HALFWAY: PART ONE OF TWO

Well, today, Leap Day, I am halfway through my one year adventure.  I celebrated February 29th by taking a 29 mile round trip bike ride to Pompano Beach to symbolically dip my toes into the Atlantic Ocean, as far from home as I am likely to be, unless I get excited and drive the 193 miles down to Key West.

I'm awash with thoughts and feelings about this whole thing, today. Looking back, it's clear that, as much as I planned ahead, I threw myself into unknown water on the first day and struggled, gasping for air, to find out what it's all about.

I'd made a list of things to focus on during my trip, and have discovered that some were the right things, some were not, some were in focus and some out, and that there are a number of things that I've come to focus on that were not part of my plan.  But first, a digression.

Fortunately and unfortunately, my first month (September) was spent in the company of the incomparable Kelly O'Connor, my neighbor and close friend, whom I had promised to escort to Yellowstone and other national parks on a sort of a shakedown cruise.  He met me in Markleeville and we headed east on Highway 50, "The Loneliest Highway in America," with my Suzuki 400 motor scooter on a rack on the back of the RV.  The Suzuki was a replacement for my Yamaha 50, which was too big and too heavy.

Kelly had been struggling with dependency on unbelievably huge amounts of Oxycodone, Methadone, Valium, Prednesone, and a pharmacy of other drugs as a consequence of ependymoma, a cancer of the spinal cord, and had recently been approved for SSI permanent disability payments.  Since this is not enough to live on in the Bay Area, he decided to live in India or Bali, where he'd spent some fabulous years after college.  Of course, he thought, one cannot live on heavy drugs overseas, so it seemed wise, to him, to quit.  Cold turkey.  The day before we left.

So...the first week was great.  He had more psychic energy than he'd had in years; years spent mostly sleeping or sleepwalking.  Unfortunately, he also had massive, roaring diarrhea, which always struck five minutes after we passed the last gas station for (fill in the blank) miles.  He actually broke the toilet valve at the base of the unit in one of his frantic lurches to connect in time.  We had wet carpet until we got back to Markleeville.

He did not have any phyical energy, though.  He couldn't walk from the RV to a restaurant or store--I had to drop him off and then park.  He couldn't cook, clean, carry, anything.  But he was great company.  At first.

We did some great things.  We went to Dinosaur National Monument, Flaming Gorge, Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, some place where volcanos had transformed the landscape (the name escapes me), and the bridge over the Snake River Canyon, at Twin Falls Idaho.  It was there I BASE jumped the 486 feet down to the canyon floor and climbed back out again.  For those who keep asking, it was a parachute jump, not a bungee jump.

We did have a few issues along the way.  The electrical system failed several times, necessitating a mobile RV repair, and since we couldn't figure out the awning we screwed it up (later repaired).  We had trouble with the main door, which had been damaged by being caught in the wind previously, and we had other miscellaneous issues.  It was, after all, a shakedown cruise, and issues are to be expected as you get used to your mode of transportation.  The biggest issue was that the Suzki was also too heavy for the rack and bent it, almost falling free on the highway.  After spending $5k on cycles, gear, and the rack, I said the hell with it, and have been happily traveling by bicycle ever since.  I highly recommend it to all you full-timers out there.  If it rains or snows, stay inside.

But Kelly--Lord, was he funny.  I've never in my life met anyone who could tell a story or work a room as well as him, and he kept me in stitches (along with everyone we met).  With the passing of the days, though, a darker side came out.  As the drugs faded from his system, his behavior became more and more bizarre.  It finally got to the point where he would spend four hours in a manic description of all the things he thought were happening to him, and then drop into a kind of catatonic state where he wouldn't move or talk. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying, and I told him so; he snapped back that, ""If you were in my head and could hear and see the things I can, you'd understand!"  Since the change didn't happen all at once I wasn't sure of what I was seeing, but eventually it became clear that I needed to get him home.

When I got him back to Marin County I called his brother in Cleveland, and he flew out the next day.  He took Kelly to his regular physician, who immediately had him committed for what ended up being five weeks.  He was put on a regimen of anti-psychotic drugs and is doing better.

Bottom line for me--all my plans went out the window.

It was after I left Kelly behind that my trip really began, as far as I'm concerned.  That's when the aloneness and self-reliance of it all began to hit me. 

