August 25, 2008

Monday

END OF SUMMER FUN

The liquid sunshine kept us company most of the night.  It really had been night, getting dark at ten thirty.

It was already daylight when we rose at eight thirty but it was still just forty five degrees.  The Fireweed knows winter is coming even if folks are trying to put it off.  Most of the fireweed has bloomed out and some is already getting the puffy white heads, seeds that will soon blow away leaving just bare stems to greet the first snows.

The coffee and tea were started and then a few notes were set down before we had breakfast.

We didn’t tarry over breakfast as we are leaving Wednesday and there is much to be done to get ready so today and tomorrow will be work days.

Today work continued on sorting things in the basement, taking them out and deciding what could be left for next year and what would have to go home with us.  The basement was gone through thourghly and some things moved from one side to the other. Some of the boxes had the dust removed from them and then repacked, looking for a little extra room wherever it could be found.

It looked like it was the end to the summer fun.

In the late afternoon Onie and I decided to try again for a silver salmon.  Lots more oinks and humpies were landed but no silvers were put on the grate or a stringer.

Folks came by to talk about our leaving, to offer suggestions on where to boon dock and/or buy fuel.  They talked about their leave date and when they expected to be home or in their winter camping spot.

Dwaine had been working on the outside of his coach and fell from the fourth step of his ladder, landing on his lower back on a railroad cross tie that borders his site.  While he didn’t think anything was broken--he refused to go to the E.R.--he was in a lot of pain and was remaining immobile with ice packs on the injured area.  Bonnie was keeping a close eye on him and encouraging him to see a doctor, to no avail.

Back at the coach fishing tackle was sorted and put in proper compartments while some had to be discarded due to hard usage and signs of wear.  It makes no sense to come this far and then lose a good fish over a twenty five cent hook or a ten cent swivel so those that looked tired were discarded.

Supper time came and we ate before turning in to watch a movie.  The satellite dish will come down soon and then it will be DVDs, CDs and radio.

August 26, 2008

Tuesday

STEP MECHANICS

Gary called at eight twenty.  We vaguely remember hearing the phone ring but also remember not getting up to answer it.

We did get up at eight forty.  It was cloudy and a cool fifty four.  Last night we were blessed with more liquid sunshine.

While the coffee and tea were brewing Gary’s call was returned.  He told us Kyle is in his, Kyle’s, new school and enjoying it while making very good grades.  Gary’s fish were scheduled to arrive today, probably after three this afternoon.  The heat in Alabama has finally moderated and the high today, in Harvest, is supposed to be seventy nine.  A friend of Gary’s who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer went on the diet Gary is following.  Six months after starting the diet he is cancer free according to his doctors.  Gary sees more and more proof that a good diet is the key to good health.  He encourages all, who lend an ear, to improve their dietary habits, to eat less meat, dairy products and to go heavy on vegetables and fruit.  All processed food should be shunned.  Gary will be happy to share his knowledge, and he has a lot of it, of how to improve your health through good eating habits.  Email me at: tblomstrom@yahoo.com  for information on how to contact Gary. 

We turned an eye to the weather on TV as hurricane season is upon us, and although we are here, our home and most of the family are in Texas.

Onie checked her email and then turned her laptop over to me so I could check mine.  The signal was lost as soon as I touched the keyboard.

The writer turned his attention to his own laptop where he made some notes and wrote, just a little.

Onie cleaned the kitchen of last night’s dishes and fixed biscuits.

Sonny came by with the honey wagon, attached to his truck, and helped me empty our holding tanks.  He has seen us starting to close up and felt the help would be appreciated and it was.

Dirty clothes filled our basket so Onie was ready to wash them.  The writer helped her get them to the laundry and get them started.  Then he returned to the coach where he began taking everything out of the basement, while fresh water was filling that holding tank.

The screens were removed from the front windows of the coach.  They were still dirty. We had hoped to wash them while they were still on the coach but too much liquid sunshine had prevented that.  They were rolled up and stored in the tubes that had recently been removed from the basement.

 More things from the basement were taken to the storage shed.

Onie helped me move the picnic table away from the coach and then we took the large patio rug to the street where we shook the dirt and gravel from it before laying it out to get the last vestiges of dampness from it.

A break was taken from looking after our things to cover the four-wheeler.  It had been used to pull the honey wagon.  This time when it was covered the key was removed.

Onie and I got our awning put up, under threatening skies that soon began to deliver what they were threatening.  Packing the basement continued with items to go being protected from the falling sunshine by placing them under the coach and open basement doors.

