with five small water jets and a larger one in the centre, all lit with coloured floodlights. Still covering the gravesite are flowers, notes and small tokens of love from adorning fans.

Across the street in the Automobile Museum, you stroll down a tree-lined street where thirty of Elvis’ personal automobiles are on display, from the red MG from the movie Blue Hawaii to his famous Pink Cadillac. Elvis liked to tour in style and this is obvious in his pride and joy, the Lisa Marie, a Convair 880 jet, which he customized after purchasing it with gold-plated seatbelts, suede and leather chairs, leathered- covered table tops and 24-ct gold-flecked bathroom sinks. Across the small tarmac from his Convair 880, sits his smaller Lockheed Jetstar, which he used primarily for shorter flights.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to share with you on our journey through the states of Arkansas and Mississippi, as we are coasting through en route to New Orleans, Louisiana. However, with the Ozark Mountains, Arkansas River Valley and the Mississippi Delta, it’s definitely is on the list of must-sees on a later trip. So, stay tuned.

We visited a small town outside New Orleans where the ravages from Hurricane Katrina and Rita are and still will be visible for some time. Where mountains of sagging Asphalt shingle, splintered studs and rafters, rusted refrigerators, twisted metal and broken bits of drywall, scooped together by a backhoe’s shovel, still sit on empty, lifeless lots. Where Century old trees were snapped or left lying flat, roots dry and exposed like some colossal spider out of a Hollywood movie. While some of the trees endured the storms rage, their branches are now ornamented with weather-beaten bed sheets, shirts and pants, twisted so tightly by the hurricane-force wind, that only time, will ever free. The buildings that stood in the wake of the hurricanes are like ghostly skeletons, most void of siding and shingles but all with gaping black holes where once stood windows. Tattered curtains and twisted aluminum Venetian blinds flap and vibrate by each gust of wind from the gulf.

Katrina hit the city of New Orleans a tremendous blow as well and she buckled to her knees. However, like the resilient people who chose this untamed but rare and beautiful place, more than three centuries ago to be their home, she is just as resilient and will stand tall again, brassier and sassier than ever.

The clipity-clop sound of hooves on cobble stone streets, are a sure sign that life is beginning anew in “The Big Easy”. Carriages are full and tourists are back in droves. The sound of Jazz and Blues are spilling out into the night air from bars and nightclubs and passersby’s are dancing their way through the narrow streets. Cafes and dining lounges are filled with laughing, happy patrons, raising their glass in a toast, while the aroma of Cajun and Creole wafts from noisy, spicy kitchens. Above the brightly lit sidewalks framed by forged metal fretwork, people laugh and shout greetings to others below, as if they were old friends. It’s obvious that New Orleans is living up to her motto once again, “Laissez les bons temps rouler,” loosely translated it means, “Let the good times roll”.

We will end our travel in Louisiana on an airboat floating over a Cyprus swamp, as it shimmered with a sultry morning mist. We watched Egrets, Blue Herons, Turtles and Alligators in their own world, a world I found so real, so pristine, so unassuming. We even came within inches of a family of Alligators basking in the warm sun.

In 1955 Montgomery, Alabama, a physically tired seamstress by the name of Rosa Parks, boarded a bus, paid her fare like other passengers and made a decision to sit in a seat reserved for whites. Mrs. Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat to a white man, as required by the city’s ordinance. This paved the way for ministers and lawyers, who were just waiting for an opportunity to test the constitutionality of the law, recruited a young minister to lead a boycott of city buses. This young minister was none other than Martin Luther King Jr. Some 50,000 Negroes refused to ride the city buses for 381 days until the U.S Supreme Court struck down laws segregating public transportation. The Montgomery Bus Boycott was the first major victory in the Civil Right Movement, thus giving Montgomery the distinction of being the “Birthplace of Civil Rights”.