My list of daily items, as planned ahead:

meditate
stretch
learn Spanish
lift weights (dumbells)
do aerobics (bike, sprint, jog)
play basketball at every opportunity
eat healthy (no junk)
answer all my email
spend $40 or less

I planned on spending maybe four hours a day on all that stuff.  Since I was alone and my schedule was my own, I couldn't think of any reason why I wouldn't be able to stick to it.  I started off well, with Kelly, but as his condition deteriorated, my attention to the list also deteriorated.  Like a good Catholic, once I sinned, it was "Oh, well..."  I tossed my goals out like New Year's resolutions; or, perhaps, like beads off a Mardi Gras float.

It wasn't a complete breakdown--I've learned that doing something is better than nothing.  Meditation went first.  Same with stretching.  I was doing specific stretches because it ameliorated my back problems and prevented pulled leg muscles, but when the problems went away, so did the stretches.  Since the problems have returned, so have the stretches. It's like flossing--if you don't do it until you see why you need to do it by the damage done, it's kind of too late.  I've always been a slow learner with this sort of thing; a repeat learner, too.

Spanish went out the window too.  Interestingly enough, my Mom (who has never been ANYWHERE) has taken to heart a playful suggestion that we visit Europe in the fall and applied for a passport.  We decided on a week in Ireland and a week in Paris, so I'm planning to bone up on my high school French for the trip.  I like French better than Spanish anyway.  We'll see if I stick to it.

I'm happy to say that I've been pretty faithful to the weights and aerobics.  I've always been an exercise guy, and I guess I always will be.  I just HATE the feeling of not being able to run across the street or the feeling of not being able to lift something.  I hate the general feeling of being in poor condition worse than anything.

I did play basketball at every opportunity.  When I saw a court, I'd stop and shoot, and if anyone was around, I'd always get up a game if they were up for it.  In Texas, I had the opportunity to play in a few private club gymnasiums, and I'd play full court whenever possible.  Sadly, with the last couple of games I found myself with knee pain and pulled muscles, and since I couldn't do what I wanted to on the court and could see these lingering injuries lasting, I reluctantly decided that, now I've turned 63, I guess I'm done. That's simply said, but it's an amazingly difficult thing to accept since basketball has been a central part of my life since I was 13, as anyone who knows me will attest.

Healthy eating comes and goes, symmetrical with (to?) my emotional state of well-being, I think.  Since I'm very harsh with myself and anxious to do/say the right things around others, I tend to mindlessly devour junk food to comfort myself at too many points.  I've learned to look at that behavior as a yardstick of how I'm feeling about myself rather than as a discipline in and of itself.

Email--at least I LOOK at my email every day, and I answer the critical ones.  I thought I would be more dliligent that that, but I'm not.

The $40/day seems to have dropped from my consciousness too, because there is always some exception that necessitates spending.  I'm more mindful when I do spend money, though.  A lot more mindful, actually. 

I found myself doing a lot of reading, a lot of sleeping, and a lot of bike riding.  Everywhere I went, I would jump on the bike and just ride around, looking and listening. In the past I learned, from moving to several different cities by myself as a young adult, that doing new things and talking to new people eventually turns up something unexpectedly great. It's like trudging to the plate when you don't get very many hits--maybe sometime you'll hit a grand slam. (That actually happened to me when I was 13--one of only two hits I got that year.)

One other (critical) thing I forgot about when I made the above list of daily items as planned:  I had made a note (literally) to tolerate my feelings: loneliness, fear, doubt, uncertainty, anxiety, anger...and also joy, exuberance, happiness, love...I am delighted to report that this was the most successful aspect of the trip.  Being alone, I was able to identify and experience my feelings, and more than at any other time in my life, I've been okay with them.  It's been extremely helpful to be able to stay in contact with people by telephone and computer; keeps perspective. I speak often with my children and, most particularly, with my loving and patient companion at home, Jeane.  I talk with the kids once a week or so, but I talk with Jeane virtually every day.  In some ways, the separation has made us closer.  We did spend three weeks together over the Christmas holidays and are planning another week together in Pittsburgh in early April. 

Regarding the people I've met--some are family, and some are friends with whom I've become very close as a product of my visit with them on this trip.  I was always the guy in charge, in the position of responsiblity, so I always kept it all together.  I'm more open, more vulnerable, now, than I've ever been, and I see the beauty of that in the way I'm able to relate to people as a consequence.  I've been extremely well treated on this journey, and I'm grateful.  I've learned to accept, which has always been hard for me.  People like to give, and someone has to receive to let that gift happen.  I've decided to do that, and in spite of the dificulty of it, the results have been outstanding.  Even though I'd like to list all you givers here, I can't, but you know who you are.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Oddly enough, I'm more in communication with my friends and my family than I've ever been. Without boring you with details, let me say that I grew up intellectualizing my communication instead of being in touch with my feelings, and being not at all empathetic.  Spending years with Diana helped change me in that regard (how could it not?), and this trip is doing the same.  I've put myself in situations where I can't bail out to go do something busy, and it's been good for me.  I'm slowing down.  I'm on Facebook, I email, I text, and I telephone.  I'm in touch. 

