This was going to be a long day.  I knew that in advance.  And you will see that as well, based on the number of pictures I’ve included. Fortunately, the weather was good, and there were a lot of stops to make. (Remember that this excursion took place in late summer of 2016.)

Also, here’s an update on the railroad you see in some of the pictures. It’s the former New York Central branch line which went from Utica through Old Forge and Tupper Lake, to Saranac Lake, before reaching the end of the line at Lake Placid. I made a special effort to take this trip when I did…because there were serious rumors that New York State (which owns the rail line) was discontinuing permission for the Adirondack Scenic Railroad to use the tracks from Tupper Lake to Lake Placid, since they were/still are destined to be replaced by a hiking trail.

As of late fall 2016, trains were discontinued from the Adirondack Scenic northern branch and removed from the premises. Despite extensive legal battles, they have not run since. (Note: this does not affect southern branch trains, which continue to run – and are very interesting.) The northern rails are rusty. When the State is your opposition, they have much more authority, and certainly deeper pockets. So it is within the realm of possibility that the railroad scenes which follow will never be able to be re-created.

My outfit du jour was capris and a red tee-top, flats, but with no jewelry except my necklace, and no makeup or bra/padding – due to the microscopic possibility of meeting someone I know at a railroad excursion.  However, that didn’t happen. 

 Other passengers were friendly, but not overly talkative.  That’s fine with me – and I didn’t hear “Sir”. 

As it turned out, I could have worn a dress. I saw nobody I know, and everyone was friendly. Train staff (male and female) took my hand to help me on and off the train. (As a guy, typically a hand is offered, but staff does not pursue it if I just step up or down), I suspect they thought I was female, though I did not hear “Ma’am.”

Following are 3 pictures of the historic Hotel Saranac, which still stands on the property where a 3-story wood-frame High School building once stood. It was envisioned by the builder/owners (Morton Marshall and J. B. Scopes) as a true city hotel, and it opened its doors on 7/12/1927. Subsequently purchased by Frank Miller, within 5 years it became the preferred venue for community events and meetings.

It was booked solid 5 months in advance of the 1932 Winter Olympic games. And in 1937 the Hotel Saranac sign was installed on the roof, visible from miles away.

In 1956 it was purchased by Norman Meyer, and in 1962 was resold to Paul Smith’s College to complement its Hotel, Resort and Culinary management program. (How better to learn hospitality management, than by on-the-job training?)

In 1977 renovations were done under College ownership, and it began using its first computer system in 1986. Then in 2002 it celebrated its 75th birthday, and in 2006 ownership transferred to the Aurora family. The hotel’s condition began to deteriorate, and in 2013 ownership transferred again, to the Roedel Companies. Renovation began again, and in 2018 the grand re-opening was held. It is now a member of Historic Hotels of America, the official program of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

I hope to someday return for a short stay, even though the railroad will likely be gone.

All too soon, it was train time, to head back to Lake Placid. More spectacular scenery…at every turn.

After the excursion arrived back in Lake Placid, I got in my car and drove to the Olympic Bobsled track, as I wanted to take the guided tour. (No, I wasn’t spending their outrageous price to ride their “wheeled bobsled” down the short track.)

After our guide finished our tour at the top of the hill, he gave everybody the option to walk back down the mile from the top to the bottom. Like in the third photo immediately below:

I was the only non-walker out of the bus load of about 20 – and many of them were young kids or girls up to thirty-something, with only one guy. (Not me, obviously)  I commented to the driver that I’ll probably be at the ski jumps before they reach the bottom.  His response, “Yes, Ma’am, you probably will.”

Once the bus dropped me off at the main building, I headed back to my car and drove out to the ski jumps from the Olympics. Oh My Gosh are they tall!   Unfortunately, the elevator to the top of the 120 meter jump was broken, so that was off-limits today.  😦  But the chair lift was still operating – it was the only way to get to the base of the towers.  And being the daring one, (yeah right) I took a chance.  Why not?  I really wanted to see them, up close and personal.

OK, so, now on to the chair lift. The girl attendant at the bottom “station” helped me get into the chair, since I didn’t know how…and the lift never stopped moving. Their policy seemed to be that the girl attendant helps the girls and the boy attendant helps the boys. And there was no indication that they thought I was anything other than the girl I appeared to be.

From the chair lift on the way up, “it was a long way straight down”…with nothing between me and the ground except open air… I certainly didn’t look down much, except to get this picture:

Once at the top, it was quite a sight. Those towers are immense. I’m not sure I’d want to take the elevator ride up another 120 meters…so maybe it was a good thing the elevator in the tallest one was out of order.

The bonus was: another item off that bucket list (since I don’t ski, I certainly won’t be riding a chair lift any time again soon!)

Other than to take the above pictures, I didn’t look down very often.  But then, there were so many things to see off to the sides!  My head was swiveling like a “sideways bobblehead”, so I didn’t have time to take a lot of pictures!

If you watched the 2014 Winter Olympics ski contests, you might have wondered how steep ski jumps really are.  Take my word for it – they’re steep!  The above pic sort of reinforces that thought.   I’m not a professional engineer, but the slope on that jump appears to be about 45 degrees – or more.  Wow!

After completing that adventure, it was getting to be time to pack and prepare to head south the next morning.   Needless to say, I never know when to call it a day on these excursions.  I couldn’t resist stopping at a clear mountain stream near the road – one with a little waterfall and some wildlife enjoying the rushing water.   Notice the beaver in the center, calmly enjoying some greenery, with ducks swimming serenely past…

Meanwhile, “back at the ranch”….oops….motel….it was time to pack for tomorrow’s departure.

But first, I went across the street to none other than Mickey D’s…same one as last night.  (Too convenient – and cheap – to pass up.)  This time,  the male clerk (a different one) saw me as a bloke.  And proudly announced to the world, a cheery “Thank you Sir.”  

I certainly wasn’t as happy as he was.  Good thing tipping isn’t required at Mickey D’s.   ‘Cause he might just have been the first server ever to receive a “tip” from me to “be more sensitive to trans people”…instead of cash.   But not being in a mood to stir up a battle, I let it pass.

More about my adventure soon…

The next day’s excursion was to visit Lake Placid, NY – site of the 1932 and 1980 Winter Olympics.  My outfit was a white skort, black top,  makeup, necklace, 2 silver bracelets, pearl earrings, bra and silicone inserts, as you will see in the final picture.  

