Did you miss me?

I’ll give you a summary as to where I am and the events of the last two days. But first, Hi Ra. I am getting a great bike tan as I put on the miles.

Phoenix, Diablo and I are tucked away in a no frill campground called, Meadowlark RV Park. No frill means the place doesn’t even have a bathroom or showers—not even for 50 cents gets you five minutes of lukewarm water which feels like ice water when the early morning carries a little nip of fall. But the place is clean, quiet; every site including parking is grass and town in three miles away. We are located in Middletown RI, a stone throw from Newport. I haven’t discovered what Middletown is famous for but Newport is known for money, mansions, and sailing, sailing and sailing and is the home of Flo’s Clam Shack & Raw Bar. The food is great, but if you are not accustomed to lots of fried food take it easy on the clams. Diablo didn’t have any problems but I took to them hard and unfortunately, I was in a campground without a bathroom. So for the first time I had to use the RV’s toilet for … well you get the idea.

We will spend the next few days in the area as I have a book signing at Barrington Books in Barrington, RI on Wednesday August 16 t 7 PM. Stop in and I’ll tell you a story!

Okay—let’s go back a few days. I went off the grid when I stayed at Horse Neck State Park, a beautiful seascape campground south of New Bedford. I finally broke away from Bourne Scenic Campground, but not before getting in one last 14 miles ride along the canal at the crack of dawn. I really enjoyed my stay there because of its proximity to the Cape Cod Canal. At first, when I learned it was located under the Bourne Bridge that spans the canal I was a bit leery of sharing a campsite with homeless vagrants and tolls-you know, they live under bridges and bypasses. We could be sitting around a fire built in a fifty-five gallon drum and passing the bottle.

I was pushing my luck when I drove to Horse Neck. I knew they did not have a vacancy, but thought I would show up on the slim hope some other camper got sick on fried quahogs and went home early. Chances were slim as the skies were clear, humidity low, temperatures near perfection and the fifteen dollar sites near the beach were much coveted.

The two boys with their New England/Boston accents manning the guard shack informed me that there were no openings. (One young man sported a New York Yankee hat while the other had a Boston Red Sox ball cap with the bill cocked 45 degrees off the center of his forehead. They seemed to be on speaking terms.) Not deterred I asked if I could pull through and stop. I wanted to come in and talk to them. As I parked, I heard my voice going through my head. I must have sounded like there mothers—‘I want a word with you, young man.’

The short story is that they let me enter the campground and park in a huge parking area with the hope that in a couple of hours a site might open up. Since I had nothing else to do and the beach fees were seven bucks I accepted their offer. I didn’t go to the beach, but fell asleep in the RV with the cats. After all, life on the road can be hard and tiring. For instance that morning I burned some energy staying out of a mix between a spineless group of farmers in Bourne and some huffy lady who stated the farmers had no right to give me permission to set up a display, while the farmers basically said, “Hey we just work here.” Figuring this lady with unknown authority wanted a fight and the farmers had no back bone, I hit the road.

While napping the boys came by to inform me that a site had become available. The Boston fan checked me in, while the Yankee fan took my debit card information (gosh, when was the last time I checked the balance?).

After leveling off the RV so the refrigerator was running off propane, I grabbed a copy of The Fisherman’s Son, by Joe Orlando, an attorney-author I met in Gloucester and headed to the beach to give his book a good read. Hmm, I use the term ‘beach’ loosely. After spending a few years in the Western Pacific and Hawaii, fine sandy beaches have spoiled me. Just beyond a field of rocks the size of baseballs and soccer balls laid the Atlantic Ocean. So much for beach. But enterprising vacationers had created little clearings of sand where they removed the rocks. Reminded me of fish nests in the bottom of a shallow lake.

I watched the sunset and thought of sunsets over the Pacific on a boat called the Cosmic Muffin.