Our final stop will take us inside Desoto Caverns, 320-ft below the earth’s surface. This great Onyx room is as large as a football field and the height of a twelve-story building. These caverns hold one of the most concentrated accumulations of onyx/marble stalagmites and stalactites found in the US and a most interesting history as well. The earliest known inhabitants of the caverns date back to 8,000 BC - 1,000 BC and were known as the “Archaic Period”. The Archaic man was a cave dweller and existed on small game, fish and nuts. Then, the Woodland Indians 1,000 BC – 100AD, occupied it. This was determined when the skeletal remains of five Indians were unearthed sometime in the 20th century. Hernando Desoto’s arrival in 1540 AD marking the beginning of recorded history of the caverns. In 1855, the caverns became a site for mining saltpetre used in making gunpowder for the Confederate army. In 1912, it was purchased by a group of budding entrepreneurs with the idea of mining the caverns for its abundant of Onyx, a semi precious stone, as it turned out; its quality for mass production was inferior. During the 1920s, the era of Prohibition, they were used as a Speakeasy, where moonshine was run along with gambling. Because of the constant shootings and fights that erupted on a regular basis, the caverns became known as the “Bloody Bucket”, therefore, the Fed’s closed them down. In 1965, the caverns were officially opened to the public. A definite must see if, you’re ever in the area.

Stay tuned as we take you on the road in Georgia.

K&G, somewhere on the road.

Another point of interest is:

Jack Daniel’s Distillery. This was a most interesting stop, but be prepared for not being able to buy the good stuff (except in souvenir containers). They are in a DRY county, believe it or not! Too much taste testing in the good old days we suppose. A great tour and well worth your time.

South Carolina to Tennessee

2007-12-30T12:00:00.000-08:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

December, 2007

South Carolina, the land of Cotton! Well, not as it was in the 18th century, when it was the main crop. However, Cotton still plays a vital role in their economy and our daily lives. The next time you throw on a pair of jeans or your favourite “T”; look at the label; it will probably say 100% cotton. While visiting the The South Carolina Cotton Museum, we discovered the metamorphous of those duds we are so comfortable wearing. Faded jeans and T’s start out as a seed planted in early spring, and then patiently waits the warm days of midsummer to flower. When the bloom opens, it’s a creamy white but then turns a deep pink as it matures. In early August, the cotton is just beginning to peek through the foliage, however, by the end of August, defoliation begins and the cotton pops into view. In the fall, fields are white with cotton balls, pickers and gins are going full steam. By winter, cotton is picked and fields are fallow until next spring , but the evidence of this year’s crop is everywhere, tuffs of white are caught up in trees and along roadsides, cotton is spun, woven and dyed and new jeans and T’s are waiting to be old friends.
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Let’s step back in time to pre-civil war, to the rich plantations, to where owning slaves was as natural to them as the cotton they grew. Today, they’re like any working farm; its employees come in the morning and leave at night. However, it wasn’t always that way at Boone Hall and thousands of other plantations in the Old South. While touring one estate we saw documented evidence, showing how slaves were bought, while on a simple shopping trip to town for supplies, and then later sold at the whim of the owner. Tiny one-room cabins where the slaves rested their tired bodies and bruised egos, sometimes in leg and neck irons. This indignity was applied, when they had a history of trying to escape their bondage.

In the movie, “Gone with the Wind”, set against the backdrop of the Civil War, when Scarlet O’Hara ran through the Tara Plantation’s grand hall, screaming ‘the Yankees are coming, the Yankees are coming”, there was terror in her voice. However, while those echoes rang through this grand hall and in other Plantations, I dare to say, that to the Old South’s enslaved and oppressed, they had a very different meaning, “Freedom at last!”

Tennessee is so rich in Civil War history that I couldn’t begin to do it justice in a paragraph or two; therefore, I will leave it entirely to our history books. Instead, we will begin our journey here in the Great Smokey Mountain Park. “Shaconage” meaning “blue, like smoke “was the name given to these mountains by the native people long before the white man , because of the haze that shrouds their rounded summits, many of which rise 6000 feet above sea level. Today it’s a 521,000-acre park with hundreds of miles of hiking trails through a lush green forest. Nearly 40% of the woodland is still virgin growth with 600 black bears, being its prominent residents.

Mere words can’t convey the pleasure I felt exploring these winding mountain roads, where deep valley vistas extend in earth tone layers to infinity. Where cool mountain water trickles from steep cliffs. The further you descend they join with one another, until they’re plummeting down hillsides as foamy cascades and waterfalls. Where past lives are still evident in remnants of small mountain homes and barns. Where, with a little imagination, you can hear the sweet sound of a Banjo or catch the pine scent of Rosin from a Fiddlers Bow. Pigeon Forge However, if you would rather the toe tappin’, hand clappin’, knee slappin’ real McCoy, there’s the touristy towns of and Gatlinburg, a stone’s throw away from the park, where pickin’ and a fiddlin’ is on tap all day long. While in Pigeon Forge you should visit the theme park of Dollywood and the Dixieland Stampede, both of which are owned by, yes the one and only Dolly Parton.