It was a 4+ hour drive from the previous stop, and I made a pit stop at the High Peaks North rest stop on I-87, which was close to the turnoff for Lake Placid, about 35 miles south of the Canadian border.  Way upstate!  What a surprise…not only did they have the usual men’s and women’s rooms, but also a very nice single restroom marked “Unisex.”  Which I used.

This is much better wording than at some of the other rest stops I visited in NY, which had their single restrooms specifically marked for use by “families with children.”    I have no problem with the unisex label, but I’m not particularly fond of the term “families with children.”   That could lead to confrontations with those who hate us…and could also be problems for a couple without kids, one of whom needs assistance from the spouse.   Can’t you just imagine someone shouting as they go in  – “Hey you dumb s**ts, can’t you read?  Or maybe you’re blind…  That’s reserved for families with kids.”  But I’m not the one in charge…

At High Peaks, I also noticed what I believe to be a bear-proof garbage container…humans had to work to get it open, with a hidden latch.  No way a bear would get in…without smashing it to smithereens. Unfortunately, the picture didn’t work out 😦

After the rest stop, I drove on to Lake Placid and filled the gas tank.  When I paid for the gas, the attendant properly addressed me as “Ma’am.” I was still wearing my skort, and the clerk made the judgement call as “female.”  I told him that I needed to change into something more useful, and he directed me to the women’s room,   There I  changed into shorts – the motel I was using was “mom & pop” and I didn’t want to “stampede the horses.” 

As it turned out, what I wore wouldn’t have mattered.  My makeup and jewelry were visible, the desk clerk was a guy, and after checking me in (addressing me as Ms.,) he enthusiastically carried my suitcases up to the room on the second floor.

Then, since it was clear outside, and I had lots of time, I changed back into my skort and drove toward Whiteface Mountain – a misnomer in the summertime, as it was very green.  On the way, I passed through North Pole, NY.  As a sidelight, I can remember sending letters to “Santa Claus” there, when I was young…   

I passed by “Santa’s Workshop” – and promptly left that for the kiddies!   Onward I drove, up to the top of Whiteface, elev. 4,700 ft  – more or less.  Wonderful views, and lots of hairpin turns…   

A couple hundred folks of all ages were up there with me on the mountaintop, including in the gift shop.  

And the view was spectacular, with visibility alleged to be 40-50 miles. Following is a view of Lake Placid from “the top.” It’s just one of many spectacular views…and I never realized that lake was so irregular in shape!

A sign at the top indicated that with harsh conditions at the top of the mountain, the area is part of the only 175 acres of remaining Alpine zone on 16 New York State high peaks in the Appalachian mountains. Few places on earth match the absolutely brutal conditions atop these peaks. There sure weren’t many growing plants…

My visit went just fine and dandy, until in the parking lot on my way back to the car, when a little girl in a departing vehicle, which had slowed to pass me and about 15 other slow-moving pedestrians, looked out the window (presumably at me) and asked, in a voice loud enough for me to hear:  “Mommy, is that a man?”   I wasn’t facing her way at that moment, so she got a “side or back” view.  No, I can’t prove she was referring to me…nor could I hear the mother’s response.   Did anyone within earshot care about it?  Not that I could discern.   (Yes, the little girl COULD have meant someone else, but I didn’t notice any other trans folks in my group of pedestrians.)   Let’s hope the parents had a little “discussion” with their daughter about manners.  Ummmmm – hope springs eternal.

During my visit to Whiteface, I finally managed to find a place to use the self-timer to snap this one picture – on the side of the building away from the lion’s share of wind.  Even so, I’m lucky the remaining wind didn’t tip the camera over.  Rocks and cameras just don’t mix.

In the town of Lake Placid itself a bit later that day, a teen girl gave me a close examination as we passed on the street.  From the look of disbelief on her face, obviously my presentation failed in her eyes.  (Sunglasses work wonders to allow watching those who are watching me.)  Oh, well…her problem to deal with, not mine.  There were no other obvious issues. 

At the wonderful (do you sense a hint of sarcasm there?) Mickey D’s dinner (I rebelled at again coughing  up “$30+” for a steak dinner – not counting beverage), I heard neither Sir nor Ma’am.  Guess at that point, they didn’t care which gender I was – I was spending money at their place, instead of at the Burger King just down the street.

All in all, a very enjoyable day!

As info, this all occurred over a late summer weekend in 2016.  And it was the first day of an all-too-rare solo excursion. That year, due to life events, these were particularly scarce.    There weren’t even any antique auto shows. 

My blue shorts, a purple sleeveless top, and flats, with necklace and bracelet, and  casual makeup comprised my outfit.  I was traveling in androgynous mode today… as I was making relatively few stops.   One of these was a men’s room break at a roadside rest area, in which there were a few “looks” but no issues.  (And no unisex restroom.) 

When I reached the first night’s motel in upstate New York (a well-known chain motel), the desk clerk apparently paid attention to my bonus points account, and addressed me as “Sir,” despite my makeup, tank top, necklace and bracelet   Without a doubt, I was clocked…of course that might have also been due to the minor issue with my reservation, which required the assistance of the manager, and thus adherence to “company rules” about properly addressing the customer.  No matter…the problems all worked out fine, and I got my room (better yet, for the price I expected.)  Plus, I answer to Ma’am – or Sir – in androgynous mode.

When I had settled into the room, Mandy appeared, as I changed into my purple and blue paisley skirt with black top, bra and silicone enhancers (not full forms) and my Mary Jane heels, as well as additional jewelry, then went sightseeing locally.  One of my objectives was to find the destination for the next day’s tourist railroad ride.  I was successful…and a picture follows.  It was nice to be able to get pictures with nobody else around!   (And as it turned out, the next day was cloudy, thus the picture wouldn’t have been as colorful.)

On my way back to my hotel, I passed a small lake with a dam, and what appeared to be hydroelectric capability.   A sign by the road indicated that Colliers Dam was initially built in 1907 to supply electricity for the local trolleys and for several small villages nearby.   Info I found on line shows that it continued to supply power until 1969, when the New York State Electric and Gas Company, who had taken it over, finally turned out the lights and locked the doors.   In 1974 they unsuccessfully attempted to sell the dam.   (Liability issues???) So there it sits today.

Too bad small renewable energy operations like this tend to fail.  

Then it was back to the motel.  With a long day behind me, I was more than ready to hit the sack…but first a noteworthy sunset:

More to follow!