I do notice that I actually like spending a lot of time alone.  Like most introverts, I've always felt I "should" be more outgoing, more interested in being with other people, but sometimes, I'm just not.  This trip has been great in that regard.  I reach out when I want to, and if I don't want to, I stay within myself.  Works pretty well, I'd say, when coupled with my mindfulness in tolerating emotions.

Best things about the first half of the trip, in no particular order:

Reconnecting with friends and family.
People watching.  I started blogging about some of the interesting people I met but haven't kept up.  I should.
Trying new things: base jumping, Mardi Gras, Museum of Musical Instruments, and more.  I always say yes.
       (Almost always--I had the chance to go alligator hunting right after Mardi Gras, but timing didn't work.)
Mastering the RV.
Learning to like being alone.
Learning to accept my feelings.
Putting myself in unexpected situations and being open to whatever happens.
Learning to blog and sticking with it.
The warm and loving feedback I get from family, friends, and new acquaintances, for what I'm doing.
The feeling of success that comes from taking a bold step and following through with it.
Learning to appreciate and feel appreciated by Jeane.
The opportunity to prioritize.
Falling in love with my five children in a deeper, more meaningful way, than ever.
Accepting what is.
Becoming less critical and less judgmental.

I'm feeling like there is more here I'd like to say, so I'll be back to edit and repost this.

TOMORROW: THE SECOND HALF

MARDI GRAS AND MORE

Austin arrived in Tampa on Friday February 17th, and at 6:30 a.m. we set out in the RV for Bay Saint Louis and Mardi Gras.  We were having such a great time we drove straight through and made 600 miles in 10.5 hours.  Friday night we went to the Silver Slipper Buffet.  Austin tried a little of everything and found some clear favorites, but he didn't do any damage at all, especially not when compared with the 400 pounders chowing down.

Saturday was a rainy day.  In the evening we went to see Wolfman Washington play the blues.  My friend Todd and his buddy Steve arrived around 9 and we went to another casino and another buffet (easy to eat your way around Louisiana and Mississippi.)  Todd's cousin Herschel and his son Shel arrived early the next day with $3,600 in beads towed in a trailer.  Todd, Steve and Herschel planned to be on a float for the Orpheus Krewe on Monday night and wanted to be sure to have plenty of quality beads to toss.

Sunday morning Austin and I drove into New Orleans.  As we walked the streets and stood at the ubiquitous parade, Austin started to lose his spirits.  He wished he hadn't come and wanted to be back home.  He can be quite introverted at this point in his life, and often, when he makes a choice, jumps into it but then second guesses himself.  He began to withdraw.  We did, however, spend some decent time observing the parade of the day, the Bacchus Krewe.  Great floats.

On Monday, the three float riders departed at about 7 a.m.  Austin, Shel and I departed for New Orleans in a car thoughtfully provided by Todd's delightful mother, Carmen, and after dropping Shel off at Carmen's, Austin and I headed into New Orleans again.

It was a long day. We had our tuxedos with us and planned to join the others at an invitation only black tie event at the Convention Center between 6:30 and 9, but Austin was getting more and more morose.  The hell with that, I decided, and as we wandered the city I started having fun looking at all the characters and absorbing the babel of sounds and the mesmerizing whirl of humanity.

We made it up to Bourbon Street, and also to the Riverwalk.  At Riverwalk, Austin stated that he wanted to sit and be alone for a while, and told me he'd be fine if I continued to move about and enjoy myself.  I did.

When we reconnected, it was about 4:30 and we still had hours to kill, so I suggested we go to a bookstore and read or pick out some books.  We found an ideal bookstore near Bourbon Street and spent about 45 minutes browsing but didn't buy anything; it did, however, settle Austin a little, and he suggested we visit Bourbon Street again.

The highlight of that visit was reached when we saw a balcony full of women making young men in the street do pushups for beads.  These guys were cracking off 20-50 pushups for their beads.  I walked up below the balcony and waved at the ladies, then slowly got to my knees and down on the ground.  I staged three shaky pushups and made a great show of getting up slowly, and was rewarded with the best illuminated beads yet.  Take that, you young bucks!