The diverse tapestry of life in the Smokey Mountains is in some ways the result of the last ice age. Although, continental glaciers didn’t get this far south, cold ice age climates pushed plants and animals far south of their former ranges. When the climate warmed, these northern species had acclimatized to their new environment, thus remaining south in the cooler mountains.

These mysterious peaks above the cloud are also, where “White Lightnin’, “The Recipe” or better known to most as “Moonshine” was born. They provided everything a moonshiner needed - he would find a little out of the way creek where red horsemint grew on its banks, which meant soft water. He’d then conceal his Still in a thick growth of Mountain Laurel, so “revenuers” would have a hard time finding it. And of course he had no problem finding corn, “cause that’s what he grew best."

All l l l aboard, next stop Chattanooga! Woo, woo!! What is now the restaurant at the holiday Inn was once a waiting lounge for the train from Cincinnati. This train, as you may have guessed, was nicknamed the Chattanooga Choo Choo. There was even a song written about it and its journey from north to south. Most of us can still remember the lyrics can’t we. “Par-don me boys, is that the Chat-ta-noo-ga, choo-choo, track twen-ty-nine?---------------- The train (Circa 1880) is on display on track 29 outside the restaurant window.

It was a fun thing to see but the ultimate experience of the day was the Aquarium and the IMAX theatre Journey.

The freshwater Aquarium building narrates the journey of a raindrop as it spills from the top of a mountain to chart streams, swamps, lakes and rivers throughout the world. We saw playful river otters, ferocious snapping turtles, cottonmouth water moccasins, leathery looking alligators, and giant catfish along with thousands of other freshwater marvels. After lunch, the adventure continued from the river to the sea in the salt water Aquarium building, where sharks, stingrays, jellyfish, and octopus, live in harmony. There was even a butterfly exhibit where Mother Nature shows off her crown jewels. These flying flowers are very much at home in their natural habitat, fluttering from one plant to another, sometimes lingering for a moment for a photo op. However, the best I saved for last, a feast for the eyes, a 45 minute IMAX Journey to the oceans deep. It was so realistic, I felt as if the first wave of water came rushing toward me, was going to sweep me out of my seat and the shark that headed straight for me, knew exactly what he wanted for dinner. With such clear, larger than life 3D images, everything seemed to, just leap off the six-story screen. So much so that once I put my hand to my face in an attempt to brush something away, then I realized it was images of small fish and plankton hovering around my head.

Would anyone argue with me, if I said that Nashville wasn’t the birthplace of Country Music? A while ago, I would have wagered a little brown jug of “White Lightnin’ ” that it was. As it turns out, country music began in Bristol Tennessee, in 1927, when a talent scout for Victor Talking Machine Company came to Bristol and met Jimmie Rodgers and the Carter Family and the rest is, as you might say, history.

Speaking of “Country Music and Nashville”, I grew up thinking that they were one of the same. That is so far from the truth. Nashville is anything but just country music and it’s no more evident than at the Musicians Hall of Fame and Museum. Certainly, its roots are in country and gospel. However, it’s Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, Brenda Lee; its Rock ‘n’ roll. It’s Bob Dylan, Jimmy Buffett, Joan Baez; it’s folk. It’s Paul McCartney, Ringo Star, Amy Gran; it’s pop. Even Jimmi Hendrix credited Nashville as being where he really learned to play guitar. It’s also Reggae, Jazz, Soul and Blues; it’s the Mother Church of Music.

Stay tuned as we take you from Western Tennessee to Alabama

K&G, somewhere on the road

Virginia to North Carolina

2007-11-30T12:00:00.000-08:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

November, 2007

Do you remember where you were November 22, 1963? I was a teenager in school and barely aware of the magnitude of what had just happened. Not until after reading an essay my brother had written, as an assignment for school, did I fully become aware of whom this well-spoken, charismatic man was and his significance to the world. The moment I read his composition, was the moment I would forever see the world.