This excursion was a lot of fun, even though it happened way back in 2014…

Out and about in the antique car – to Deal Island.  After passing the town of Nanticoke, I navigated my way on back roads, to Whitehaven, where a ferry carries cars across the Wicomico River.

On the Whitehaven Ferry…almost to the other side of the river!

Maximum load: 3 cars and a total of 6 passengers.  A fun – and old fashioned – way to cross the river!  Not at all like the ferry I took to Martha’s Vineyard!  Fortunately, though, a much shorter ride – only about 7 minutes.  And then a bit of a drive on the bridge (causeway, or whatever) to Deal Island.

In many ways, Deal Island looks very similar to Hooper Island and many other rural Delmarva towns with nautical roots.  This seems to be the way-of-life around here in the “sticks.”   Lots of folks with 4WD’s (complete with rifles in gun racks), a few “regular” type cars, and a bunch of boats.  Some very well-kept houses and house trailers, and some “not so much,” standing water in low-lying areas, a bunch of abandoned homes, businesses and a derelict church or two. Very friendly people, though.

Above: US Post Office, Bivalve, MD.

Above:  Church on Deal Island.

Per the internet this is the John Wesley Methodist Episcopal church, a late Victorian T-plan Gothic Revival church dating from 1914. A congregation has worshipped on this site since the third quarter of the 19th century, though it is in serious decline. The building is undergoing casual renovation, and due to frequent coastal flooding, has suffered major damage. Apparently it needs to be raised, the foundation needs to be replaced, and wind and rain damage needs to be repaired to stop interior destruction from multiplying.

Notice the cemetery to the right of the church?  Looks like on-or-above ground interment to the uninitiated.  Remember, these shore towns are just above, or right on, sea level – and the water table is from a few inches to a few feet below ground level.  Traditional coffins could pop right up and float away in a flood situation.  Maybe these vaults are heavy enough to stay put?

Reminds me of the cemetery issues in the various New Orleans posts…though the folks here don’t find themselves with the bank accounts to support NOLA-style mausoleums!

I finally had to plot my “potty break”…it happens to everyone eventually!  But remember, I’m in unfamiliar territory, wearing makeup, jewelry, lipstick, a skirt, tights and flats, and driving a rather ostentatious 47-year-old car with plenty of V-8 rumble – the equal of some 4WD’s I’ve heard.  There were eyes on the car as I passed the town dock heading east, en route to the end of Deal Island Road at Wenona (land’s end), where I reversed course and headed back to the dock.  From past experiences, docks tend to have either restrooms or porta pots…and this one proved to be no exception.

However, there was some kind of event already in progress, as other vehicles (both cars and 4WD’s)  were arriving, and people were getting out.  There was music playing on a PA system down by the water (sounded religious, but couldn’t hear it well), and a bunch of tables were set up in the parking lot, as if ready for a feast.  Mother Nature dictated that I had no choice but to stop, regardless of the consequences, because the next nearest place is probably a half hour or more back up the road.

A couple of heavy-bearded, grizzled-looking guys in bib overalls (think Duck Dynasty types, who appeared to be about 50 years old but probably were only 35) were sitting at the store across the street, and wandered over as I pulled in.  Using female form of address, they asked typical questions about the car, which I answered as I got out; then I excused myself to the restroom.  

I must have “passed muster” with them after they looked me over from “nose to toes”: one of them said “the door on the right is the ladies’ room.”  I could almost “feel” their eyes watching my legs, butt and skirt movement as I walked away…has anyone else ever noticed that feeling?

Turns out that both restrooms were handicap-accessible (translation: huge) one-holer porta pots, permanently enclosed in buildings, with real doors and real locks, to make them look like real restrooms.  Interesting – I’ve never seen that before.

When I came out of the ladies’ room, (yes, I’m beginning to like the sound of that), I started back to my car, passing a woman headed to where I just came from. She smiled and said hi, and I reciprocated.  Then I realized that a couple of other men wanted to talk with me.  One, with papers in his hand, smiled and said “Ma’am, have you filled out your door prize form yet?”  I replied no, but thanked him and said I was just passing through, so I didn’t need to.  Another man said “Ma’am, why don’t you stay for the program, and then join us for dinner afterward?”  I thanked him profusely for his kind invitation, and actually began to regret my inability to stay.  THAT would have been a first, and an adventure in itself…

But, I held out my left hand (displaying my engagement ring) and said “I already have a dinner invitation, about 100 miles from here…” The guy seemed genuinely disappointed, and thanked me for stopping by.  It was wonderful to get such acceptance from so many folks.   Unfortunately, dummy here was too nervous to have the presence of mind to find out what the program actually was!  My guess is still “church-related.”

A segue for those unfamiliar with Maryland politics: sparsely-populated rural Maryland is well-known for being staunchly conservative, and much more inflexible than the bigger, more liberal political subdivisions like Baltimore City and four (or five) big surrounding counties. But despite that minor detail, my reception seemed very genuine and hospitable.  So if I’d been able to stay, I believe I’d have been accepted as a woman.  If not, I’d have gotten a chance to try chipping away at negative conservative stereotypes of TG folks, one person at a time.  

Back on topic: I’d have had trouble explaining “staying for the festivities” to my wife, who was expecting me for dinner.  I wouldn’t even dream of driving the antique home at night, for fear of collisions with deer (we seem to have a bumper crop of them – a lot of road kill this spring).  And lastly, there are no motels out there in the sticks.  Those were all compelling reasons why I was destined to leave. 

There was one more reason, which I certainly couldn’t ignore any longer:  my makeup had probably just “timed out”.  It was still several hours till sunset, and I was getting antsy about my beard re-appearing.  Without a mirror or natural light in the pseudo-restroom, and with no sink or running water, I couldn’t tell – it may have already showed up.  Since I hadn’t brought my MAC makeup, I couldn’t re-apply a heavier coat.  It definitely was time to depart.

After saying good-bye to my new acquaintances, and, without wasting any time checking the status of my makeup in the car’s mirror (since its condition no longer mattered), I put my skirted butt in the driver’s seat, twisted the key, and my trusty old V-8 sprang to life once again.  Off I went…rumbling back through the endless marshes and wetlands of a Deal Island springtime.

Endless marshes of Deal Island…from horizon to horizon, as far as the eye can see, with the only sign of civilization being the pole line alongside the highway.