On the way back to the Convention Center, we stopped to pick up a bottle of vodka for Austin (byob), and he took a couple of belts as we walked.  He loosened up quickly, which is one of his dearest wishes, and for the rest of the evening he had a wonderful time and was as outgoing as I had ever seen him. 

We changed into our tuxedos in the parking lot, and entered the Convention Center.  This huge space was divided by lanes where the entire parade would enter, travel through and turn, and back again to exit, passing directly in front of all the tables where the party goers in their tuxedos and gowns waited.  This is the best way to see a Mardi Gras parade; nothing like seeing folks in evening wear shouting and begging for plastic beads.  It's really quite undignified, and yet, somehow...

 I don't have a clue as to the cost because Todd refused to hear about reimbursement for the tickets.

At midnight Bret Michaels performed on stage, and after him, Cindy Lauper.  Quite a night.

I've got more photos, from a real camera, and I'll post them here when I figure out how.

Next morning Austin and I headed back on a two day trip to Tampa. 

If you've never spent a couple days alone with Austin, I recommend it.  Kid's a jewel.

REFLECTIONS

Been in Florida for three weeks now, going on four; a real whirlwind, oddly enough.  I spent a few days with my niece Christal and her significant other, Josh, and then a few days with my old friend from summer camp, Lon, and his family (Sally, Caleb, and Lindsey.)  After that, I drove down to Lake Placid and have spent more than two weeks with my Mom and my sister Pat, fitting in the trip to Sebring International Raceway.  Now I'm in a rundown trailer park in Tampa, waiting for my son Austin to arrive in the (very) early morning for our trip to Mardi Gras.

It's been interesting to go through these different iterations.  I have a little bit of difficulty in meeting up with people, even though I like them.  I'm basically an introvert, and sometimes I have to encourage myself to get out with people when my natural inclination is to do things alone.  I wouldn't say I'm shy, exactly, but it feels like that sometime.  I'm grateful to have been made welcome everywhere I've been and have used the experiences I've had to further personal growth.

Staying at Mom's was very different.  I felt at home in a familiar way, which was helped by the calm quiet in the house and the neighborhood.  I used the time to catch up on stuff like tax preparation and other business odds and ends, and to ride my bike about fifteen miles a day and to swim.  I actually got up to a mile a day, which is a big deal for me as I've never been a swimmer.

I have mixed feelings about the lifestyle at my Mom's community of Covered Bridge, which is an over 55 gated community outside a small town in the center of Florida.  You can buy half of a duplex for around $70k and live very well there on a limited budget.  My Uncle Jack lives there, and he says his house costs him less than $400/month including taxes, insurance, HOA dues, cable, phone, utilities, and maintenance (like a new roof).  There is a clubhouse, a rec room with exercise equipment and pool tables, a shuffleboard court, a library, a pool and spa, and more, all included.  Lawn care and more that I can't remember are also included.  HOA for all of that and common area maintenance is $85/month, less than I paid for cable TV at home.

My grandmother lived there until she passed away at 103.  She averred, "There's something to be said for living where the sun is always shining and the people are always smiling."  Both parts of that statement are true for this community.  I enjoyed the quiet, the swimming, the library, and everything else.

And yet...I found myself fretting about waking up each day with no goals other than to enjoy myself and to stave off deterioration.  I don't know if I could do that.  The idea of living with few cares and few expenses is very appealing, but I don't know if I would be running TO something or running AWAY from something.

Arriving here in Tampa is actually a bit of a shock.  This RV park, while close to the airport and therefore suiting my immediate needs, is in a very seedy neighborhood.  The park was here first, since the 1920s, when there was nothing here but a two lane dirt road.  Mobile home parks with worn out single wides dot the area, and the stick built or concrete block houses here are old and tired.  Dollar stores, bars, and convenience stores fill in the corners, and people of various races and colors wait quietly for the bus in between the corners. 

Lately, I've been hanging out with people with homes on lakes, people who race sports cars, and people who live quiet retirement lives.  It's remarkably and coldly evident that none of those things are remotely on the radar screen of the folks in this neighborhood.  They might as well expect to live on the moon.

I've only glimpsed the lives of the 1% on this trip.  In Pacific Palisades I visited people in neighborhoods occupied by such luminaries as Sugar Ray Leonard and Eddie Murphy, and I brushed shoulders with multimillionaires at the Sebring Racetrack.  Funny, but the gritty reality of these Tampa streets seems less foreign to me than the lives of those people.

Being alone again after several weeks of being with friends and family is bracingly different.