Today, we are standing beside the resting place of that world leader and war hero, John F. Kennedy and I am shivering ( “bivering “as you might say) to be where the world still comes to morn, almost 44 years later. This is an historical moment for me to be here in Virginia’s Arlington Cemetery. In addition, it’s a privilege for me to touch the dirt that covers this great man. Equally, as privilidigious, is to stand beside Jackie, “Queen of Camelot”. Her perseverance, graciousness saw the world through one of its most difficult times. Their resting place is constructed of two levels of polished Marble and Granite. The upper level is the burial site with Cape Cod stone surrounding the Eternal Flame.

Arlington house, a memorial to General Robert E. Lee, looms over like a great protector in the hillside above. The lower level and its walls are in a semi circle, facing the Potomac River and the Lincoln Memorial.
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Descending the polished marble steps from President Kennedy's resting place, you turn right and proceed along a stone pathway for only fifty or so feet, where you will find in a small alcove, facing a rectangular reflecting pool, a white stone slab. Directly behind it, is a simple white cross, void of any inscription. This is the resting place of Robert F. Kennedy.

At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a guard of the Third U.S. Infantry maintains an around the clock vigil. The ritual begins with the guard pacing 21 steps down a mat, rifle resting on his shoulder. There, he pauses facing the tomb for 21 seconds and in true military form, he turns 90 degrees, changes the position of his rifle to his opposite shoulder and methodically strides again in military form to the other end of the mat. This ritual has been carried out in front of the Unknown Soldier since in 1937. We just missed the changing of the guard. “Here rests in honoured glory an American soldier know but to God” is the inscription on the sarcophagus.

There are over 290,000 service men and women and their families resting here on this 624 acres of green Virginia hillside. About 24 burials are carried out here every weekday, all year long. From this peaceful setting , way off in the distance, I heard a band playing solemn marches, muffled drums beating a slow cadence for a funeral procession, three rifle volleys and a bugles long notes of “Taps” In the two hours we were there I heard this ritual repeated three times.

A short drive along this picturesque coastline from Virginia Beach, you enter North Carolina and the home to the Wright Brothers controlled powered flight of 1903, Kitty Hawk. The pavilion featured a full-scale reproduction of the Wright 1903 Flyer, the original we saw on display at the Smithsonian. The grounds include a replica of their primitive living space and a workshop, as well as the original markers of each attempted flight and a 60-foot granite marker on top of Big Kill Devil Hill, where so many of their glider attempts failed.

After another seafood feast, we took a long laid-back drive along Cape Hatteras National Seashore, where bird watching, sports fishing, windsurfing are the specials of the day. Nature is the creator and curator of this extraordinary jewel of islands known as the “Outer Banks”, as a result, her showing is never the same twice. Men and women have lived, worked and played on this narrow ribbon of sand for centuries and have fought natures persistence with their own raw tenacity to remain. Even though hurricane warnings and “Nor’ Easters” are prevalent for several months every year, I can appreciate why; so many people call this windswept sand dune, home.

In 1937, when the keel of the Battleship North Carolina was being laid, World War 11 hadn’t begun but it’s inevitability was looming on the horizon. Ready to do battle in 1941, armed with 2339 crewmembers, 137 guns, she was 728’ long, 108’ wide and insisted on over 31’ of ocean, just to float. She raced along at an alarming speed of 28 knots, considering she weighed in at more than 44,000 tons. During the war, she proved to a formidable antagonist to her adversary in every major naval offensive in the Pacific area of operations. She now sits as a memorial to her crew of 2,500 and another 10,000 North Carolinians who died during WW11, in a sheltered section of harbour in Wilmington. N.C. It was a daunting yet fascinating experience to walk the oak deck of this ghostly ship, to stand in the precise locations, where mere boys, were trusted with the enormous responsibility of defending flag and country.

On a two-hour self-guided tour, we raised a 20mm anti aircraft gun to our shoulders, as they did in time of combat. We passed row upon row of small cots suspended by chains, amidst workstations, where they would sleep ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. I looked through a Periscope; a little fearful however, of the ghost I might see staring back. We passed canteens and recreation halls where static filled voices of guys and gals, who entertained the troops, still resonate off empty walls. From the dry humour of George and his side kick Gracie to the fine vocals of Bing Crosby and Doris Day, occasionally interrupted to bring them important news stories or war updates. We climbed a gun turret where the “Big Guns” were armed and fired with shells weighing 2900 pounds to reach targets up to 23 miles away and meandered through galleys where the aroma of baked beans and fresh bread still lingers.

