Travel Log

Which way is the wind blowing?






Corn 4 Sale

I was able to load one image last night. And why this one? Humm. I was on my way out of the little town of Narragansett, Rhode Island where I was impressed with the blue color of the water - is there anything more beautiful than blue water, black rocks and white surf?- when I saw this colorful little bug along the side of the road. It's a cornbug with "Corn 4 Sale." I pulled over and struck up a conversation with Frank, the Corn Man. He had been manning the open-air bug for a few weeks through waves of good business on weekends and so- so good business on the weekdays. He is a retired truck driver who loves riding motorcycles and dreams of writing his own book about his experiences as a truck driver. We talked about writing and in the back of my head I heard a little voice, "Valerie, you sound like some kind of expert about all this." Well, I am not, but when my audience inspired to write and I have, so I guess that makes me "an expert." Now if John Grisham happened to come by Frank's corn stand, he could talk to a real expert. Of course, John and I do share the same hawking the first book experience and both without overwhelming success. But I am hanging in there John! And Frank, but pen to paper and write your memiors.

By the way, Frank told me the corn was good and he even had me smell its sweetness. Last night I had three ears for dinner. Delicious!

Saying Good-bye Forever

And then after a long period of time, the photos from Point Judith popped up. At Point Judith, I watched the front move across the shoreline. By the time I got to Mystic the blue skies that warmed my soul in Newport had disappeared leaving me a little empty feeling.

An east coast surfer. He was coming out of the surf at Point Judith, picking his way across the rocks. There is a Coast Guard Station here. I watch three Coasties say good-bye to each other. "I guess this is the last time I will ever see you, " one young man said to his departing commrade, shaking his hand. They stood in the parking lot, with unknown years of experiences, adventures and lives ahead of them. I thought of those I once knew when I was in the Army many, many years ago. Only two of the many do I periodically hear from - Mike in Alaska and Tere in Oregon. It has been ages since I have seen either.



Early Morning

Last night four big rigs moved into the field next to my camp. It was after midnight. There head lights lit the field up like an NFL football stadium on Monday night. I watched them park in tight formation, and not in any designated camp site. If the tent campers had not evacuated in the rain the previous morning, they would have been squished. I gave up my post after one am and when I left the campground at 9 am the four rigs were sitting as quietly as moored boats in a protected harbor.

My first task of the day was to empty the waste water in The Rig. It is not an unpleasant task but a neccesary one, about on par with cleaning out the cat box, which gets cleaned every time the cats use it. They have learned to take advantage of the times I stop, although I have seen (by rear view mirror) Diablo use the box while I was driving.

Before striking out for Connecticut I stopped at Pet Smart to return a laser I bought to entertain the cats. I guess it would work if they were near sighted as the focal point was two feet or less. Both cats have taken to clawing the carpet near the door, so I picked up a scratching pad made of cardboard, a proven treat for both felines especially when it comes with catnap. The catnap was a cheap variety and I am glad I won’t be crossing any foreign borders as the stuff is being stored in the refrigerator and it looks suspiciously like an illegal substance.

The distance to Mystic from Newport is about 50 miles, a short drive, but one I managed to stretch into a four hour trip by poking along Highways 1 and 1A and stopping in little towns along the way. I realize I might not have the opportunity to drive with such leisure ever again. I discovered a beautiful Rhode Island coast line. First stop after crossing the Pell Bridge was Jamestown, where I got the hottest cup of coffee at the East Ferry Deli. I thought serving coffee this hot would be illegal after the McDonald Incident. I was driving and alternating the coffee cup from one hand to the other every few seconds.


The Towers is a historical landmark in Rhode Island that was built originally built in 1863 as part of a pier and casino. When it was designed the architects wanted a weathered look, so the shingles were placed in a wavy pattern. It is said that when completed the architect even got up on the roof and tore off a few shingles so the building didn't look too new. If I had been the builder, I would have killed him. On September 12, 1900 a fire gutted the place, so the shingles looked really weathered.It was rebuilt, but never had its heyday again, the Depression and all. And there was another fire in 1965, if my memory is correct. Despite all the conflagration the Towers still stand, roof and all.

I crossed over to Connecticut somewhere shortly after passing through Westerly. I could not find the bookstore there, or the state line and had to U turn in a dentist's parking lot as I lost 1A somewhere and found myself on Highway 3 heading north to I-95. The only clue that I was in Connecticut was the price of gas. In RI I saw it for $2.96. Connecticut takes $3.18 to 3.25 out of your pocket for every gallon of gas.










The cats traveled well today, putting up with all my stopping and sight-seeing. At one point Diablo could not even be bothered to wake up when I came into The Rig to open windows and the roof hatch. Phoenix still looks like I have abused her when she travels, but she recovered nicely in the afternoon once we settled in camp. And to show me who the boss is, she busted through the door about two minutes after I got the electicity plugged in.