Day 40: Back in Texas!!

After a 40-day, 17-state circuit it felt good to finally circle back to Texas.

We spent the night in a motel on I-35 but had a great meal at a nice brewpub on the courthouse square in bustling downtown Denton.

Even though it was windy and hot and we are still 300 miles from home, it is nice to be back in Texas.


The only real excitement during the drive from St. Louis came when a guy in a pickup truck pulled up next to us on I-35, just north of Oklahoma City, waving his arms, yelling and pointing at the back of our truck.

What does that asshole want, I wondered?

Turns out he wanted to tell us that one of the bikes had fallen off of the rack on the back of the truck and was bouncing down the interstate behind the truck, connected only by a lock and chain.

Miraculously, when we pulled over, the bike appeared to have sustained no significant damage. I re-attached the fitting and we motored on south.

Another matter of note on the drive south is that we passed by the town of Joplin, Mo. on I-44. Apparently the tornado crossed the interstate at one point and we were able to see denuded tree stumps that looked just like the ones we have seen in news photos over the last few days. There were a few billboards that had been snapped off, leaving nothing but a bare post, and we saw a few houses that had been stripped of all their siding and shingles. However, the main area that was hit by the tornado is apparently not visible from the interstate.

Despite weather reports of storms on our route through Missouri we were dry for the entire drive.

We have been blessed with great road and weather conditions for the entire trip.

Unless something notable happens on the drive down I-35 from Denton this will probably be my last post.

Day 39: It's warming up

That is not to say it was all that warm when we arrived here in the St. Louis suburb of Fenton (at our motel on Bowles Ave.) but it is significantly warmer here than it was when we started out in Ann Arbor, 520 miles and one time zone to the northeast.

The Michigan morning reminded me of a January day in San Antonio; low 40s, damp, windy.

A good part of our day was spent driving through Indiana and it looked pretty much like you would expect Indiana to look.

It was a nice day to drive with leaden skies but no rain.

That's a good thing because that is pretty much all we did, drive.

Day 38: The Red Sox should pay us to go to all of their games

Even though we have been traveling we have heard about the tornadoes that hit Tuscaloosa and Joplin. However, we did not realize until our trip to downtown Detroit yesterday that a tornado also struck here in Michigan.

It’s a good/sad joke but I can’t take credit for it because the Detroit Free Press had an editorial in yesterday’s paper with a guy standing among the empty lots in Detroit asking why, if the government can rebuild Joplin and Tuscaloosa, it cannot rebuild Detroit?

My short answer would be that Tuscaloosa/Joplin have infrastructure problems; Detroit has human problems. We’re much better at fixing the former than the later.

Actually, the parts of Detroit that we saw on our trip from Ann Arbor to downtown for the baseball game and back, were not as bad as I expected. There are vacant lots everywhere and a few hulking, empty buildings; but there were also some signs of life, including grinding rush hour traffic on the drive home in the rain, a vibrant, restored downtown theater similar to San Antonio's Majestic Theater, and a bustling bar-restaurant in an historic building.

With tons of vacant lots it was no trouble finding a parking spot for the 1:05 p.m. start between the Tigers and Red Sox.

Once again the Red Sox scored 14 runs (the first time that’s happened since 1998) although, fortunately for me since  was scoring at the time, they were one batter short of batting around when they scored five runs in the second inning. Readers may recall that yesterday I reported that Carl Crawford could have hit for the cycle with a triple but had to pull up because of a slower runner in front of him. Today he hit two triples, the eighth time in his career he has done that.

The game was shortened by rain but we came prepared with rain gear and repaired to a nearby bar (see photo below) a few minutes before the umpires called it off. Before we arrived yesterday the area was deluged and the newspaper reported that this is the fourth-wettest spring on record with 15 inches since April 1.

Of the four stadiums we have visited on this trip I think we both like Detroit the best, even if it is in Detroit.