Stay tuned as we take you from South Carolina to Tennessee.

K&G, somewhere on the road.

Rhode Island to Washington, D.C.

2007-10-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

October, 2007

Mile after mile of green pastures, copper red century old barns and field stone walls, small quiet towns reminiscent of scenes from “Peyton Place” with town greens and white-steeple churches, seashores of fragranced salt air and the tall tales of maritime history, these are scenes from Rhode Island and Connecticut. Scenes that are as intoxicating as anywhere in New England.
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The Big Apple and the city that never sleeps are just two of the affectionate labels bestowed on New York City. Our first NY experience was on a subway train from Penn Station to Time Square. I saw a picture on TV years ago of a line of subway cars, obliterated with graffiti. Not anymore, subway cars were as bright and shiny as in any of our Canadian Cities. Waiting on the busy platform, we watched solo performers imitating the greats, from the folk style of Bob Dylan to the Afro-Cuban Jazz of the great Dizzy Gillespie. A cap or an instrument case sitting on the floor beside them, not caring if you dropped them a buck but more appreciative if, you took the time out from your busy day to listen.

I find the best way to see a new city is to take one of their guided tours and New York was no exception. We had a great guide that was as colourful as he was informative. As we approached the Trump Tower, he informed us that “The Donald” wasn’t in; he was in Europe, waiting the birth of his next wife. As well as being a bit of a comic, he could be very sombre. He pointed out the building and to the tall windows where the grieving widow retreated, to raise her children after that infamous day in Dallas, when shots rang out and that fatal bullet struck down a beloved American President. To the front entrance of an upscale building named "The Dakota", where a door attendant stood solemnly between two shiny brass coach lamps. As the comedian becomes even more solemn, he recounts that night on December 8, 1980, when John Lennon that gentle man and music icon who wrote the lyrics, “Give Peace a Chance” was gunned down, right there on that sidewalk. At that moment, above the clamour of the city, as I tried to remember where I was when I heard the news, I could almost hear the reverberation.

Ground Zero is under construction; with tower seven complete and now seven stories higher than the original. Off to the side of the tragic site will be "The Freedom Tower". Its cubic base footprint measuring 200’x200’ will be the actual size of the combined Twin Tower’s footprint. A few hundred feet away sits Saint Paul's Chapel. It was a refuge for the firefighters as they came to morn, weep and pray. Their suspender buckles marring century old pews, (George Washington’s pew being no exception) as they took a moment to rest and regain composure, now forever immortalized as a reminder to us of our vulnerability. Elementary tributes from small children to war veterans, proudly displayed throughout the chapel. This house of God stood virtually within shouting distance from the devastation, yet it survived unscathed. Not a single pane of glass was broken.

On to Battery Park and a Ferry ride to Staten Island and en route a bird’s eye view of another American Icon, the Statue of Liberty. As we sailed beneath this grand old lady, I thought of those brave yet scared men and women who left their homeland in search of a better life in America. This symbolic sign of freedom must have been such a welcoming sight as they entered New York Harbour for the first time. France, as a gesture of friendship gave it to the US in 1886. There are 354 steps inside the Statue and its pedestal. There are 25 windows in the crown, which represents the jewels beneath her halo. The tablet in her left hand measures 23’-7" X 13’-7". New York, despite the pushing and shoving and hardly anyone ever saying thank you, the fast pace and the even faster way they talk, is truly an amazing city.

We spent an entire day in Washington and the better part at the Smithsonian Institute. James Smithson who passed away in 1829 was a very wealthy English scientist who had devoted his life to research. Even though, he had never been to the United States, in his will he bequeathed his estate to found an establishment in Washington dedicated to “the increase and diffusion of knowledge”.

