RV resorts – Page 6 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

September 21 The Santa Fe Trail to Las Animas, CO

The rest of the photos for today are linked here>

I saw a different picture of the west today, and now I have added William Bent to my list of western heroes. I learned about his life and his story today as we toured Bent’s Old Fort this afternoon. This morning as we continued west from Kansas into Colorado, I kept seeing signs for the “Santa Fe Trail”. What we hadn’t known before is that we were traveling along the route, now an official National Historic Trail administered by the National Park Service, with a history that predates Coronado’s historic search for the Cities of Gold in 1540.

In the small town of Lamar, Colorado, we stopped at the excellent Colorado Visitor Center to get information on the trail, the history, and the towns along the way. Once again, the visitor center was staffed with a great volunteer, who gave me all sorts of brochures about the Trail, and suggestions of what would be the best way to spend our time today. In addition, with the simple exchange of my email address to the state of Colorado, I became the proud owner of a “colorful Colorado” baseball cap. I know, I know, but I can always delete the email when it comes in, telling me all the great things about visiting Colorado.

Our campsite destination was another state park, the John Martin Reservoir SP, built by the Corps of Engineers in conjunction with the dam, but now operated by the state. We drove in to an almost completely empty, very large and open campground, situated below the dam among huge old cottonwoods and locust trees, with half a football field between sites along the small overflow lake. Electric, but no water or sewer, but a dump station and a threaded water spigot nearby made it just fine. We settled Abby into her crate, safe in the MoHo with the air conditioner going and set out to explore.

Just 30 miles to the west was the site of Old Bent’s Fort, the highlight of the day. The actual fort burned down in 1849, was carefully excavated and reconstructed by the National Park Service in 1976 based on original drawings, historical accounts, and archeological evidence and is a faithful reproduction. The fort sits alone on a terrace above the Arkansas River, surrounded by natural grasslands and wetlands, and framed by the winding course of the cottonwoods along the river. It feels silent, and as we walked from the parking lot on the 1/4 mile trail to the fort, I felt as if I had stepped back in time. This spot was a significant center of fur trade in the 1840’s on the Santa Fe Trail, influencing economies around the world. It was a trade fort, not an army fort, and William Bent married a Cheyenne woman and was considered part of the tribe.

The fort in 1840 was constructed with adobe bricks, when William Bent brought in 150 Mexican workers because he so admired the adobe buildings he had seen in the Mexican Territories. The reconstruction in 1976 was built exactly the same way. We walked through the fort gates into the dusty courtyard, surrounded with rooms cooled by the thick adobe walls. It was quiet except for a very few visitors. I felt the era so thoroughly in this place, it was an amazing experience. The National Park Service is to be commended for this treasure.

After our visit, we continued to the town of La Junta, also on the trail, and then home through Las Animas to our campsite on the lake. Our travel time was short enough that even after our road tour, we had time to unload the kayaks for a spin on the lake. There were white pelicans, reminding me of home, and at least ten blue herons on the shoreline as we paddled by. The moon was rising, nearly full, in the early evening sunset, and the breeze was just enough to keep us refreshed. Perfect way to end a perfect travel day.

September 20 Kansas winds and Dodge City

Kansas is windy. We knew that, right?! After all, Dorothy was from Kansas and she ended up in Oz, which I think is now called Australia. 🙂 This is the first time we have driven across Kansas in the MoHo. In 2007, on another trip, we left John’s place and drove along the Kansas eastern border, which was green and lovely. Our route today was route 400, suggested by John as a much easier way to travel than our original plan to take a more southern route.

When we left Missouri this morning the skies were still a murky grayish brown from the horizon to about midway up. The highest part of the sky was blue, or something that looked a bit like blue. I have experienced Blue on this trip, capital letter kind of blue sky in Minnesota, so the murkiness of Missouri was a bit sad. I thought maybe as we traveled west it would lighten up. Instead, it got murkier.