Tomorrow Austin arrives to spend five days with me.  I am TOTALLY ready to be with him.

SEBRING INTERNATIONAL RACEWAY

They say a sailboat is a hole in the water into which you throw money.  Porsche racing, even at Club level, is a moving target that you throw dollars at, and watch the dollars fly away in the furious breeze in the wake of money burning, stomach churning, thrill earning sports cars.

Porsche clubs exist all over the country, for the benefit of fanatics who love the feeling of racing through winding turns and short straightaways at speeds approaching 200 miles per hour.  There are no cash prizes, only trophies, but aficionados are willing to spend as much as three million a year to compete.  It's overwhelmingly a white man's sport, but there are women drivers like my niece Christal, who competes at Sebring Iternational Raceway in Florida.  Florida has two clubs, one in South Florida and one in Tampa area.  My brother, Dan, is past president of the South Florida club and is current chairman of the biggest club race in the country, just completed at Sebring.

Sebring International is a 3+ mile track on a former airport, and the track surface has all the charm and smoothness you would expect from old concrete at an out of service airport.  The track winds around a central area called the Paddock, which has structures housing the services needed to facilitate the 400+ cars that showed up from all over the country for this February 2nd-5th event.  There were virtually no spectators other than those invited by participants; the public races at this track, on the other hand, can have 100,000 spectators.

My brother, my niece, and her boyfriend Josh arrived on Wednesday to prepare for the onslaught.  Although trucks and cars were lined up at the entrance for perhaps a mile, no one was allowed in except the volunteers preparing the site until 5 pm.  At that point, the narrow bridge into the Paddock opened to a steady stream of trucks, 5th wheels, and RVs that turned an abandoned airport runway into an open air bazaar.

Wednesday before the gates opened.



Thursday morning.

Josh put it exactly right.  He said, "It's a slippery slope."  You buy a car, and next thing you know you need tires.  Then a muffler.  Then a helmet and a fire suit.  Then a new motor.  A trailer.  A fender.  The cost of every item is astonishing--five thousand dollar wheels, ten dollar per gallon high octane gas--and it never ends.

Some of the setups have to be seen to be believed.  There are custom Peterbilts towing custom rigs, with full shops on the first level and as many as four racecars on the second.  Lifts rise to allow the cars out.  Many of these rigs are brought to the site by specialists and mechanics who travel with the cars, fine tuning and preparing them so that the drivers need only hop in and race. 


A tow vehicle.



Inside a rig.



The guys who drive these cars fall into two main camps.  There are those who drive cars towed to the site by employees are neurosurgeons, real estate developers, and other millionaires who don't mind dropping a hundred thousand for a chance to win a trophy.  Others, like my brother, buy a car for $16k and work on it themselves, paying the $2,500 entry fee by volunteering at the event.  Doesn't seem to make much difference in the fraternity.

That's really what Club racing is--a brotherhood.  The participants, particularly the many volunteers who make it all work, get together whenever possible to talk a jargon that can be unintelligible to outsiders, and to drive at breathtaking speeds around and around and around a track that takes less than three minutes and sometimes less than two to circumnavigate.  The sound, the smells, the camaraderie--it's like nothing I've ever seen.




Dan in his car before the races.



Lined up to go out.



Dan on Turn 17.  Took four tries to get this shot.



Christal in her car; Dan working on the wheel.

The sound can be overwhelming.  While I waited for Dan on Turn 17 I was nearly deafened by a few cars in particular.  With all the action, the sound, and the heat--not to mention the expense--ya gotta love it.

I cannot see myself in this world.  First of all, I have little or no mechanical aptitude, and even less patience for this kind of stuff.  You have to be willing to spend hours on concrete, working with recalcitrant metals for minimal reward, at great expense.  I don't get it.  I would be banging my knuckles on the car and banging my head against the wall.  Some people have an intuitive understanding of mechanics; they look at something and see how it works.  My sons Tom and Owen have that.  Diana had it.  I do not.

Second, the sensory overload caused by the sound, sight and smell is overwhelming to me.  Add to that the sheer number of personal interactions on a moment to moment basis and I'm up against the wall.  I was able to cope by disassociating myself from it all and floating about as an observer, but while I see the joy and passion of the members of this subculture, becoming a participant is as foreign an idea to me as is joining the army.

                                

TAMPA/SAINT PETERSBURG

Tampa is very different from St. Petersburg.  Tampa seems to be all business, with an international airport and a highrise downtown and freeways woven around them.  St. Pete is more laid back.  It used to be known as a haven for retirees but seems to be reinventing itself, with a thriving downtown featuring restaurants and other nightlife that attracts younger people these days.  The buildings are lower and older than Tampa's downtown, but they have a charm that Tampa lacks.