When most items had been stored or protected the writer became the step mechanic.  One will remember it had taken a vacation from working and needed a little prodding to get it back on the job.  While he was under the coach banging knuckles and trying to keep dirt out of his eyes, Sidney came by.  He had seen the feet sticking out from under the coach.  He lowered himself to the ground and joined the step mechanic under the coach.  With his help the job went much faster and easier.  The motor mechanism was removed, the motor coaxed a bit to get it working and then the mechanism was put back in place.  The mechanical step was working again.  It is certainly nice, extremely nice, to have friends who, when they see a need, don’t ask but pitch in to help with even the dirtiest or hardest jobs.  Our neighbors here are like that and we try to reciprocate; however, our ability to help is somewhat limited by our knowledge of what needs to be done but we are learning.

Onie headed off to make one last trip to Three Bears to pick up some special seasonings for our kitchen and for those of some friends and children.

She returned at six with everything she had sought.

While she was gone the coach had the land lines disconnected, the slides pulled in, the jacks retracted and then driven to the lodge where the tires were brought up to proper air pressure.  Then it was taken back next to our site and the power plugged back in.  When Onie returned the Subaru was hooked up and the car shield put on it.  We would be ready to roll at first light.  Whether or not we would was another question.

We had supper at eight, left over salmon and a fresh salad.

Well fed we walked over to Sidney and Barbara’s rig for a little Skip-Bo, at nine.  We walked back home at eleven and were soon fast asleep.

August 27, 2008

Wednesday

ON THE ROAD

We were up at six thirty making coffee and tea, showering while they brewed.

Dressed we began to finish straightening up inside then paused to make some notes and check our email one last time.

Oatmeal and sausage were soon on the table and then soon after that inside us.

We were ready to be on the road but, our friends we were leaving behind came to say one last farewell and to wish us safe travel.  Sonny and Birdie, Sidney and Barbara, Dwaine and Bonnie, Jay and Kay and LaVon all came to the coach and we exchanged hugs and good wishes with all before we closed the door and eased out of the park, at nine ten.

It was up the gravel road to Lou Morgan Road and then on to Scout Lake Loop and from there to its intersection with the Sterling Highway.  There we had a last look at our church home away from home, First Baptist Church, Sterling, before we turned right and headed toward Cooper Landing, Portage, Girdwood, Birdwood, Cook Inlet and Anchorage.  Just where we would be tonight we weren’t sure but wherever it was we would have our home with us.

While thoughts of summer and friends, just left, swirled through our heads the wheels on the coach took us farther away from all of them and the summer.  Soon we settled into our travel mode with the navigator providing direction and the driver keeping us between the white lines. 

The navigator had stopped at Tern Lake after dropping Martha and me off in Seward and had found it quite interesting.  As we neared it, it is at the intersection of the Sterling and Seward Highways, she suggested we stop and see the spawning salmon.  We made the turn off the highway, found a place to park and went to see the salmon.

These are red, or sockeye, salmon, the same salmon we fish for in the Kenai River.  The salmon here were near the end of their life cycle.  Some had already spawned and others were soon to do so.  All of them were bright red and sported big green heads, sure signs of impending death.  We watched as some swam upstream and others were driven backwards, unable to muster the strength to go on or continue.

When we had viewed enough of this happy scene we boarded the coach and headed on toward Anchorage, passing those places mentioned earlier.  Onie brought hot tea to the driver and got herself coffee as we kept pace with the traffic while miles accumulated on the odometer.

In Anchorage we stopped at Fred Meyer on Muldoon, for fuel and salad stuff.  It took just thirty five gallons to fill our tank.  We had averaged nine point two miles per gallon without adjustment for generator time.

We took the freeway out of Anchorage and on to the Glenn Highway where the road surface began to deteriorate.  Our speed which had been fifty nine to sixty one miles per hour now slowed to forty five to fifty and then dropped even more with worsening road surfaces.  As we neared the Matanuska area road construction this became the norm and there were several miles of following pilot cars.   Sometimes there was just a twenty minute wait and others were longer.  Where there wasn’t construction frost heaves and long grades took its place.

Patience and prudence brought us to the Tok Cutoff where the first twelve miles of pavement was very rough, limiting our speed to twenty five to thirty five miles per hour.  In addition to the road conditions it had started raining almost as soon as we left Castaway and had rained intermittently throughout our drive and now continued again.

