Tag: Lerman Evelyn

It was a beautiful day traveling in Georgia, then South Carolina and then here in North Carolina. We planned on 325 miles today and we didn’t plan on another jam like the one we had yesterday. As my father would have said in Yiddish: “Mensh tracht and Got lacht.” Translation: People plan and God laughs. Yes, we were in another one today, but this one was only an hour and a half instead of two and a half. More to come.

Passing the exit to Jekyll Island Allie and I reminisced about our Elder Hostel days. We went to quite a few, some extraordinary and some only ordinary, but the one at Jekyll Island was spectacular. I still remember the speaker who showed us slides (now you know how long ago that was) of the coast line beaches. He showed the before renourishment, the renourishment, and the after. In three years the beaches were devoid of the expensive sand, and the sand was long gone back to the ocean or to other beaches far away. You can’t fool Mother Nature.

We see signs for watermelon wine, peach cider, boiled peanuts and Smoking’ Pig, and BBQJoint. Low country is endless, making us think of the great Tom Conroy, and how much we enjoyed every one of his books. In fact, when he died Allie bought them all over again and reread each one. We think he was one of the greatest writers of our time, certainly of his native land.

South Carolina is long, quiet, not inspirational, but we did give a shoutout to Ellen Flynn, daughter of our good friends the Whitmans, who lives in Beaufort. A smoky fire smell greets us, but we don’t see the fire. It’s no wonder the woods are burning as it’s been so dry. Pedro, with his many signs for the “South of the Border” hotspot just over the South Carolina line into North Carolina, gets my attention. They are numerous—probably one every mile for at least 100 miles, and each year brand new. And when we get there it’s a marvel—shops, museums, arcades, motels, playgrounds, fireworks, restaurants, zoos, mini golf, and more and more. But we don’t even have time to look it over, for here’s the traffic jam, two lane, bumper to bumper and truly not moving. I won’t bore you with our boredom—you get the point.

The highway we traveled on is called the Purple Heart Memorial Highway, which calls for a story about my Allie. Having two purple hearts, about which he never talks, he has three purple heart license plates—one on our RV, one on the Prius on Florida, and one on the Rav4 in Maine. He revels in those plates because they continue to get him out of trouble. One story in particular. He’d been driving over the speed limit (dare I call it speeding?) and a policeman sirened him over to the curb. He growled a bit, then went to look at the license plate. He came back, smiling, extended his hand, thanked Allie for his service and said, “You survived the Big One, why should you die in an automobile accident? Slow down and consider this a warning.” Allie grinned. His plate had saved him again.

I tried to do a little shopping at “Your Pantry” at a gas station in SC. It was dazzling if you liked to drink. The whole store was walls of soft drinks. The whole interior was rows of wine, beer, liquor, and moonshine. And the ice cream—“Alcohol Ice Cream—Must be 21 or over to buy.” That left two rows of candy and cookies. So much for shopping.

And here we are, finally, in Lumberton NC, comfortably settled in in our RV park for the night. A long day, but we’re happy now, settled in, and about to have a pickup supper.

Lumberton NC to Ashland VA, the KOA Richmond North/ King’s Dominion, a wonderful 325 mile trip, filled with joy that we had no traffic problems. Things moved along nicely all the way. You have to suffer a bit to appreciate things when they’re good.

We woke up to a beautiful North Carolina day, sunny skies unbroken by clouds, and a comfortable 70 degrees. We started last night off with AC, noisy but effective, and once the RV was comfortable, we opened the windows to let the night air in. It went down to the low sixties during the night, but warmed up beautifully during the day. Sorry, Floridians, I can’t bottle it and send it on down.

Had we traveled through the Great Smoky Mountains over the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway or had we gone via the coast passed the Outer Banks, I would have lovely scenery to describe for you. But we traveled on I95, and you know the scenery—gorgeous green trees lining the highway, browning grass as well, very few road signs, lots of exits with signs leading to food (Subway, McDonalds, Cracker Barrel, Sonny’s BBQ, an occasional family restaurant and such), others leading to lodging (Hampton Inn, Marriott Motels, Red Roof, and many more), and still others leading to gasoline.