No theme, no clue what this crazy collection of wind driven art along Highway 400 in Kansas was all about. It stretched for a quarter mile along the highway, and provided a bit of entertainment on the Kansas landscape

The landscape of the part of Kansas that we crossed wasn’t the dead flat prairies that make Kansas so famous. There were gentle rises and falls, locust trees and willows along the waterways, sections when the road would rise up enough to see a very long way. But the skies were definitely tan and pale, and the closer we got to Wichita, the browner the “haze” turned. Long straight roads near the city allowed a moment of internet access with the phone, and I researched Wichita air quality and found out that it has been on the list of the most badly polluted cities in the country. I hoped that maybe as we drove west, the skies would clear.

It was not to be, and whether from blowing dust, or the millions of cattle in feed lots all around Dodge City, the murkiness continued. The winds were high in eastern Kansas, and as the day progressed, the prognosis was dire for high profile vehicles. Guess that’s us. The average wind speed was 30 plus miles per hour, with gusts to 47 mph, and the direction was from the south, directly perpendicular to our western line of travel. It made for a harrowing day, with Mo hanging on the wheel and me hanging on to the grip bar for dear life. We didn’t see much, and with temperatures in the mid 90’s, I didn’t have a great desire to stop and explore the few little towns that we passed.

I saw a large area of trees all stripped of leaves and broken apart, and remembered vaguely the horrific tornado that blew through Kansas recently. Sure enough, we were passing Greensburg, Kansas, site of the devastating tornado of 2007 that flattened the city.

We continued west through the wind to arrive at Dodge City around 4pm and set up camp at the Gunsmoke RV Park, one of only a couple of RV Parks in the vicinity. Full hookups with a nice laundry that wasn’t ridiculously expensive was a nice perk. As a kid, I was a huge Wyatt Earp fan, and in addition to watching the old TV series, I voraciously read all things Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holiday, the Santa Fe Trail, and later I loved the series Gunsmoke. I wanted to see Dodge.

By the time we drove back the 2 miles or so to town, the visitor center was ready to close. I learned that the majority of the attractions in Dodge City only run through the summer, and that most of them are Disneyesque gunfights, a fake Front Street, a piece of what was left of Boot Hill inside the closed museum gates, and other sorts of contrived western adventures. Instead, I picked up the one small walking tour guide and we walked a few streets of Dodge City, including the infamous Front Street.

Throughout this part of town, there were several very well done plaques describing the history of Dodge, a bronze statue of Wyatt Earp, and the Trail of Fame, which consisted of a few seals in the sidewalks naming some of the famous historic figures of the era. The train depot was reconstructed, but a small part of the original building still stands. The buildings of Front Street had burned a few times, and were no longer the same. What I learned that was new, however, is that Dodge City is on the 100th parallel, a line that John Wesley Powell ( another of my heroes), set at the arbitrary break between the arable east and the arid west.

A few of the buildings remained from the late 1800’s but most of the historic buildings still in existence were from the early 20th century, during the heyday of railroading and the wealth that came along with it. I knew that Dodge City was central to the history of the west, but I didn’t realize until today that it was also central to the devastation of the huge bison herds that roamed our country. It was to Dodge that the hunters brought their hides, leaving behind literally millions of carcasses rotting on the plains. It only took from 1872 to 1875 for the herds to be completely decimated., with an estimated 1.5 million hides shipped to the east. Later, poor homesteaders would gather the bones from the fields and sell them at 6 to 8 dollars a ton to be used in the manufacture of fertilizer and china. Half a century later, wheat crazed farmers would strip the thick deep sod from the plains as well, an ecosystem that cannot be replaced in a thousand years. It’s a sad story of destruction that is only surpassed by the stories of what happened to the First Nations people in our country. As I walked along the old Front Street, I felt the weight of this history in my heart, as well as the romantic dreams of the west that I had as a ten year old.