The further north we got the more reminders there were of the coming winter.  On all sides we saw fireweed that had bloomed out, leaves on trees that were turning color and falling temperatures.  On the surrounding mountains fresh dustings of snow lay at the higher altitudes.  Many rabbits were seen out eating, trying to lie on a little extra fat for the coming cold and a red fox was seen out hunting rabbits, also trying to lay on a little extra insulation against the coming winter. 

The shadows were growing long when we stopped at a turnout at the Slana River at seven ten.

We had logged four hundred three miles in ten hours.  That was a forty mile an hour average and a good first day but there were many many more miles ahead of us.

While the driver was out taking pictures in the fifty one degree weather Onie was fixing supper. When he got in the Marlin there was a salad on the table.  It was followed by black bean tamales and grilled chicken breast.

As we prepared for bed the rain had stopped and had been replaced by cloudy skies.  The weather forecast for Tok was a low of thirty to thirty five.  If the predicted low comes to pass it could snow here.

By eight it was getting dark.  In the dimming light we played a game of dominoes.  Onie finished just ahead of me.

We went to bed at nine thirty.  It was pitch black.

It had been a long but good day.

August 28, 2008

Thursday

TEN HOURS OF BAD ROAD

It was cold last night and when we got up at eight it was still just forty two even though it was partly sunny.

We ran the generator while the coffee and tea brewed and the biscuits baked.  Sausage was in boiling water in a pot on the stove.

While Onie was tending to all that, the driver turned writer and made notes and expanded on some made earlier.

After we had enjoyed our first meal of the day, the driver did his morning check of the outside of the coach and toad.  While he was out he serviced the house batteries, cleaning them and topping off the battery fluid.  Inside Onie cleaned up from breakfast.

A cold driver was glad to be back in the coach and on the road at five after ten. 

At eleven we stopped in Tok to check air pressure in the tires.  There were many miles of rough frost heaved potholed roads ahead and a tire failure due to inadequate air pressure was not something we wanted or needed.

We also took time to call Dish Network to tell them to give us back the local Houston channels and to tell Tracy, Gary, Dawn, Clair and Jim Johnson that we were about to enter Canada and would be unreachable for a few days. Jim had heard a rumor about the cruise ship we are scheduled to be on beginning September seventh.  We called Norwegian Cruise Lines to find out that it was just that, a rumor and unfounded at that.  We called him back to let him know.

Now it was time to be rolling, again.  It was twelve thirty.

Between Tok and the border there were numerous areas where road construction and repair was taking place.  There were many pilot cars, messy and rough roads plus frost heaves galore.  Near Canada, ninety miles from Tok, we stopped at the Border Lodge and RV Park for fuel.  We had averaged nine point three miles per gallon since fueling in Anchorage.  We had left Tok at twelve thirty.  It was now five o’clock.  It had taken four and a half hours to come the ninety miles.  That was an average speed of twenty miles per hour.  If we maintained this average we would be at Lake Road in time for Christmas, maybe.

When we reached Canadian Customs, almost twenty miles inside their border, we were lucky enough to breeze through. 

That was very fortuitous as many more miles, or Canadian kilometers, of challenging road lay in front of us.  Frost heaves big enough to wreck a small car, going any speed at all, along with pavement breaks with loose gravel all interspersed with a generous number of potholes made for interesting driving, to say the least.  Yes, there was rain added to the mixture along with the threat of snow as the outside temps refused to raise from the morning lows.  On the mountains, nearby, we could see fresh snow falling but we kept on keeping on.

Kluane Lake was down the road from us and a distant goal but one we wanted to reach before letting the Cummins rest.

Destruction Bay is a small town; perhaps village would be more accurate, on the north western edge of the lake.  We reached a pullout there at eight.  In our desire to get there we missed a picture of a huge black grizzly just three miles before we stopped.  He was walking along the tree line just thirty feet from where we drove by.

We had driven three hundred sixty six miles since leaving the pullout at the Slana River.  The rain that had been with us several times during the day now rejoined us.

While Onie was preparing supper the driver went outside to remove debris that had collected in the jack pads of the coach.  Too much debris will keep the jacks from retracting completely and can cause damage to the jacks and coach.

In out of the rain the driver joined the navigator for salad and burger cooked with mixed veggies and fresh cabbage, for supper.

When we crossed into Canada we had changed time zones and lost an hour.  The local time was nine even though we thought is was eight.