Christal and Josh in front of a classic post office featuring accessable outdoor PO boxes

All St. Pete's seems to be bike country.  I envisioned touring and examining the city on my bicycle, but I didn't give myself enough time.

My niece Christal and her significant other, Josh, were my gracious hosts in town.  Their driveway is long enough to park my RV (and then some), so I left it there for a few days.  Christal is a helicopter pilot for a private firm that does charters, scenic flights, and government work. 


Christal at the manned helicopter

One of her jobs is to fly unmanned helicopters under a government contract.  She sits in front of a computer monitor in a cushioned chair, in a modified van at the airport in St. Pete, and flies the helicopter wherever it needs to go.  Cameras on various parts of the copter allow her to see what the copter pilot would see, and she sends it where it needs to go.  Kind of spooky to me; I would be afraid there was something I'm not seeing.  She is quite laid back about it.


Unmanned helicopters being refitted

Josh is also certified to fly helicopters but works instead for a charter air company at the same airport.  He teaches people to become pilots (he taught Christal to fly) and also flies passengers, for scenic tours, photography, etc.  One of his coolest assignments was delivering a plane to Brazil.  He and Christal talk about moving to Brazil to fly someday.  Josh is also exploring the idea of taking over ownership of the charter company someday.

We hung out at the house and slandered our relatives for a few days, and also went to downtown St. Pete's to an excellent Indian restaurant.  One of the great things we did, which caught me completely by surprise, was to stand in front of the Princess Martha Hotel.  When my father was in the army in World War II, he was in basic training at a camp in the south that suffered a massive epidemic of pneumonia due to squalid conditions in a rainy winter.  Hundreds died, and thousands had to be hospitalized; so many, in fact, that the hospitals were overwhelmed and began sending soldiers to hotels.  I had heard the story from my dad but didn't know the details.  Christal had taken the time to find out which hotel and to locate it.  Certainly brought home the reality of that incident and that period of dad's life.

My brother Michael made it a point to drive from Orlando to Tampa to spend a couple of days with me.  Michael is a true extrovert, and loves nothing more than entertaining anywhere from one to four hundred people.  Since his job for NetApp entails exactly that, he is living the life that suits him.  He gave me the lowdown on Tampa while we were there, and we ate breakfast, lunch and dinner out, for two days.  Whoof!



Mike is at the right

Over the weekend I had a chance to spend a couple days with my friend Lon in Tampa.  Lon was a camper in a sleep-away camp that I worked at as a counselor in the early '70s.  The campers would spend eight weeks in the mountains near the Delaware River, and Lon, who was 8-10 at the time, enjoyed it enough to hunt me down on Facebook nearly 40 years later.  He and his wife Sally welcomed me and we spent two days visiting the mangrove and oyster locations on the bay, playing basketball and Spoons (a card game) with Caleb (10) and Lindsey (8), and going to the racetrack.
I'd never been to a racetrack.  This track is very family friendly and I enjoyed the hell out of seeing the gorgeous, athletic horses up close, and getting a quick rundown on how handicapping and betting works.  I lost eighteen dollars, but it was worth it.  I also had my first grouper sandwich, and I assert that grouper is the best tasting fish in the world.



Me and my close personal friend, Eddie Jurado

My horse; came in dead last

 Michael also arranged a surprise for my sister Pat.  Pat was flying into Tampa on Monday the 30th of January, and expected my mother and my aunt Joan to pick her up.  When I showed up at arrivals in the RV she did a classic double take.  We had a great ride down to Lake Placid together, only missing two or three turns while we gabbed.  Arrived at my Mom's house in Lake Placid on Monday January 30th, and will be heading up to Sebring Intenational Raceway on Wednesday.  More on that next.

BAY SAINT LOUIS, MISSISSIPPI

I'd never heard of Bay Saint Louis, but when my friend Todd communicated to me on Facebook about a house he had there, I decided to make a visit.  Todd and I worked on a few projects together--he is a hazardous demolition contractor--and kept the lines of communication open.  Todd is a native of New Orleans and went to Stanislaus College Prep in Bay Saint Louis, which is about an hour north and east of New Orleans.

Bay Saint Louis is both a bay and a town, and the town, a historic tourist area, suffered major damage in Hurrcane Katrina.  Both sides of the bay and miles of coastline to the east display the extent of the damage and recovery.  All along the beaches are brand new homes and lots with only foundations and porches remaining; they almost seem to alternate.  Everything is either new or rubble.  All the bridges and even the beaches themselves are new. 