And I have no doubt that, at some point, I shall return!  Lovely area…

On the way home, I stopped for a moment to check out the old railroad station in the fairly large (for the Delmarva) town of Cambridge.  Trains don’t use this station anymore, but it’s now an office, and there’s a statically displayed caboose for atmosphere.  At least it wasn’t “urban-renewaled.”

And I still had the challenge in front of me: finding a place with one-holer restrooms, so I could switch back to jeans…that wasn’t going to happen in the car.   An hour from home, a roadside restaurant appeared, and it had an outside-accessible restroom.  I was able to change there.   Bet the folks getting into the car next to me wondered about the girl going into the restroom carrying something denim…and they were fortunately gone when I returned to my car.

The day after my trip, I had to pay a “king’s ransom” to fill the almost empty 20 gallon gas tank with premium.   I was wearing one of my usual androgynous stirrup pants outfits.  At the gas station, I encountered an elderly man in the car at the next pump, who asked several questions about the car, ending each one with “dear.”   I guess he was blind!  (Oh my…how can that be – he was driving!)  Yes, I had shaved closely, though I certainly wasn’t wearing any makeup! The only answers are:  1. He was being polite, or 2. He wasn’t particularly observant.  I’ll never know for sure which it was…but smart money is on #2!

I’ve begun to appreciate this type of impromptu casual and pleasant male attention…it definitely spiced up my morning, as well as confirmed my feminine everyday appearance.  And it certainly beats hearing the dreaded “S” word!

And, yes, I’m already checking maps for more places to explore in a skirt…there are plenty. Just need a car show in the area to make it work next time.  Unfortunately, the rest of April (remember, this was written in 2014, not 2019) doesn’t look too promising….nor does May.  We’ll see how soon Mandy can get out again…maybe the next time I can wear the new top with my skirt!

Though I was already planning to be in Chicago for a meeting, I scheduled my arrival for the day beforehand, to avoid the possibility of recurrence of the problem I had last time, namely: the train arrived well after the meeting concluded.  The train was punctual this time around. So that gave me some time on my hands for exploring.

After getting settled into my (expensive) hotel, I found that I wasn’t far from the eastern end of “The Mother Road,” US Route 66.  A few minutes later, I found the spot, and got this “beginning” picture.  Remaining elusive is the “ending” sign – it’s a few blocks away – but I just haven’t found it yet.

Shortly thereafter, I glanced skyward, and was amazed at what I saw…a low-flying cloud deck, obscuring the tops of skyscrapers.  It’s a phenomenon I haven’t seen in a long time, and definitely it was a Kodak moment…

Anyone remember “Kolchak: The Night Stalker” series from the ‘70’s?   His office was in the Old Colony Building.  I found the building, which is now undergoing serious renovations.  And yes, the elevated train runs right next to his office, just like on TV!

The rest of my time in Chicago was centered on the meeting I was attending the next day…and the following day was departure from Chicago. 

However instead of traveling east and returning home as originally ticketed, the pieces fell together in such a way that the opportunity presented itself…to ride to Los Angeles in a very old (1948) sleeper/dome/round end observation, on the back of a regularly-scheduled Amtrak train.  How could I do anything other than say YES to that?  

WELLLLL – Easy answer:  I couldn’t say no…   And away I went, for my “magic carpet” ride.  Very nice digs, big quantities of wonderful food, good friends and a glass dome for viewing the scenery, too.  Went through thunderstorms with hail, lightning and torrential rain. What an experience in a dome, and what a ride!  When can I go again????? 

A few semaphores are still active, but very antique (as of 2015 this is one of reportedly only two lines still using them in the USA).  Taken on the route of the Southwest Chief in New Mexico.

Needless to say, for the 2 overnights and nearly 2 days duration of the train ride, no skirts or other fem-wear.  I was just my usual androgynous self, which the folks riding with me had seen previously.  So, no harm, no foul.   I was under orders from my wife to “not” show up around people we know in a dress (translation: nightgown.)  There was no need to, so it wasn’t an issue.  But there are any number of reasons it “could” have happened, which I pointed out to her, and couldn’t have avoided.  She knew, but hoped it wouldn’t happen.  She won that bet and they didn’t get to see me in a feminine nightgown.

While in desolate desert landscape in New Mexico, the train stopped for oncoming traffic as dinner was served in the dome. Needless to say, this desert sunset was the result of our delay. Simply spectacular.

While on the subject of volcanic cones (see previous post about Capulin Mountain in New Mexico), I couldn’t overlook this route’s proximity to Amboy Crater, California, which is 2.5 miles (4.0 km) southwest of the town of Amboy and the Route 66 National Trails Highway.  The Bullion Mountains are to the west, and the Bristol Mountains to the northeast.

This cinder cone is estimated to be 79,000 years old (+/- 5,000 years)and was formed in layers of mostly vesicular pahoehoe during the Pleistocene geological period. The interior has a lava lake. Lava flows are as old as Amboy Crater itself blanket the surrounding area. The most recent eruption was approximately 10,000 years ago.

The scenic and solitary Amboy Crater was a popular sight and stop for travelers on US Route 66 in California, prior to the opening of Interstate 40 in 1973. Other than a stretch of U.S. Route 66 in New Mexico, Amboy Crater is one of just a few extinct volcanoes along the entire route, so generations of U.S. Route 66 travelers from the 1920s through the 1960s could boast that they had climbed a real volcano. Visits decreased after Interstate 40 opened, but have increased in recent years with the nearby Mitchell Caverns,  Mojave National Preserve, and renewed historical tourism interest in “old Route 66”.  

Residents of Amboy and travelers on old Route 66 would have experienced what many would call a “moment of terror” back in the early 1970’s. They woke to see billowing black smoke rising from the center of the crater, from this “what was thought to be a dormant cinder cone volcano.” It appeared to be now coming back to life, with the promise of an eruption the equivalent of Mt. Vesuvius.. Residents prepared to flee. The Santa Fe mainline and Route 66 were shut down as the community braced for impending disaster.

Funny how the distinctive rumblings usually associated with volcanic activity were absent. Furthermore, the smoke volume didn’t increase. Upon aerial investigation, the authorities found something which surprised them. Instead of billowing clouds of ash with red-hot lava and steam, they found a small, localized fire in the center of the crater, involving what looked suspiciously like burning tires and trash. The hoax was uncovered! A review was set up to find the perpetrators of this scheme. Clues led all the way to Barstow, and ended in the laps of kids from the local high school!

Those were the “good old days”.

Finally, Hail to the Queen!