We had run the generator half an hour while Onie cooked.  With supper out of the way the driver became the writer and made a few notes from which he could hopefully spin tales as time permitted.

At ten thirty, local time, we went to bed.

Outside it was forty two and almost completely dark.

August 29, 2008

Friday

SWIFT RIVER REPRISE

Our internal clocks told us it was twenty minutes to eight when we woke but the Canadian clock said it was twenty minutes ‘til nine.

Outside the temperature had risen from its low of thirty nine to a toasty forty five.  Brilliant sunshine bathed the distant snow capped Kluane Mountains.  Kluane Lake sparkled between us and them.  It was another great morning to be alive.

Onie started the coffee and tea while the writer poked his head outside to take a picture.

The skillet on the stove in front of Onie held what would soon be our breakfast, eggs, bacon, onions and potatoes.  The microwave heated the tortillas.  It was quite a breakfast.

While Onie did her morning clean up I did my morning walk around in the forty six degree sunshine.  It was cool and little did we know we wouldn’t see any greater warmth, if that is warmth, all day.

Ten minutes after we had left our parking spot, ten fifteen, we were sitting in a line of traffic waiting for a pilot car. Road construction, including extensive blasting, continues around Kluane Lake.  The road is being realigned, straightened and leveled, and in the process is losing much of its charm and wild character but it will be safer and an easier drive.  The men and women who constructed this road would not recognize it today.

After a fifteen minute wait we began a five mile trek through and across such mud, muck, rock and gravel as to test one’s belief had one not been there to see and experience it.  At the end of the five miles the car and coach were a strange burnt sienna over white with a little gray mud sprinkled here and there.

On some of the newer road we picked up speed and by noon we had made ninety miles and were coasting down the hill into Haines Junction.  At the bottom of the hill was Kluane RV Park, a place we have stayed on more than one occasion.  Today we stopped in to wash down the toad and coach.  We got ten dollars worth of Loonies and headed for the wash station.  Fifty minutes and eight loons later we were on the road again, cleaner if not spic and span.

Now we had Whitehorse in our sights.  All around us were snow covered mountains and falling on us was abundant amounts of liquid sunshine with a little sleet mixed in from time to time.  The hillsides on the mountains were clothed in the many colors of fall.

Whitehorse must have city fathers that have visions of grandeur as they have extended the city limits way out into the forest side.  Just how much tax the black spruce and paper bark birch that have been incorporated into the city can pay is a good question and how much tax value can be assessed against them is yet another question that we will never have an answer to but we do know the city limits now include these residents.  The city fathers apparently think these trees may decide to cross the road someday, to join the chickens that may do the same, and accordingly have reduced the speed limit on the road so far out of town that by the time one gets to town it is anticlimactic.  Since it is anticlimactic we cruised right on through without so much as a fare thee well.

As we were picking up speed the airport passed out of sight in the rear view mirror.

Soon the city sights were exchanged for the prettier and more pristine view of the Yukon River and Marsh Lake, a twenty mile long lake that is part of the Yukon River system.

Earlier in the day, as well as yesterday and the day before, we had passed some ponds holding swans.  Now we saw some more as well as ducks.

In the draws, western for dell, we saw signs of beaver activity; dams, ponds and runs.

With much improved roads the cruise control was engaged for the first time since leaving Castaway.  The driver settled back hardly having to be ever on guard for frost heaves or pavement breaks.  He even let his eyes wander, just a bit.  They wandered to the mountains, the snow, the clouds, the few remaining wild flowers, the bar ditch between the new road and the old and low and behold, a six point buck and a doe were eating there.  We were going too fast for Onie to get a picture but she did see them before we shot past at sixty one miles an hour.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her trigger finger twitch.  Hunting season can’t be far off.

Music had kept us company most of the afternoon and now Onie selected some inspirational music for us to hear and sing a long too.  It was still playing when we topped the hill and looked down on Swift River and our turnout for the night.  The regular readers may remember we stayed here last year on the way back to Coldspring and this year on the way to our appointment with the fish.

The driver engaged the exhaust brake, put on the turn signal, braked and turned in.  After a couple of false starts we found a level spot, stopped, put down the jacks, put Onie’s closet slide, out, and shut the Cummins off.  It was six ten.  We had driven three hundred twenty miles and had made good time doing it.  We were glad to be at rest.

Onie sat down to read and the driver turned writer and put down these few lines. With twilight descending Onie rose to proof read this story and then started our evening meal.  Salad, smoked brisket, from Lake Road, fresh broccoli, where she picked it is unknown as we haven’t darkened the doors of a store in three days, and sautéed onions made up our humble repast.