A new home, fortunate to have surviving oak trees.

The house next door--only the foundation and the marble tile flooring remain.

Although the town lost hundreds of historic buildings, it is making a comeback.  Restaurants and shops have been opened.  New and remodeled structures abound, and there is a spirit of hope and an energy about the place.  It's difficult to determine what tourism will be like since it was winter, but the brand new buildings, roads and bridges are ready for the tourists when they come.

Todd and Cheri's house is about five blocks from the beach, in a neighborhood that was not washed away.  They completely gutted their place and added about thirty feet to the back of it, planning to use it as a retirement residence.  They purchased a lot across the street from the beach after Katrina and may live in the existing house while they build their dream house at the beach.  It's a well designed and well appointed three bedroom house, quite a change from a 200 square foot RV.

Since Todd is not yet retired, the house was vacant.  I spent eight pleasant days there, with daily guidance from Todd on what to see, do, and eat.  As usual, I spent a lot of time on my bicycle, getting a feel for the town.

It isn't a large town, so it's possible to enjoy every part of it without a car.  The beach is being rebuilt.  For miles up and down the coast sand has been dredged up from the bay and spread along the beaches, which are clean and white and deep.  Concrete walkways have been built from seven miles east of town all the way to Biloxi, twenty miles west, and you can ride a bike or roller skate forever, just like southern California.  The Gulf of Mexico water isn't as blue as the Florida Atlantic water, but the fishing is better.  Nobody on the beaches this time of year, even on warm days.

A controversial new marina is slated for construction along the beach, with construction beginning.



And--the food.  The highlight, for me, was the buffet dinner at the Silver Slipper Casino.  I sampled crab and shrimp prepared several different ways, gumbo, lobster bisque, and more.  My favorite among them all was the lobster bisque, which I would kill for.  I also sampled several desserts before I found the best ever--funnel cake!

Funnel cake is kind of a cross between a Krispy Kreme donut and a very light waffle.  It is a light dough poured in concentric circles into a ring shaped bottomless container in a vat of hot oil.  When it comes together and turns a golden brown it is lifted onto a plate and coated with powdered sugar.  After that, you add whatever toppings you want--strawberries, blueberries, cherries, melted chocolate, ice cream, sprinkles--whatever--and top it off with whipped cream.  Best dessert ever, better than creme brulee.

Of course, po' boys, fish of all kinds, Cajun food--it's all available in Bay Saint Louis.  With the climate and the cuisine it's no wonder Mississippians tend to be overweight.

I took a trip along the beach towards Biloxi to visit the last residence of Jefferson Davis, the first and only president of the Confederacy.  The Civil War, which was of course about slavery, was ostensibly fought for States Rights.  The southern states averred that the federal government did not have the power to dictate policy contrary to what they considered their own best interests.  Consequently, poor Mr. Davis did not have the power to control the war effort as well as did Mr. Lincoln up north, and so he lost the war and was in many quarters saddled with the blame.  It was a no-win situation.

Nice place he had, though.  Very Confederate to this day, with flags, uniforms, artifacts, and mementoes of southern pride.  Seven of the eight buildings on the property were washed away in the hurricane and are being rebuilt.

All the miles between Bay Saint Louis and Davis's place conformed to the Katrina model--new beaches and new houses mixed with the foundations of those yet to be rebuilt.  Virtually everything along the beach was destroyed.

It was interesting to see how the new construction took into account what had happened during Katrina.  All the structures since are built either on high ground or on high stilts, and they are all built to withstand wind and water.  Of course, every time a natural disaster strikes the new construction purports to be able to withstand the next disaster; sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't.

I took the opportunity to drive into New Orleans in Todd's big black diesel pickup.  I think my RV gets better mileage, but nobody got in my way.  I went to the World War II museum, a first class venue, and got the chance to see Higgins boats, tanks, airplanes, weapons, ordnance, and kit.  The museum also features a 48 minute film narrated byTom Hanks, in a theatre that accompanies the film with lighting, smoke, vibration, and raised/lowered pieces that complement the film throughout. 

There were also historical re-enactments of World War II soldiers and camps, done by veterans with military history in mind, outside the museum.

I also went (of course) to the French Quarter, where I saw a wedding party parading through the streets with a brass band accompanying them.  Even though it was still daylight in the Quarter it was abuzz with music and drinking.  There may have been a little extra energy in the air since Mardi Gras is approaching.