I had considered that the chips might fall my way, and thankfully made appropriate room reservations to stay a couple nights in a stateroom at the Queen Mary in Long Beach…just in case I never return.

Notable was my reception the first day (with me in androgynous mode, fresh off the train), when I first dropped in at the wireless room on board.  Two elderly docents were there, and they fawned all over me once they found out (by asking) if I was alone.  Then they seated me, and took my picture at the radio set (with my own camera), a nice gesture:  

There was only one instance of “Sir – Oh, excuse me – Ma’am” or the reverse, on my entire two week trip.  That one blooper was made on the second day at the QM (with me in a skirt, blouse and flats) by a young lady peddling QM tours (some of which I chose to buy), who may have been uneducated in the proper etiquette for helping transgender folks.  Or, more likely, she could have had a personal “axe to grind” with the “guy in a dress” concept, and was expressing her disapproval the only way she knew how, regardless of its extreme non-politically-correctness. 

I decided to ignore the issue.  Pursuing it would not improve the situation, and was likely to chew up more of my precious (and too short) time there.  And it could have resulted in a management apology letter being mailed to the house – not necessarily a good thing in my case, since it could arrive before my return. But rest assured, the incident was given some sunshine on the ubiquitous “how did we do” survey, post-visit.

Had a fabulous time at the Queen Mary, but all too soon, it was “The Party’s Over!”   

My last morning in Long Beach dawned cloudy and cool (60’s.)   After having spent the entire previous day and the day before that in skirts it just felt right to do it again.   And it showed me that I’d really enjoy doing that each and every day! 

In retrospect, my reception by staff at the Queen Mary during the visit was generally “good.”  There were only a few “incidents” but predominantly, there were no gender markers at all.   That’s fairly common back east (maybe out west, too?), and fine with me.  Nobody seemed to care how I was dressed, including the other hotel guests. 

My return chariot (a Blue Van) arrived on schedule, to carry me back to the Amtrak station.  Its driver was polite, and he used no gender markers for the few interactions we had, though the rear seat belt was more than a bit difficult to operate, and he had to help me fasten it.   I admit to blushing quite red at sitting there in my skirt and blouse, unable to fasten my seat belt, and having to let a man help me with it! 

Once underway, traffic got crazy.  And I’d rather the driver pay attention to traffic, than worry about the right way to address me.  As it was, a Californian, crazily weaving in and out of lanes on what I think was the 101, (this driver must have been really loco, doing 15 mph over the speed limit while weaving) nearly took off our right front fender in an abrupt and un-signaled lane change.  

My driver’s quick reaction saved the day.   Blessedly, we soon were back in my bailiwick, the very art-deco Amtrak Los Angeles Union Station, without casualties. YAY!  Before you ask, no, my short visit did absolutely nothing to convince me to relocate to SoCal!  If the drivers don’t get you, fires or mudslides will.  (And to think – I used to live near San Francisco…no regrets at “used to.”)

My first stop in the Amtrak station was the Metropolitan Lounge for sleeping car passengers, to drop off my bags till train time.  The girls checked me in, saw my now-female given name, and with my skirt, blouse and other cues, I was addressed as “Ma’am” the rest of my time there.  And as other passengers arrived, I was included in a couple of discussions, as a woman. 

I went for a walk around the neighborhood (it was relatively safe during the day…not sure about after 5PM).  First stop, the Avila Adobe, oldest house in Los Angeles (built in 1818).  Typical southwestern adobe style, with a beautiful central courtyard.  Needless to say, Mandy couldn’t resist a picture!

Then I did some shopping in “Calle Olvera,”  the Olvera St. mall  – little shops and restaurants selling things with a Mexican theme – togs, toys, trinkets, and tacos – to pedestrians.  (Some of those dresses were to die for!)  Neat place. If I ever get back solo, I’d love to end up in one of those pretty dresses (if any would fit me – they may not have “plus” sizes), but I literally had no room in my suitcase this time!

And though I wasn’t people-watching, in casual encounters I didn’t notice any folks doing obvious double-takes.  I was just another woman out shopping, enjoying the now 70+ degree afternoon weather in the city.

I walked a little farther, to the Pico House – a former hotel, long since disused, which was rehabbed as a historic building (and the ground floor opened for special events) since my prior visit to the area.   The docent of the art display there was definitely convinced I was female. Then she recommended the fire house a few doors down, as they had a museum of old fire equipment.  

Her suggestion was definitely a good one, except for the minor fact that the elderly male docent there was convinced I was male (despite my feminine outfit), and acted accordingly, complete with the dreaded “S” word.  Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you!  Fortunately after our initial interaction, I was on my own to look around the place, and it wasn’t an ongoing issue. 

Finally, back at the Metropolitan Lounge in the Amtrak station, boarding time came.   I used the service of a Red Cap – again.  (This could become habit forming!)  What woman wouldn’t want to?  Especially with bags as heavy as mine felt to me.  He addressed me in the correct gender, but unlike other Red Caps, didn’t put the bags on the rail car for me.  He left that to my car attendant, who told the first 3 people he boarded (all men) that their bags were over the weight limit, thus they were on their own to move them.  I began to worry…mine were already close to the weight limit when I left home, and I had condensed my collapsible third bag into the other two before leaving the Queen Mary.  “This yours, Miss?”  “Yes, Sir.”  And he heaved it on to the car, stowing it in the luggage rack.  I guess it’s a known fact that women don’t travel light!

Before the train departed, I took my camera outside and asked if the car attendant would take a picture of me by the car.   He smiled and said something to the effect of “For you, sweetheart, I sure would.  Give me a big smile now!”  And the results…

Yes, it was a wonderful trip, one which I shall always remember…and I’m ready to go in luxury again, should the occasion ever arise!

Mandy

Over the years, this girl’s travels have been quite diverse…some well photographed, some not so much…but this travel destination was a bit unusual.

From Wikipedia, the current name of this monument is Capulin Volcano National Monument, in the northeastern part of New Mexico.   In 1971, at the time I took these pictures, its official name was Capulin Mountain National Monument, one of the lesser-known natural treasures in the US.

Capulin Volcano is a well-preserved, relatively young (58,000 to 62,000 years old), symmetrical cinder cone. It rises steeply from the surrounding grassland plains to an elevation of 8,182 feet above sea level. The irregular rim of the crater is about a mile in circumference and the crater about 400 feet deep. 