September 19 Visiting my son in Missouri

Our planned route today through Southern Missouri meandered through the hills and valleys of the Ozarks. When we woke this morning, the humidity was so high that the windows were covered with water so heavy it looked as though it had been raining. All that humidity creates a steamy murkiness to the skies that dulls the view a lot. Route 160 through the Ozarks is narrow and winding, and only occasionally opens up enough for a view of the larger landscape. Again, I was disappointed in the lack of anyplace to stop, or park, or even slow down a bit to take some photos. We passed some picturesque old barns, farms, and fences that would have been pretty to photograph. Instead, we kept ambling along, with not an inch of shoulder on the road, and I took a few very bad photos through the windows so that I could remember how we traveled.

The focus for this day wasn’t to spend time seeing Missouri, it was to get across Missouri so that I could visit my son who lives near Joplin, on the western side of the state. His life doesn’t allow him much opportunity to travel, so it is good that I can go to him. We planned to park in his yard, after he assured us he could plug in the MoHo and there wasn’t any problem with being there.

Once we arrived, however, it was pretty clear that was a mistake. John’s home is more than 100 years old, a remodeling work in progress, and the electric system couldn’t handle the 20 amps we needed just to run the air conditioner. With the temperature in the mid 90’s and the night time temperatures not much less, air conditioning was a requirement and we relocated to a nice park not too many miles away.

Once settled into the Big Red Barn RV Park in Carthage, Missouri, with full hookups and the air conditioner funning full blast, we relaxed into visiting with John and his friend Shannon. Supper at a new local restaurant gave us time to talk and laugh together over a good meal, and keep nice and cool while doing so.

It was great to spend some time together, to catch up on family goings on, to share some hugs. I am hoping that John will make it out west again soon to visit and see his sisters. The last time he was able to come west, (other than when he was truck driving) was for our family reunion in 2007. John loves Missouri. He has lived here for most of his life, and his father is close by. He loves the warmth and doesn’t mind the humidity. He just laughed at me as he watched the water pouring from my body and my dripping wet hair.

More photos are here, (some the not so good windshield variety), and others of my son are linked here>

September 16 Audubon State Park, Kentucky and Evansville, Indiana

I walked in a hardwood forest today that measured up to my imaginations. One of my dreams for this trip was to experience the thick green life of a hardwood forest up close. I thought that would happen in Minnesota, or maybe New York, but instead it happened here in Kentucky, on the banks of the Ohio River. The John James Audubon State Park in Henderson has several hundred acres of climax hardwoods, some more than 200 years old. The major trees are beeches, sugar maples, basswood, several varieties of oaks, tuliptree, catalpa, huge sycamores, ash, elm, and the Kentucky coffeetree.There are 61 varieties of trees here, including some rare species.

The museum was built by the CCC, another incredibly fine example craftsmanship and art. It houses the greatest number of original Audubon paintings of any museum in the world. There are original intact copies of all four volumes of the Birds of America, published in 1837. What I didn’t know until today is that these books are nearly 3 feet tall, in order to represent the birds at life size. In addition to the art, the museum had artifacts of his life and the displays told the story of his life work, his children, his devoted wife, his connections with people in power in the early 19th century. It is a fascinating story. You cannot imagine the incredible detail and beauty of an original Audubon painting without seeing it.

When we pulled into the state park campground last night, we were a bit disappointed. It seemed too close to the highway, too open, and a bit tattered. I had seen the park on Google Earth and was expecting something different, I guess. The night was warm and humid and when we went for a walk the sounds of crickets and other bugs was almost deafening. We slept well, though, and this morning our explorations of the museum and the rest of this gorgeous state park, which includes hiking trails, two small lakes, and a golf course, more than made up for the deficiencies of the campground.

This afternoon was warm and humid again, but not at all uncomfortable, and we drove back across the Ohio River to Evansville, just a few minutes north of our camping location here in Kentucky. Evansville has a thriving historic district, and we drove the streets ooohing and aaahing at every corner as more and more huge old homes came into view. I did wonder just how many photos I could take of these houses, but they are irresistible. We ended the day with a long walk along the greenbelt, a beautiful parkway punctuated with art and walkways, memorials, and bronze plaques detailing the long storied history of this river town.