We pay the most attention to anything that says “diesel” and any food restaurant where we dare to eat. But today we needed to shop for a little food, so we went hunting for a Food Mart of any variety or a Walmart. After a few forays into the countryside, we finally found a Walmart, and satisfied our needs with no effort. RVers know, and others might like to know, that you can stay over night in a Walmart’s parking lot at no charge. There is security patrolling as well. Why would Walmart’s be so welcoming? A little research revealed that every camper who stays overnight spends a minimum of $50.00 shopping the next day in Walmart’s. Good deal for both of them. We haven’t done it yet, but if we got stuck, we certainly would.

We’re almost back into routine, but still not quite. Driving along, we heard a loud clack, sounding like dishes falling out of cabinets. And why wouldn’t they? This mate had not done her job properly, which is to check all the locks on all of the cabinets and the dish cabinets over the sink were open. Fortunately everything is Corian, so no damage done, but a good reminder to me to get back into routine—check locks, close windows, nothing left out that could fall or break, hand Allie the trash to put out for pickup, and as the sign on the way out says, “Don’t forget your spouse!”

Thanks to all of you for your emails. What fun it is to find them in the morning. I’m happy you are enjoying the blog and love your commentary. Ellen asks if anyone is familiar with “immature manure”.

We pass a sign which tells us that North Carolina is the “Most military-friendly state”, and Allie tells me we are now passing Fort Bragg and Pope Air Force Base. I find the juxtaposition of military and friendly unnerving, though I imagine these bases are very good for the economy of North Carolina and possibly even good for the country.

We pass furniture stores, furniture shows, furniture warehouses, and I am reminded that NC was the gathering spot of all furniture designers and salespeople for may years. Perhaps it still is. There are also pottery shops, clothing stores, vineyards and tobacco fields galore. Among all these shops we do find signs advertising Glory canned goods—Southern-style cookin’ just like Grandma made—okra, cabbage, greens, yams, —ready-made and no cooking required. So far I haven’t been persuaded.

With all the road work we’ve seen (unlimited in Florida,some in Georgia, less in the Carolinas, and more in Virginia), I’ve decided that in my next life I’ll be in the barrier business—you know, those orange striped barriers on the side and all around any road work. We see hundreds of them all the time, some battered and beaten, but all proudly providing barriers to keep the workers safe. Think about it—they’re cheap, almost indestructible, need no maintenance, only housing and transportation. And you can use them over and over. Not a glamorous occupation, but I think it could be very lucrative.

And here’s Virginia. “Virginia is for lovers” says the sign. Now isn’t that better than friendly militaries? Virginia is also the seat of the first permanent English Colony, in 1607. Curiously, North Carolina had one first, founded by Sir Walter Raleigh, consisting of about 100 English fathers, mothers, and children, but it only lasted about a year and then disappeared. How’s that for a fact that you always wished you’d known?

This KOA park is lovely, not nearly full, but it’s very early in the season. Housing an RV is very inexpensive, but this park is one-third more expensive than any of the KOAs we were in up to now. Location, location, location.

Goodnight, dear family and friends. Day 4 will take us from Ashland VA to Carlisle, PA. A shoutout to Bobby Lerman’s alma mater, Dickinson.

Yes! we’re back to our “up and at ‘em” routine because the city is encroaching on our rural personalities. In Sarasota, traffic consists of waiting for a second light, and in Waterville ME there is no such word as traffic. But here today Allie had to make an executive decision about what route to take. Sally Mae of GPS fame wanted us to go through Washington, heading North on I95, but Al would have none of big city traffic during the morning commute. So he decided to head South back toward Richmond, pick up I64 West, then I81 North, ditching the big cities all the way.