This is one of the outstanding landmarks located in the northeast corner of New Mexico, where the rolling grasslands meet the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.   Capulin Volcano’s highest point provides unobstructed, panoramic views of the volcanic field, distant snow-capped mountains, and portions of four states (New Mexico, Oklahoma, Texas and Colorado).

In addition to the parking lot, the above view shows the pathway down into the crater. I did NOT attempt that walk…

A beautiful day for sightseeing, with excellent visibility!

And now, after all these years, I’m so glad I took the time to visit…I doubt I’ll ever get back. (However, one constant item is in the parking lot picture…I still own that blue 1967 model Buick!)

Thanks for reading!

Mandy

With my love of “things on rails,” it was impossible to pass up a chance to ride the incline in Chattanooga.  This little railroad operates from the foot to the top of Lookout Mountain, and was the sight of a major battle between the Union and Confederate soldiers in America’s Civil War, known to all as “The Battle Above The Clouds.”

There are only two cars, one going up and the other down.  They’re connected by a long cable and counterbalance each other, with the cable going over a large drum at the powerhouse.  Except at the mid-slope passing area and the two termini, the un-powered, steeply sloping cars operate using an outer rail and a common inner rail, at standard gauge (4′-8-1/2″).  The route is about one mile long, and though the grade varies, at its steepest it is 72.7 percent, being billed as the steepest incline in the world.

Approaching the upper terminus.

Overhead view.  Notice the common center rail.

My wife bought our tickets while I was off taking pictures.  But you knew that already…of course!  And it was a fun ride, particularly on a clear day.

While visiting downtown Chattanooga, we stopped by the Moon Pie store (they’re made by the Chattanooga Bakery, in town.)  Delicious pastries – two (or three) cookies, with marshmallow icing between them, individually wrapped.  This place was a real “blast from the past.” 

In case you wondered, no, they don’t cost five cents any more, but then gas isn’t 25 cents a gallon, either.  (And yes, I can remember when it was…)

In addition to Moon Pies and RC Cola (a local favorite) they featured candies and confections which I hadn’t seen in many, many years… like Bonomo Turkish Taffy (smack it and crack it).  Read about the convoluted history of this delicious, but not at all common, candy at http://www.bonomoturkishtaffy.com/MuseumHistory_ep_40.html.

Any of you remember the little wax bottles containing small amounts of flavored liquid, which you bit (or broke) the top off, to be able to drink the sweet juice?  If you’re not in my age group, probably not…   Last time I thought about NikLNips,  I was in 4th grade, and bought them in a nearby neighborhood general store:

What a find…including store clerks who acknowledged us as two ladies.

While enjoying the scenery on the hills around Chattanooga, my wife and I noticed a flash of light and a lot of smoke to our left…then this spaceship landed in a small clearing.  Needless to say, I got in some quick pictures, before steps descended from this orb, and a group of Martians emerged.  They walked right up to our daily driver – and said “Take me to your Buick.”  Needless to say, I floored the gas pedal and we fled the area quickly.  We guessed that Martians preferred Buicks, and didn’t want to take any chance of ending up on Mars…thus missing the antique car tours scheduled this year.  But had we been driving the antique Buick, it’s so large that the Martian spaceship might not have had room for it…

Before you ask:  no, this “flight of fancy” didn’t really occur.  But the spaceship house (built in 1972, 3 bedrooms and two baths, seen below) is completely and totally real!  You can drive by and see for yourself…look on the internet for Spaceship House, Palisades Road, Chattanooga.  If you’re so inclined, you can even rent it by the month for a vacation.  Sounds like a place to have a lot of fun!

When you ride the incline to the top of Lookout Mountain, you can walk a couple of blocks to Point Park.  High atop Lookout Mountain, Point Park was built in 1905, to commemorate the US Civil War’s “Battle Above The Clouds.”  Carter Stevenson, commander of the three Confederate brigades that defended the area had positioned cannon atop Lookout Mountain to aid in it’s defense. November 24, 1863, Stevenson was encamped in the area of the park surrounded on three sides by a force ten times the size of his. A fierce battle ensued, much of which took place on the sides of the mountain,  above the low clouds that day (hence the name.) Once the cannon became ineffective, the troops were withdrawn. Upon orders from General Braxton Bragg, Commander, Confederate Army of Tennessee, Stevenson withdrew his men southwest to Chickamauga Creek and Missionary Ridge, ending the siege of Chattanooga.

Yours truly at Point Park

The woman at the visitor center addressed us both as “ladies” – and me specifically as “Ma’am” the entire time we were there. Very affirming.

Above is the view from Point Park, at the top of Lookout Mountain, with downtown Chattanooga just across the river.  You can see why this military position was so desirable, both offensively and defensively!

How would you like that view out your back window?  Simply impressive. Just don’t wander into your back yard when you’ve had too many martinis…it might be the last mistake you ever make!

Now we switch to Nashville, about 2 hours up the interstate.   Remember Country & Western Music?  Nashville is the hub of the wheel of C&W.  Hence its nickname “Music City.”   Below is a picture of “where it all began” – the Ryman Auditorium.

As you can see from the picture, nearby construction was under way when I took it.  And I haven’t been back since this was taken in 2017. Thus, this particular view may no longer be available – depending on the specs of whatever they were building!

Spearheaded by Thomas Ryman (Nashville businessman and saloon/riverboat owner) The Auditorium opened as the Union Gospel Tabernacle in 1892.  It took 7 years to complete, and cost $100,000. When Ryman died, the evangelist (Samuel Porter Jones) who used the auditorium, proposed to name the building after Ryman, and his religious followers agreed.

In 1904 Lula Naff, a widow and mother who was working as a stenographer, began booking and promoting attractions into the Ryman.  That helped keep the doors open.  When she became unemployed she booked activities as her full time job, and gained a reputation for battling the Nashville Board of Censors, which was planning to have police arrest the star of the play Tobacco Road, due to its provocative nature.  The courts declared the law creating the censors to be invalid.

After debuting in 1925 the local country music radio program originally named the WSM Barn Dance, later the Grand Ole Opry, became a Nashville institution.  Broadcast over “clear channel” AM radio station WSM, it could be heard in the eastern US.  Although not originally a stage show, WSM began broadcasting from the Hillsboro Theatre in 1934, moving to the Dixie Tabernacle in 1936 and then to War Memorial Auditorium in 1939.