The campground was a mixture of tents and self contained RVs. With no electricity (or water hook ups) camp life ground to a halt after dark unless the RV had a generator or the campers built a fire. I have a generator and fire ring, but decided neither the technology of firing up a generator or building a fire was something I wanted to fool with. Propane was keeping the mayo fresh and milk cold, so I went to bed. From my bedroom window over the cab, I watched the moon rise into a sky filled with campfire smoke.

Morning came early as I had been invited to the New Bedford Farmers Market. I sold three books.

Yahya

At age 13 he kissed his mother good-bye and struck out for the United States. He must have thought he could walk. However, the small boy departed from his home in Zanzibar with nothing more than a bit of change in his pocket and a dream in his heart. He saw Sudan which was then as it is now, Ethiopia, which is now as it was then and South Africa, which has changed very little. Without papers or documents crossing from country to country across the poor of Africa was far from a walk-about in Australia. Nevertheless, the boy worked, walked and worked some more until he made his way to Egypt. There he was a stowaway onboard a ship. Once discovered, he was arrested and thrown in jail. A look into his eyes told me it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Ultimately, he was deported back to Zanzibar.

He explained the political chaos going on in Zanzibar about this time. The British left the colony but offered protection to any who asked for British citizenship. Claiming to be a refuge he could not return safely to his country, but England refused him asylum. I concluded that the arrest had something to do with that. But all these details are not clear when the story is being told in a park.

Upon his arrival home, he went to see his mother and asked her to provide him with whatever she could so he could leave the country for America. She has very little of nothing but gave him what she could—her blessing. He stowed away again. When caught the captain employed him. Ten years after he struck out for the United States, he arrived on its land where he claimed he kissed the sweet earth he has lived ever since.

Under the cold shade of the maple in Clasky Park, he comfortably twisted his graying dreds. It was 1973 when his dream came true. I thought back to that year. It was the same year I joined the Army and went to Alaska. He worked on oil tankers and traveled the world for thirty five years. So when he saw this author selling her book about a sailing voyage across the Pacific in a tiny sailboat he bought a copy. Despite all his years at sea in the big ships and traveling for months to faraway places, he could not imagine being in a small boat.

He was impressed that I knew where Zanzibar was (I was thinking Arabian dhows and pirates and trying to remember some book I read about Zanzibar). Yahya invited me to visit. All I have to do is let him know and he’ll make sure I’d get connected to the right people and places. It is one of those places on my Life To Do List.

I met Yahya at the New Bedford Farmers Market in Clasky Park. I was welcomed to set up my table to promote my book. The morning’s cool air reminded me that summer is waning. But there was no alarm. After all it is the middle of August and I am slowly headed south. Confident that summer has not given up on the England States, the people of New Bedford contently enjoyed the coolness.

Rae-Elaine Tbearhugz4u277@aol.com

Her twin boys Shawn and Adam are in the Army. Shawn is presently serving in Iraq. Rae-Elaine approached my table in a wheel chair. She wrote the following dedicated to the American Soldiers. Printed here with her permission.

From the day you were born I knew in my heart
That you would begin a journey, we’d have to part.
From the beginning showing you right from wrong,
Teaching you many things to make you strong.
We shared lots of laughter and cried many tear
And even though you can’t see me, I share your fears.
Wondering what life would be like as you became older,
Little did I think you choose the path of a soldier.

Being there to protect all walks of life
Even if it meant being threatened with a knife.
Never knowing how the day may end
A scared little child makes a friend.
As the soldier extends out his hand
To protect him from danger throughout the land.
Many are ungrateful for things they take for granted
As the lay in a comfortable bed
Unlike the soldier-no place to rest his head.
No blanket to keep him warm or loved one to hold him tight
Ask yourself, "is this right? Would you do this every night?"
This is the price they pay for us to be free.

Remember, the brave soldier did it for you and for me
Many of them willingly have given their life-
Someone’s son, daughter, husband or wife.
Freedom has a price to pay.
Never forget the brave soldier and thank him every day.