The Smithsonian Castle was the first building built along the Mall but unfortunately; it was partially destroyed by fire in the early part of the 19th century, along with an extensive mineral collection. Since the museum’s conception, there have been eighteen additional Museum buildings built and nine research buildings. Our visit here merely scratched the surface; however, I will attempt to share with you some of the exhibits we did see. The National Air and space Museum is where we will start. It tells stories of man’s preoccupation with flying from the earliest days of jumping off buildings, holding on to wing-like apparatuses to jet propelled backpacks strapped to their bodies. From Wilbur and Orville at Kitty Hawk, to the current exploration in space, it’s all here, larger than life. Suspended from this soaring building are a number of “firsts”: the one and only Spirit of St Louis; in which Charles Lindbergh made that first solo transatlantic flight; the Apollo 11 command module Columbia that brought home Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin from their first walk on the moon. At the National Museum of American History, there is Lincoln’s top hat, Thomas Jefferson’s bible, Edison’s light bulb with its Bamboo filament still intact, Custer’s jacket and even Dorothy’s ruby slippers from the classic “Wizard of Oz”. The National Museum of Natural History housing over 126 million specimens, some of which are new and some that were collected more than 200 hundred years ago. To give you a feel for the size of these Museums, this one is the size of 18 football fields. The African elephant display in his natural habitat to the most fearsome 40-foot Tyrannosaurus Rex. Displayed in bulletproof cases are rare Minerals and Gemstones including the 30 ct Blue Hope Diamond.

Stay tuned as we take you from Virginia to North Carolina.

K&G, somewhere on the road

Ontario to Massachusetts

2007-09-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

IS THIS MONTH'S JOURNEY

September, 2007

In a long lineup of noisy fuel guzzling 21st century necessary contraptions, waiting to get through customs, is not my favourite way to begin our first day of travel. However, detained, sometimes for hours is just the way it is at any border crossing; it just was that way after 911.
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Doesn't your indoor cat also deserve a KITTY KAT KABANA for your RV?

It was an interesting and picturesque drive through upper New York and Pennsylvania, with their intimate rolling hills and valleys, just starting to show a little blush of color. Farmers busy tilling the soil, preparing for another season and another bountiful harvest.

Our friend’s home is tucked away in a small hamlet in MA, near the Appalachian foothills. It was built in 1859 and still looks much the same today, as does much of the architecture in New England. Sugar white clapboard houses, shuttered and trimmed in Forest Green or Raven Black. Betsy’s Ross’s “Old Glory waving its stars and stripes in a welcoming gesture at the entrance to every home, (Americans are certainly patriotic), casual English style gardens surrounded by white picket fences. Virtually every house sports a Veranda where most people watching and summer relaxation takes place. Their wrap around veranda, leans a little with time but the rocking chairs make it most inviting. We spent four days with them, where we were wined and dined like Royalty, there is no substitute for good friends! In return, I prepared them a traditional Newfoundland dinner, which they found to be a wonderful treat and extremely tasty. I had to substitute corned beef for the salt beef, but to me it taste the same, a little leaner than salt beef but still, um, um, good!

I‘ll beg of you to bear with me, while I digress and take us back to South-Western Ontario and our home near Windsor in the Western Basin of Lake Erie. It’s the most southern point in Canada and referred to by some as the “Banana Belt” probably, because of its temperatures moderated by the lake, averaging the warmest in Canada. Although, I have lived on or near the great lakes for most of my life, I am still so amazed at their vastness. We have been travelling now for several hours, past some of the earliest (See Petrolia Discovery) and still productive oil wells in North America, dating back to the nineteenth century. Past row after row of greenhouses that go on as far as the eye can see and are the largest concentration of greenhouses in North America. Past some of the first vineyards on this Continent, producing fine wines that are second to none. Pass fishing villages, where boat after boat enters harbours, virtually all year long loaded to the gunwales with fresh fish. Past mile after mile of fertile farmland, that provides most of our food. Now at the Eastern edge of the lake, where the big water falls into the Niagara River, I try to recollect who used the words “a disruption to the land” when describing the great lakes. However, as I gaze down at that great wonder of the world, for the life of me I cannot see what he could possibly have meant. To me it’s more as if the land is a disruption to the water. But then, I love the water, seeing as how I grew up on the Atlantic in Newfoundland.

Now back to New England where tree canopied streets are decked out in autumn splendour, pumpkin lining veranda’s are waiting to be Jack-o-lanterns and Pumpkin Pies, where, busy sidewalks of gold and scarlet are ankle deep in memories of summer fading, where winding mountain roads are synonymous with rag tops, where evening campfires and last clambakes are everywhere. This is New England in autumn.