After 4 years  – and reports of damage by rowdy crowds – The Opry was forced out and sought a new home.  Thanks to its central location and wooden (translation – damage resistant) pews, Naff and the Ryman leaders thought the auditorium would be a perfect fit. First Opry broadcast from the Ryman was 6.5.1943, and originated there every week for the next nearly 31 years.

In September of 1963 WSM purchased the Ryman and financed minor upgrades in 1966.  But due to the building’s failings:  deteriorating condition, lack of a backstage, lack of air conditioning, and inadequate restrooms, WSM decided to move the Opry to a new location.  They purchased a large tract of land in a rural area a few miles away (not rural anymore) and built the new Opry theatre as part of Opryland USA, which eventually included the Opryland theme park and the Opryland Hotel.  Opryland theme park opened in May of ’72 and the last Opry show at the Ryman was Friday, March 15, 1974. Debut of the new Grand Ole Opry House was Saturday March 16, 1974.

Influential people tried to have the Ryman demolished due to its condition.  However, preservationists leaned on the building’s religious history,  and it was added to the National Register of Historic places.  This saved it from demolition, but did nothing to improve its condition.  It sat mostly vacant and deteriorating for nearly 20 years.  In August of ’79, following a tip from a citizen, the police discovered and disarmed a massive car bomb which threatened to damage or destroy a 3 block area of downtown (target: a nearby strip club) including the Ryman.

To make an even longer story a bit less long, the Ryman was included in the sale of WSM and Opryland properties to Gaylord Broadcasting Company.  In 1986, a show was broadcast which featured some of the Opry’s legendary stars performing there.  And while the auditorium was dormant, major motion pictures continued to be filmed there.  And Gaylord took a liking to the plave, beginning to restore it into a world class concert hall.  In 1998 the Opry held a benefit show at the Ryman, marking its return since that final show in 1974.  The Opry continues to perform there at certain times of the year.

And in 2018 the Ryman was named the most iconic structure in Tennessee.

Following is a picture of the circle of wood at the new Opry house, from the old stage at the Ryman, to signify the continuity of country music between the two…

Not too far from Nashville (about an hour’s drive, in the town of Wartrace) is a museum dedicated to the Tennessee Walking Horse…the  official “state horse.”   Tennessee Walkers were developed by farmers in the bluegrass region, combining the genes of thoroughbreds, Canadian pacers, saddlebreds, Morgans, American standardbreds, and Narranganett pacers.  They come in all colors and patterns: black bay, chestnut, palomino, buckskin roan and spotted patterns.  And they are allegedly one of the smoothest riding horses in the world.

The museum wasn’t open that day, but it would have been fascinating to get more info about this interesting breed of horse.

Not too far from the Walking Horse Museum was this interesting, nicely restored, old home.  There was no information available on it, but the fluid, curved architecture is striking.

Yes, we had a fabulous trip…and I have a hunch we’ll be back again!

Thanks for stopping by, come again – soon!

Mandy

Sorry this posting is a bit out of order regarding the other 2…it should have been first in this series.  My bad!

Our train arrived in San Antonio ahead of schedule (that’s right – about 45 minutes EARLY!)  We hopped a cab to the hotel, though finding one was indeed a challenge, due to other events in town and the early arrival.

It was an unusual check-in:  the thirtysomething desk clerk noticed the reservation in my given (and nowadays exclusively female) name.  And for some reason he assumed (remember that old adage about it making an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’?)  that my wife was the person who made the reservation.   I was checking in, with her beside me, but guess with whom he made eye contact most of the time?  Hint: it wasn’t me.  At the time, I interpreted his actions as though I was the dutiful husband who was simply doing the paperwork and paying the bill, albeit with a credit card in “my wife’s name.”  (Never mind the facts: he had my ID, with my info on it, that confirmed it was my card.)  He gave verbal info about checking in directly to her, complete with eye contact.  Very unusual.

And then he promptly upgraded us to a room with a balcony (and a view of the beautiful Tower of the Americas!)  Whatever the reason for our upgrade, that clerk did an especially efficient job and soon we were in our room.  (With a ceiling fan and an efficient air conditioner to ward off the outside’s over-100-degree heat index.)   Plus, it was on the east side of the hotel, so hot late afternoon sun was not an issue.

As you can imagine, the result of that upgrade meant summer evenings relaxing on the balcony were very relaxing.   And the view wasn’t bad, either!

From the balcony.

The very first stop on our sightseeing list was that famous Texas landmark, the Alamo.  It was built in the 18th century as Mission San Antonio de Valero, a Roman Catholic Mission and fortress compound, and today is part of the San Antonio Missions World Heritage Site.  Ceded to the Texan army in December 1835, it was occupied by a small number of American soldiers.  They (including Davy Crockett and James Bowie) were killed by the Mexicans during the battle of the Alamo on March 6, 1836.  And during the Mexican retreat from Texas several months later, they tore down many of the walls and burned some of the buildings.  Today it is being restored and maintained by the Texas General Land Office.

And “Remember the Alamo!!” was Sam Houston’s rallying cry to the Texan army at the battle with Santa Ana’s forces in April of 1836 at San Jacinto.  The Texans won, ending the land battle for the Texas War of Independence.

In one of our evening strolls, I took a closer-up picture of the Tower of the Americas, a landmark remaining from HemisFair, the 1968 World’s Fair. It was clearly on our list of sights to visit, though time wouldn’t permit a meal at the top (and we didn’t bring nice enough clothes for a decent restaurant anyway.)

The next day, we actually ventured up to the top, and took advantage of a sunny day to take in the sights. From the enclosed observation deck, that view was absolutely spectacular, all 360 degrees of it.   And in the following picture, those red-roofed buildings to the right of center and a bit below, are NOT that famous motel chain with the red roof.   They’re Sunset Station, where the Sunset Ltd and Texas Eagle Amtrak trains arrive.

Following is a daytime view of the Tower of the Americas (HemisFair, 1968 – in the background), with the very, very red “Torch of Friendship”, created in June of 2002, foreground.   This sculpture stands for the unity and friendship that exists between Mexico, the USA, and Canada, and reflects the different facets of those interrelationships:  sometimes festive, at times complex, at times very strong, but in the end, integrated and harmonious.    Given the political and economic events of the last few weeks/months (remember – mid 2018, but still going on in 2019), I hope the “complex relationship” between we three neighbors who share this big continent will survive intact, and eventually prosper once again!

While walking near the Alamo, we came across the Emily Morgan Hotel.  At the time, little did we know that it is the third most haunted hotel in the US!