The outside of the stadium is really cool with these gargoyle-like Tigers everywhere and it is very nice inside, with a nice, clean, green look and a good view of the downtown buildings over the outfield fence.

Our stub hub tickets were awesome; about 18 rows back from home plate. Counting the minor league game the seats we have had on this trip, collectively, have been crazy good.

After the hour-plus drive back to Ann Arbor we supped at a brew pub downtown, near the university, and called it a day.

The BIG DRIVE home starts early tomorrow.

Day 37: Indians scalped

A first-inning ambush turned into a full-fledged massacre at Progressive Field in Cleveland when the Red Sox sent 12 batters to the plate and scored seven runs in the first inning. When the dust finally settled light-hitting Carl Crawford had four hits (and would probably have hit for the cycle if he didn’t have a runner in front of him) David Ortiz bombed a 431-foot homer – one of 20 hits for the Red Sox - and the ugly finale was 14-2; the worst loss of the season for the team with the best record in the majors.

Bloodshed aside, it was a wonderful day with pleasant weather and great seats in an awesome stadium where they sell an excellent dortmunder beer produced by the nearby Great Lakes Brewing Company.

The baseball game wasn’t the highlight of the day however. That distinction was earned on the way to the game when we stopped by Ralphie Parker’s house.

Yes folks I’m talking about that Ralphie Parker - THE Ralphie Parker – the one that matriculates at Warren G. Harding Elementary School and sleeps with a 200-Shot, Range-Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time.

I know what you are thinking; if we are in Cleveland how could we possibly have gone to the Parker abode, which is - as everyone knows - located in Hohman, Indiana (a fictional version of writer Jean Sheppard’s hometown of Hammond, Indiana)?

Think about it for a minute. Do you remember the street they lived on in Hohman? Cleveland Street!

Yes movie fans, the actual house that was used in the movie is in a Cleveland neighborhood and we went by that very house on the way to the game.

And, yes, there was a leg lamp in the front window.

The game started at noon so we were out on I-90 headed toward Michigan before rush hour began.

P.S. Unbeknown to me Betsy took a photo with her phone at the Johnstown Flood National Memorial. Therefore, if you consider a phone to be a camera, then I stand corrected in my comments in yesterday's blog post about not taking a camera with us when we visited this site.

Day 36: Memorable memorials

Our morning was spent in a strange combination of symmetry and juxtaposition at two National Park Service national memorials; the Johnstown Flood NM and the Flight 93 NM.

They are only 30 miles and 112 years apart, but it seemed further. The flood memorial felt like an historic curiosity. The Flight 93 memorial felt like a fresh wound when the scab is peeled back.

There were 40 passengers and crew on Flight 93 and the toll from all four of the 9-11 planes that were highjacked was about 3,000.

The Johnstown flood had a similar loss of life, claiming 2,209 lives in the flood itself. Scores more died from disease and hundreds were unaccounted for.

In other words, the loss of life in the 9-11 attacks and the Johnstown flood were very similar.

The flood was caused when an earthen dam gave way 14 miles upstream from Johnstown, unleashing  a wall of water from an impounded lake. The dam and the lake were created by the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, an exclusive retreat that catered to wealthy residents of Pittsburgh.

The dam had been breached decades earlier and the dangers were well-known. However, no one associated with the club was ever held to account for the negligence.

Obviously the two events are very different, but I was struck by the many similarities and the way that time has changed our perception of these two events.

We didn’t even take a camera with us when we went into the Johnstown Flood NM visitor center.

The Flight 93 memorial is still under construction. The plane crashed at an abandoned strip mine and the temporary memorial is housed in a metal building that was part of the mining operation.

It is spare and rudimentary; no interactive displays or anything like that.

But it is still powerful in its simplicity – and its freshness in memory.

They have a cork board in the metal building where people can write notes and post them with a push pin.

A striking number of the notes start with the words “thank you”. “Heroes” is another common word, as is the phrase “never forgotten.”