Historic Plymouth, America’s hometown and the landing site of the Mayflower at Plymouth Rock in 1626. Interestingly enough, the legendary Rock was moved several times over the centuries and according to Historians it is now in its original location, a little worse for wear, as it now has a fracture in it. Greg is virtually standing on this landmark as he hones his photographic skills in an attempt to take a picture of the Mayflower II. This is a full-scale re-creation of her, built in England and sailed to Plymouth in 1957. At Coles Hill Cemetery, legend tells the story, that the over half of the Pilgrims who came ashore, died of pneumonia the first winter and were secretly buried here and their grave sites hidden to conceal the actual number from the Native People.

Nantucket, kissed by the Atlantic Ocean, waters so clear and sparkling that once you set foot on this island of paradise it’s difficult to leave. Only a short ride from Hyannis, the playground of some of the most recognized people in America, the Kennedy’s, is the island of Nantucket. It has had a long renowned history of seafarers. Hundreds of mansions built between 1740 and 1840 by whaling tycoons, still stand, lovingly preserved for future generations. For over 100 years, this was the greatest whaling center in the new world.

Back on the Cape and on to Woods Hole for another ferry ride, this time to Martha’s Vineyard. A typical east coast island with lighthouses and ghost stories of Sea Captain’s, white picket fences, an authentic fishing village and a native American community, pristine beaches , far-reaching boardwalks and rolling farmland and ghostly echoes of 19th century revival meetings.

I’ve had this hankering for seafood, since we began our trip Periodically, I would recall little snippets of a song that only over the last couple of days, have I been able to put together. I first heard it and her magnificent voice coming to us from our old RCA Victor radio from far, far away, when I was a kid. Because I am so fond of its lyrics and salty air and we are both fond of seafood, we decided that we would drive to the tip of the Cape Cod just for lunch. We didn’t have lobster stew but we did have an ocean view.

Can anyone guess the songstress or remember the lyrics? (Answer)

Next stop is Salem, The City of Peace, as it was renamed somewhere around 1600’s. What better place to end our travel log for this month than in Salem, “The Halloween city of America”. Unfortunately, for you it will be post Halloween before you get to read my story of witchcraft and hallowed hangings. Salem was called Naumkeag when Roger Conant and his followers arrived and was later renamed Salem, an adaptation of “shalom” meaning “peace.”

At that time in America, Salem was anything but peaceful. In 1634 an outspoken man of the cloth by the name of Roger Williams vocally attacked the Church of England as well as the then reigning British Monarch King Charles such, that it divided the townspeople. When the town’s bureaucrats couldn’t silence the troublemaker, they decided to send him back across the pond to jolly old England from whence he came. However, Williams had other ideas and jumped ship and formed what is now known as Rhode Island.

The ultimate crisis of that century unfolded in early 1692, when two girls from Salem, who had been dabbling in the occult, began acting rather odd. A local doctor claimed they were afflicted by the “Devils hand”, which sat the wheels in motion to accuse almost 200 people of practicing witchcraft.

Beginning this madness was the bazaar inexplicable behavior of Betty, daughter of the then village minister, Reverend, Samuel Paris and niece, Abigail Williams. A descendant of the trouble make Roger Williams of 1624, I wonder? By the time the hysteria had spent itself, 24 people had died. Nineteen were hanged on Gallows Hill in Salem, but some died in prison, still clinging to their innocence. Claiming innocence until death was an accused by the name of Giles Corey whom at first pleaded not guilty to the charges of witchcraft and subsequently refused to stand trial. At that time, his refusal meant he could not be convicted legally. However, his examiner chose to subject him to further interrogation by the placing of a stone weight on his body. He survived this brutal torture for two days before dying.

Stay tuned as we take you from Rhode Island through to Washington D.C.

K&G, Somewhere on the Road.

Another worthwhile visit:
If your trip takes you near Corning NY, then you definitely must visit the Corning Museum of Glass. The museum itself includes over 40,000 unique glass items created over 3500 years. From the useful to the artistic expression and both quite often. But it is more than just a museum as they have fun things for the kids and regular demonstations of the art of glass blowing.