At eight thirty we played a game of dominoes and then retired.

We had neighbors.  A fifth wheel rig had pulled in after us and taken up residence across the gravel pit.

August 30, 2008

Saturday

I’LL TAKE REDS

We were near the continental divide and at these altitudes it can get very cold very quickly.  Last night it didn’t happen but it was thirty one at three o’clock this morning.

When the driver rose at eight thirty to start the generator, coffee, tea and the electric and coach heaters it was thirty four.

While the coffee and tea brewed the driver sought the warmth of the bed, again, but rose at nine to fetch Onie some coffee.  While she was waking he put buckwheat cakes and sausage on the table, for breakfast.

Another rig had joined us last night, a class C motor home.   While we ate we could hear their generator running as well as that of the fifth wheel.

When we left at ten thirty we had gone a short distance before seeing the ominous orange sign with that word “CONSTRUCTION’, on it.

We navigate that peril and had just picked up speed when we saw a flock of ravens circling next to the road and some sitting on the shoulder.  It was brunch time for them.  A bison calf had been hit by a vehicle and lay rotting next to the moving traffic.  Our passing within five feet of the diners did nothing to move them from their meal.

Around a curve, over a hill and down in a valley on a small lake a pair of geese led their almost grown youngsters out for a morning swim and perhaps some flying lessons.

Lunch time brought out the salmon salad and a half of green bell pepper.  We, as others in camp, had been experimenting with pink salmon, due to the scarcity of the reds this year. Onie had used a pink in making the salad.  Now we have all eaten our share of pink salmon.  It is what usually comes in a can and my mother made many a salmon croquette, during the Big War, and the family had eaten them and been glad to have them.  That was before we had eaten reds and had a choice.  Without further discussion I will say “I’ll take reds”.

While we were driving and eating the rain turned to sleet. Fortunately the road was too warm for the ice and it melted on contact.  Still, on the mountains, we could see snow falling and it was sticking.  We figure in a few weeks it will be down to this elevation. 

Even though there is snow on the mountains and sleet in the air most of the trees here are still a vibrant green.

Another red fox caught Onie’s eye as it approached the road and waited for us to pass.  The driver missed seeing it but he did see the bison that were near the road in several places.

It was four o’clock when we turned into Liard Hot Springs Park.  We paid our entry fee, parked, changed into our bathing suits and went to soak the aching and tightness out of some muscles.

An hour later, the hot sulfur laden water having done its magic, we were back in the Marlin, shedding our wet suits and getting back into dry clothes.

At five twenty we were back on the road, facing more construction and loose patches of gravel.  Why they have to have the patches loose is beyond me.  It seems they could sew them down a little better.  My mother never had loose patches on our clothes and we had plenty of patched clothes growing up.   We hadn’t driven over many of these defective loose patches before we came to our next pilot car.  After the allotted wait for the car we followed it for five miles before being released to find more loose patches to be negotiated.

Eventually we reached Muncho Lake where we saw a moose with her calf.

Summit Lake is not many miles from Muncho and when we got there we saw more moose as well as caribou.

We kept driving until we found a nice double ended turnout at eight twenty.  Again we had managed over three hundred miles, three hundred twenty two to be exact, in spite of roads that left something to be desired.

.

Onie was quick to move to her kitchen and fix our supper; tomato and avocado, brisket and onions and Brussel sprouts.

The driver, turned mechanic, worked on the step.  It was very dirty with accumulated dirt, mud, grime and gravel.  The joints were cleaned and greased.  It seemed to work a little better. The thirty eight degrees made the driver work fast.

By nine o’clock it was as dark as a grave.  Inside the lights were on as we ate supper, finishing at nine thirty when the driver became the writer.

Notes and pecking took place until ten when we turned in.

August 31, 2008

Sunday

TEN DEGREES

Outside in the bright sunshine it was a frigid thirty one.  Inside the coach it was a balmy forty one.  The driver, soon to be cook, just out of bed at seven forty five made an executive decision; thirty one outside was fine but forty one inside was a bit too chilly, for Onie.  He started the generator, turned on the heater and then the coffee pot.  The heater would warm Onie’s outside and the coffee her inside.  It also melted the ice that had formed on the roof of the Marlin and the water ran down the windshield, streaking it.

Notes were made while the coffee and tea brewed.  When the coffee was ready Onie had a cup, in bed.