As I looked out over the crash site and watched the construction workers that are trying to meet the September 11, 2010 target for opening the memorial I wondered if it would become an historic footnote, like the Johnstown flood site, Pearl Harbor, Andersonville and dozens of other memorials in the NPS system where the occasional visitor doesn't bother to bring a camera.

I jotted down two of the postings on the cork board.

I wish the plane didn’t crash, but it did. I feel bad for you. 

                                                                         Ross Santos

It has been my honor to serve in your memory.

                                        SSgt. Aaron R. Lotaro

                        Wyoming Army National Guard

The afternoon was spent driving west to Ohio, in preparation for tomorrow’s game between the Indians and the Red Sox.

Day 35: Goodbye Delaware: we’ll miss your flatness

We did it!  All of our stuff is stuffed in the truck and we can still out of the rear view mirror. Mission accomplished!

The Pasleys have a long-running practice of stretching our hands across the dashboard in a competition to be the first to enter the next state, county, etc. However, as we left Delaware at the same place on Route 404 where we entered a month, ago Betsy and I jutted our arms backward in an attempt to be the last to leave Delaware.

It really was a “small wonder”.

As I have said before the thing that surprised me the most about Delaware was the amount of agriculture and the rural character of much of the state. Simply put; Delaware was a lot more like Texas than I expected it to be.

Another thing that surprised me was how much the roads in Delaware resemble the roads in Texas.

First of all they are in very good condition and the parts that are not seem to be under construction; often with the contractor working under the lights at night, a practice pioneered in Texas.

Like Texas highways, the Delaware state roads often have wide shoulders.

There are some significant differences however. Delaware is far more aggressive in striping those wide shoulders for bike lanes, and requiring developers to provide bike lanes, than is Texas.

Another noticeable difference is the attention paid to drainage.

TxDOT does a spectacular job of draining its rural highways, using a center crown and what we in Texas call a “bar ditch”, which is essentially a grassy swale on either side of the highway that removes the water. Unless there is a flood condition it is rare to encounter standing water on a TxDOT facility.

Delaware roads are much different in this regard.

Most of Delaware is flat as a pancake. Thus, you would think, that if any state should be concerned about drainage it would be Delaware. But that is not the case. DelDOT roads are virtually flat and there are no bar ditches. As a result, even a relatively light shower produces puddles in the main lanes.

Another huge difference between DelDot and TxDot is speed limits. As a general rule I would say the speed limits in Delaware (and Maryland too) are set about 10 mph less than they should be. DelDot loves to change the speed limit; from 25, then 30, then 35, then 40 - all in a half-mile stretch. After that you can go miles without seeing any signage to reinforce the existing speed limit. As a result, as the locals whizzed around me, I was often left wondering if the speed limit had changed and I missed the sign.

We stopped in Annapolis for lunch with Tex and Laurel and then headed into the Maryland panhandle on I-70, crossing into Pennsylvania about 5 p. m.

The change in topography was dramatic. In this part of the Maryland it can be a real challenge just to find a flat spot.

We arrived at the peak of Mt. Davis, the highest point in Pennsylvania, about 5:30 and were treated to some spectacular views from an observation tower that allows one to see out over the treetops.

It was windy and there was a fairly intense rain shower on a portion of I-70, but by the time we reached the highpoint it was clear and quite comfortable.

We twisted and turned through hills and farms to the Flight 93 Memorial, but arrived at 7:30 and it closed at 7. Twenty more miles of twists and turns and nice farms and pleasant vistas brought us to Johnstown and the perfect trifecta of a Holiday Inn Express, a beer store and a Kentucky Fried Chicken.

The trifecta had a downside however, because of Pennsylvania’s liquor laws. Only cases of beer could be sold at the beer store. Normally that would not have been a problem but with space in the truck at a premium we passed on a case of Pennsylvania beer.