Lewis and Clark passed by here on their voyage to the Pacific Ocean, and John Wesley Powell rowed past this town when he paddled the full length of the Ohio River before he became a geology professor and then later explored the Colorado River. Hardwoods and history. Our days have been filled with both in a part of our country that I never have experienced before this trip.

We talked about our last cross country trip, and how different this seemed to be. Somehow that trip, while interesting and wonderful, didn’t pass through landscapes that were so new to us. Texas still felt like the West, and I had been in Florida so the south wasn’t completely new to me either. Somehow this world, all the way from Eastern North Dakota, through the north country of the UP, to these woods of Kentucky, somehow they feel brand new. These are landscapes I have read about in the history books, in Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer. I’m glad for the chance to follow this river, the heartstream of a huge part of our country.

The rest of the photos for this day are linked here.

September 12 Watkins Glen to Mercer, Pennsylvania

The rest of the photos for this day are linked here.

It was good to have two nights in one place, but it was also good to know we would be on the road again this morning. Most days we only drive 200 to 300 miles or so, and even with only a night, we still have some time to settle in and enjoy. We also took a bit of time in Wellsboro to upload photos and post all the blog posts that were backing up. We had no clue where we would spend the night, but with it being a Sunday and long after Labor Day, we hoped for something simple and accessible.

Before that, however, the Grand Canyon of the East called. It was raining, and I knew that it would be difficult to peer into a deep canyon under those conditions. But with no idea when we would be this way again, it was not a drive to be missed. Shortly after we crossed into Pennsylvania, we came to the Pennsylvania Welcome Center, one of the best centers we have seen since the South Carolina Welcome Center during our 2007 cross country trip.

The Pennsylvania Welcome Center was one of the best I have seen in the country

Matt, the attendant on duty, was friendly and helpful, and even called around to find out where I could get free WiFi.

The attendant, Matt, was helpful and informative, and gave me a bag full of maps, directions, and brochures to help manage the day ahead. Scenic Route 6 is a beautiful drive rated by National Geographic as one of the best in the nation. It is over 400 miles long, following a route through several geographic divisions from the east to the western border of the state. We joined the route about midway and followed it as far as the Allegheny River.

The side trip to the canyon was lovely, in spite of the rain, and the state park had no entrance fee, so hiking around in the fog was OK. The canyon was shrouded in mist, except for a few moments when Pine Creek appeared thinly. I bought a great book, however, that I read aloud for the rest of the route. I learned about the geology, the landscapes, the history, both natural and human, of the great forest we drove through. We approached the highlands of the Allegheny Plateau, and for the first time I understood the relationship of ancient inland seas and glaciations in this part of the world.

It was a beautiful green day, punctuated by charming small towns filled with unique houses, and main streets that looked like they came from a Rockwell painting. In the afternoon, along the Allegheny River, Mo had a spontaneous moment and decided suddenly to cross the river to a small town called Tidioute. I still don’t have a clue how to pronounce that name, but I won’t forget the town!

We drove across the river and down the main street, continuing toward the edge of town, and the street just kept going. And going. And going. It kept getting more narrow, and there were no turnarounds to be found. After a few miles the trees started closing in and we finally decided to unhook the baby car and get turned around. whew. Once we hooked up again and headed back through town, I became enamored with the homes and buildings, and suddenly we realized that we had missed the bridge. The road was once again getting narrow and wandering off into who knows where. Garmin Girl showed a single road, with no side roads, no turnarounds. So once again we drove into a gravel driveway near the city reservoir and tried to unhook. Problem was that we were on a hill, and backing the MoHo with the car behind it isn’t as easy as backing a trailer. After some tries, we finally managed to get unhooked, turned around, managed to get rehooked and finally back across the Allegheny River!

The rest of the evening was uneventful, meandering through small towns until we reached I-80 and I-79 towards our chosen campground at the little town of Mercer. The camp is pleasant, with enough space between sites, with electricity, water, cable tv and seriously good WiFi! I made some chicken quesadillas for a simple supper and have enjoyed the time to read and write a bit, catching up with my kids and friends, checking the weather, and basically reconnecting with the world again.