Last event in Bay Saint Louis was the best.  An old barn-like building built in the 1920's as the 100 Men DBA Hall, and is being restored to continue its use as a performance venue for Mississippi Blues.  I got the chance to see Little Freddie King and his band.  They were so good, so tight, that I was dancing in the aisle, to the extent that a black woman, member of a party of three professional looking black couples, dragged me up to the dance floor in front of the stage.  I just threw inhibition to the wind and boogied to the best rhythm I've ever heard.  Had a plate of ribs, corn, and beans as well.  Great night.

One of the best things about the town is the train.  Freight trains bisect the town a dozen times a day on two parallel tracks, and since there is only one crossing gate in town the trains blow their whistles non-stop as they roll through town without slowing down.  Nothing better than a freight train, rumbling and whistling through the night half a block away, except standing five feet from one blowing by at forty miles an hour.

After eight busy days it was time to leave, but Todd invited me to return in February for Mardi Gras.  Austin is flying in to Tampa to join me and we'll race the 600+ miles in one day to spend a long weekend there.

NEXT: TAMPA/SAINT PETERSBURG

LOUISIANA

Sailed across the Texas border into Louisiana on Janary 16th and noticed two things almost immediately: Louisiana is impressively wet, and impressively littered.  The roads bridge swamps and rivers mile after mile; sometimes the roadways are elevated structures apparently built in the '30s to cover areas of shifting waterways that run for ten miles or so.  Railways often run at high elevations as a matter of course, over both land and water, to avoid having to keep changing structures and elevations for the shifting waters.

Where the roads are built on the ground they are elevated and banked like railroad grade beds, rising above swales perpetually filled with water and trash. 

I spent my first Louisiana night in a rest stop, convenient for truckers but not so convenient for RVs.  There was a nice visitors' center with four (!!) helpful clerks to serve me coffee, and a sheriff who appeared to be more or less permanently posted to the site.  I scared the hell out of him.  He was sitting in his squad car watching what appeared to be either a TV show or a video in the growing twilight, and I cautiously moved towards the line of site to his open window to ask him whether it was permissible to spend the entire night.  Not cautiously enough.  About five feet away, I said "Excuse me," and he jumped like a cat when the dog sneaks up on him.  The way he snapped the picture off made me think it was just possible he had a little porn going, but maybe not.  Maybe he'd had some bad experiences with people sneaking up on him or maybe he wasn't allowed to watch TV on duty.  At least he didn't pull a gun on me.

Turns out you can spend twelve hours at LA rest stops.  So, along with twenty-three big rigs, all of whom competed to see who had the loudest generator, I spent the night.  With the smell, noise and vibration, I felt like I was on a salmon fishing diesel boat.  A lot of them kept their engines running all night.  I asked a driver about that the next day; he nonchalantly told me that it was not an unusual custom and didn't use very much fuel.  It explains why I was the only RV.

Louisiana is more humid than Texas, obviously, and has millions of acres of rice under cultivation (it's the third largest producer among all the states).  The land is more or less level, which contributes both to rice production and the savage damage caused by hurricanes and flooding.  It's also a gritty producer, with oil pipelines under the swales and railroad tracks and marshaling yards winding among cement batch plants and construction equipment.  Some of the towns have names I can't help rolling across my tongue, like Natchitoches and Opelousas. 

I wonder why Texas doesn't buy or borrow water from Louisiana, which has a plethora.

Houses along much of the roadways are up on piers or stilts, but not every creature is chary of the water.   At one point, I saw flocks of ducks in the sky numbering in the thousands.  Egrets fish in the swales and bayous, oblivious to the traffic and litter.  Fishing is both a great sport and a means of sustenance for many residents.

Two other corporealities attract attention: it seems that every FM station of any power broadcasts religious counsel exclusively, and in some of the neighborhoods I drove through I swear that every other home had one of those portable basketball hoops with the water or sand filled base.  I never saw so many hoops in my life, and believe me, I look for them.  Never saw anyone shooting, though.

Along the highways between cities the railroad tracks follow, off at a short distance.  Trees, tracks, and trash--that's what you get.

I stopped for the night at a lovely place called  Chicot State Park.  Nestled in the pines, Chicot was a rolling platform for lakes, with RV spots and cabins high on stilts as well as tent camping.  There were perhaps five campers in the 100+ sites.  I had an entire section, with lake access and a platform with a grill and picnic table, for myself.  Lots of wildlife--whitetail deer with HUGE white rumps, red foxes, and, to my everlasting delight, armadillos!

NEXT: BAY SAINT LOUIS