Day 33 & 34: The Beverly Hillbillies visit Brooklyn

Pretend that Jethro Bodine and Elly May Clampett  from the Beverly Hillbillies took a trip to New York City to visit the biggest overachiever from Jethro’s class of 1973 back at Hillbilly High and you have a pretty good idea of what it was like when Dave and Betsy visited Dave’s high school friend Debbie Buell and her husband Charlie Henry in the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn this weekend. The only thing missing was granny sitting in a rocking chair strapped to the bed of the pickup truck.

We dined at an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood, strolled the Brooklyn promenade, watched the Yankees embarrass the hapless Mets, drank strong coffee while reading the Times, and sat on the stoop of the Henry’s brownstone watching the neighborhood walk by.

Sort of like an episode of Law & Order without the crime.

Along the way we found time to catch up on the events that have taken place in our various lives since 1973, much of it spent bragging about our kids. Fortuitously we got a first-hand report about the youngest Henry from Maggie herself; a firecracker columnist for the Cornell Daily Sun and a Big Red debate team member who appears to be on a fast track to matching her mother as the ultimate “power woman” (but only if she wants to).

The air crackled with Mag’s electricity.

Betsy and I packed up and left the condo in Lewes Saturday morning with a twinge or two of nostalgic regret, but mostly with a deep-seated concern about the looming question: “how in the hell are we going to get all of this crap stuffed into the truck?”

The short answer is, we didn’t; at least, not yet. In classic Pasley fashion, we punted; leaving the bicycles chained to the rack at the condo and dropping off some of our bulkier items at the Realtor’s office (story to be continued in a future post).

But even with those offloads we still had a mish-mash of detritus piled inside the cab of the truck. After we parked on the street in Brooklyn the detritus began screaming out to passersby; “break a window and steal us.” That prompted us to haul enough of it inside the house to be mildly embarrassed and further reinforce the hillbilly stereotype.

After a month in laid-back Lewes, New York City was a sensory overload.

There are a mind-boggling number of shops and eateries within walking distance (who in their right mind would drive and give up their parking spot) and seemingly more people milling about in a three-block area than in Delaware’s three counties combined.

Because of our extensive exposure to Law & Order we weren’t too surprised by anything we saw in New York - except for the overtly-friendly staff at Yankee stadium.

I’m serious. As many blog readers know, Betsy and I often critique customer service; both good and bad. Having complained so often about the latter I don’t want to give the impression that I am knocking the Yankees for their explicit attempts to provide the former; however, the gap between the effort to appear customer-friendly and the actual rendering of a tangible service was a little creepy.

Other observations from our 26-hour visit include the impossibly high ceilings in the Henry’s brownstone; my gleeful perception that the mighty Yankees’ $1.5 billion stadium is not as good a place to watch a ballgame as the hapless Mets’ $800 million CitiField; the huge chasm Debbie crosses every day between her life as a partner in a Wall Street law firm and her life as a mom in Brooklyn; that a lot more blue-state Yankee fans sing the national anthem than red-state Astros fans; that New Yorkers walk a hell of a lot, and; that there are a hell of a lot more fat people in San Antonio than there are in New York City.

Note to self: could there possibly be a connection between the last two observations?

I’m also debating which is more surprising to me; how far Debbie has come from the farm where she grew up outside of Liberty, Missouri, or how close it still seems to be.

The one thing that did shock me about Debbie was the intensity of her crush on Derek Jeter and the depth of her disdain for poor A-Rod, whose at-bats have been consigned to the lowly status of “blackberry-checking-time.”

When it came time to leave and we had hauled the last pillowcase out of the brownstone, stuffed the last bag of leftover mini-wheats into the truck and strapped on granny’s rocking chair we headed out on the BQE, crossed the Verazano bridge (for the measly toll of $13; it’s $8 going into the city?) and fired down the New Jersey turnpike like a couple of veterans.

Before long we were back on home turf, back in Delaware.