It was a wonderful 300 mile day, clear and beautiful, with comfort stops along the way. It’s always necessary to feed the RV and its passengers, but mostly the RV. You don’t want to be driving through foothills of mountains and run out of gas. And here we are in Carlisle PA with another shoutout to Bobby who went to Dickinson College. This surely is a college town, making Bobby’s hometown of Wayland, MA look like Paris.

The traffic toward Richmond began to thicken with trucks, cars, and soon a sextet of black-clad and helmeted motorcyclists adding to the anxiety, but it was short-lived. Sally Mae, somewhat annoyed with Allie for his disregard of her, made the GPS readable only sideways. You can’t fool Mother Technology!

Let me tell you a bit more about the battle of the Driver Man and the GPS Woman. Once he had made the decision to ignore her and go his own way, she never quit telling him to make a U-ee, go the other way, head North through Washington, etc. But he just smiled and pulled the plug. It was easy. Once he was established on his new route, he plugged her back in. Defeated, she had recalculated and was now on our route, all smiles, giving him directions as if nothing had happened. Perhaps humans could really learn from computers about hard feelings.

Virginia is gorgeous. The trees are green, the grass is green. Perhaps it rains in Virginia even when it doesn’t rain elsewhere. No road signs at all, and even the signs which tell us about food/lodging/gas at exits are located on the exits, not the main highways. So it’s take your chances and trust us. Anything for beauty.

Virginia has a proud history. From the AAA Guidebook: Virginia thrives on its past. Seven presidential homes, two Colonial capitals, more Civil War battlefields than any other state…

Visitors can enjoy Jamestown, Colonial Williamsburg, the Museum of the Confederacy. Monticello, the University of VA, or go to the mountains and drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway or Skyline Drive. We have done both, so today finds us on roads in the foothills of the mountains, enjoying the scenery looking up.

Once again in need of diesel, not always available at all gas stations, we go on a hunt. Once you leave the highway you have no assurance that the station you’re looking for is close by. In Virginia, you can be sure it’s not. So you go touring, hunting for the green pump. We finally find it in Crozet, VA, nine miles from the Skyline Drive. It’s a charming small town which we enjoy as we wend our way back to the highway.

“Are we on good terms again, Sally Mae?” asks Allie. She smiles, sideways. We pass the Virginia School for the Deaf and the Blind, the Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library, the Stonewall Jackson hotel and the American Shakespeare Center. A shoutout to Ian’s children as we pass their town, Harrisonburg, and their school, James Madison University.

If you care about stats, here’s the scoop on diesel: the prices range from $2.29 to $2.79 a gallon, both in some states. Our mileage ranges from 12 mpg to 15 mpg, depending on the traffic. On the tough days it was 12 and on the good days it was 15. Moving along is what the rig likes to do.

Welcome to West Virginia, says the sign, and for the first time we see roads that need repair. Virginia had none. I just have time to muse about how good most drivers are. They stay in their lanes, they are courteous, they obey the speed limits, and accidents are few and far between. Good thing. Otherwise there would be mayhem on the roads.

And here is Maryland and Mason/Dixon Road. I Google the Mason/Dixon Line and find it was surveyed in a dispute between Maryland, Pennsylvania and Delaware in Colonial America. Naturally, the surveyors were Mr. Mason and Mr. Dixon. Good work, guys.

There’s barely time to read the info before we see “Welcome to Pennsylvania, the State of Independence.” Molly Pitcher highway comes next and another trip to Google. If you already know, skip this part. Molly joined the army in the Civil War, and, when not fighting, she served water to the troops, presumably in pitchers. I won’t comment on her dual role.

I look around and really do see spacious skies, amber waves of grain and purple mountains majesty. No fruited plains in sight, at least not right here. Factories for grain, harvesting equipment, truck stops, truck stores, and acres of hay dot the landscape. And here is our exit, to Carlisle, a college town surrounded by orchards, farmers’ markets, BBQ restaurants, hay fields, antique stores, and farms. We find our RV park, although it’s a long way from the highway, and are comfortably settled for the night.
Tomorrow, Day Five, is the big one. We’re on our way to Saratoga! More about that tomorrow.