Liberty toast was on the menu so the writer put down his laptop and began preparing his secret concoction in which to soak the bread.  Sausage was retrieved from the fridge, to be heated in the microwave.

After breakfast while Onie was getting dressed the driver went out to give a little attention to the automatic steps.  Their working had been somewhat touch and go for a couple of days and he had an idea about what might make them more go than touch.  Retrieving his socket wrenches from the basement he tightened the nuts that hold the entire mechanism in place.  With the grease that had been applied last night it seemed that the step was working a little better if still somewhat noisily.  Some more thought would have to go into how to quieten it down.

Perhaps we would be on the road by nine or nine thirty.

It was nine thirty when the wheels on the Marlin began turning and we were southbound once again.

We had seen a lot of animals last evening but this morning they were all still in the woods or back in the woods, take your choice.

Roads in this area are always iffy.  That is, one doesn’t know it there will be a passable road or just a facsimile.  Roads can be asphalt, preferred, gravel and or rock and mud, least desired, or a mixture of all three.  In addition they can be smooth, preferred, frost heaved, potholed, rutted or washboard or a combination of all of the above; this morning we encountered the latter, all of the above.  In addition there was the pilot car to contend with as well as the delays and that was just in the first twenty miles.

Somehow through the years the driver has managed to gain a modicum of patience and the last few days has seen it put to good use.

The road over, around and past the mountains, the clouds enshrouding the snowy mountain peaks, the valleys blanketed with clouds and the possibility that we may see an animal kept us entertained as the miles rolled by.

The sporadic liquid sunshine kept the driver alert and the navigator in a quiet mood.

Gospel music played until it was silenced for a reading, by the navigator, of the first chapter of the book of Proverbs.  Then we discussed the passages before returning to more music.

The miles, hills and mountains rolled by with the hours.  In the afternoon we neared Ft. St. John.  Just beyond lay the Peace River, the four mile descent down to the bridge and the seven mile, ten percent grade, climb out.

The navigator suggested we take an alternate route.  It lay to the west, highway twenty nine, and would take us through the Peace River Valley and on in to Chetwynd where we might find a campground with full hookups.  It had been several days since we had washed our hair and had a long soaking shower.  The prospects were too good to pass up.  We made the turn onto highway twenty nine.

At first the road seemed very unpromising but a few kilometers into it, it proved to be a very good surface if not quite as wide as the one we had left.  Since this might be considered a secondary road, a road less traveled, we had anticipated less traffic; wrong!  Whatever or wherever the rest of the folks from British Columbia had gone on this Labor Day weekend, many of them had decided to come to the Valley and its many fishing and camping opportunities.  It is truly a beautiful place, full of woods, farmlands, pastures, babbling brooks, singing rivers and wildlife.  We had gone but a short distance when we saw the first of many mule deer, in a field.  The next one was in a front yard eating in the vegetable garden.  In Coldspring it would have been a short trip from the vegetable garden to the supper table. 

While this route had bypassed the descent and climb and out on highway ninety seven it had plenty of its own ten percent grades to offer.  The Cummins and Allison took them in stride, braking us down hill and powering us up with never a complaint.  At one point we passed the six hundred feet high dam, earth filled, that houses a hydro plant that furnishes one third the electric power used in B.C.  A suspension bridge crosses the river below the dam.

Once this point is reached it is but a little while before one arrives in Chetwynd.  Our first attempt at finding a park with full hookups was not a success but our second one was.  We pulled in, leveled up and then the driver became the land line guy while Onie stayed inside and put out the slides and started supper.

Under threatening skies and in forty eight degree air the power, water and sewer were connected.  The step was given a cursory inspection and since the ground underneath was wet and the air around it was cold and the sky was threatening to open up, the hookup man became the man waiting for supper.

The salad, and a good one it was, was ready to be set on the table.  It was followed by an Onie creation of chicken, onion, mushroom soup, tomatoes and a little love blended with rice.  It was delicious and after two servings the man waiting for supper was full.

Now it was Onie’s turn to enjoy a long shower before retiring to watch a movie.  The keyboard beckoned the writer and he settled in to inscribe a few lines before joining Onie for the balance of the movie.  That wasn’t to be as the movie was over before the inscribing.

It had been a good day.  It had started early, for us, and ended early, for us.  We had risen before eight and had quit the road before seven.  We had logged exactly four hundred miles.

The writer closed the keyboard at twelve fifteen.