A brief history, from the internet:

Built in 1924 as the Medical Arts Building, the thirteen-story structure functioned as a working hospital until closing its doors in 1976.  Definitely not your typical “flat-iron style building.”  And nowadays people generally don’t build 13-story buildings because of superstitions…if they do, the floors will be numbered so as to omit 13.

Used as office space for the next eight years, it was then re-imagined in its current incarnation in 1984 when it opened as a hotel. Standing on The Alamo Plaza, the hotel casts a protective shadow over the historic mission  where so many laid down their lives for Texas.

How appropriate then that it was named after one of the heroines of the Texas revolution. Born Emily West in the early 1800s, this beautiful young woman took on the surname of her employer Colonel James Morgan.

Captured by the Mexicans she took full advantage of her looks when she had the opportunity. Knowing that the Texans were about to charge, Emily is said to have distracted the Mexican Captain Santa Ana, using her “feminine wiles” for long enough for him to fail to organize a timely response.

Immortalized first in the song ’The Yellow Rose of Texas’, the self-styled official hotel of The Alamo, now proudly bears her name.

Reports of paranormal activity began to circulate almost as soon as the hotel opened. Staff would report telephones ringing constantly, with nobody on the other end, lights switching themselves on and off and elevators stopping and starting on their own.  One live-in member of staff returned to her room one night to find her bathtub had been filled with water. When she looked again the water had changed color and was now a deep shade of blue.

Those living through these strange experiences began to detect a pattern. It soon became apparent that the 3rd, 7th, 9th, 11th and 12th floors were the most active.  And paranormal sightings continue to this day…

Perhaps the answer as to “why” lies in the medical background of the building. As well as being concerned with medical research, the building had surgical and psychiatric wards on the upper floors.  Another possible explanation is that the powerful paranormal energy of the nearby haunted Alamo Mission permeates the hotel’s walls drawing in ghosts and poltergeists.

If you look at my picture of the Alamo (above) in the upper left corner you can see just a smidge of the Emily Morgan hotel.  So very close to the Alamo.  Fascinating stuff…and you never know what you’ll find when you’re exploring unfamiliar territory.

Thanks for reading!

Mandy

A bit more of the interesting places from our trip to San Antonio in 2018!

Anyone remember Lyndon Baines Johnson, 36^th President of the USA?   I can remember him from when he was inaugurated after the assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963.  The announcement of Kennedy’s death came over the PA system at the school I was attending near Pittsburgh, PA.   But you may ask: “Exactly how and why does this topic apply in this blog?”   

Well, proximity of LBJ’s “Western White House” to San Antonio, where we were visiting, is the reason.  As we had access to a rental car, and as we both were interested in visiting the ranch (which is now the Lyndon B. Johnson National Historic Park), off we went!

It’s out in Texas Hill Country, and currently covers about 1600 acres, of which about 700 are officially part of the park.   On the bank of the Pedernales River, it’s is a lovely setting.

 The ranch, from the entrance drive. (Notice, no hills…LOL)

LBJ’s Western White House

There is an airfield on the property, and on display is “Air Force One-Half,” the jet used to transport LBJ to and from the Western White House.   The 707 in use as Air Force One back then couldn’t land on the ranch’s short runway.  We parked our rental car on the “taxi-way” marked by yellow lights with blue lenses.  

From the American-Statesman comes the following info:

The National Park Service rescued the 50-year-old JetStar from the Pentagon’s “bone yard,” an open-air retirement home for more than 4,400 old planes in the dry, desert air of Tucson, Ariz. The government paid $261,000 to bring the plane to Texas, to provide shelter and to restore the exterior of the VC-140 Lockheed aircraft with a sparkling new paint job that replicates the outside of Air Force One.

LBJ traveled on a Boeing 707 for most trips when he was president, but he also had a fleet of smaller planes available to him, including several JetStars. The larger plane could not land at the ranch because the 6,300-foot asphalt airstrip was not long enough. However, a JetStar could land and taxi to within 200 yards of LBJ’s so-called Western White House along the Pedernales River.

“They could conduct the business of the country right here,” said Russ Whitlock, superintendent of the Lyndon B. Johnson National Historical Park near Stonewall. “But without aircraft like the JetStar, it wouldn’t have been possible.”

This JetStar, tail number 612490, made numerous trips for the Johnson White House, including taking staffers and aides on flights to Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic during the Johnson White House years. It also flew to Puerto Rico.

The plane was a flying ambulance at times. It was dispatched by LBJ at least twice in the middle of the night for emergency medical missions. Johnson sent his doctors in the JetStar to assist former President Dwight Eisenhower, who had suffered heart pains in Georgia in November 1965. Cardiologists also scrambled to board the plane in August 1966 to treat the gravely ill president of Nicaragua, René Schick. The Central American leader died while the JetStar was still in the air.

Air Force One-Half

Remember the Amphicar?  That amphibious vehicle from the era 1961 to 1968 (about 3800 built) which could function as a boat?  There was a 1962 model at the LBJ Ranch.  Still there!!

 Amphicar

After we finished up at the LBJ ranch, we headed to a couple more sights – one was the Fat Ass Ranch and Winery…yep, that’s its real name.   Couldn’t miss that photo op, which on my list of strange names ranks right up there with Toad Suck, Arkansas (discovered in my trip the previous January.)

Fat Ass Ranch & Winery!

We didn’t have time to go in and sample the libations (happy hour is 5PM), but some folks were there enjoying the atmosphere at about 1) – and our share of the booze!   (Apparently they figure it’s Happy Hour “somewhere.”)

Remember Waylon Jennings singing “Back to the Basics of Love,” which was released in April 1977?    I really like that song, even though I didn’t listen to it much back then.  The lyrics say “Lets go to Luckenbach, Texas…”     It was only a couple miles off our route, so we did.   

Unfortunately, due to an event going on at the town dance hall (possibly a reason for the town’s continued existence), we couldn’t drive down its main street.  But on Google Maps it appears to be a rickety, very old western town (allegedly now a population of 3), on a short loop road, and from the perimeter parking lot, we couldn’t see anything to alter that impression. The only good pic I could get was of the sign…and a “bucket of bolts” pickup sunk in the mud out front.

Luckenbach, Texas

Waylon Jennings had a fabulous voice.    

I say “had” because he reportedly passed on from this world in 2002, at about 65 years of age, due to diabetes-related complications.  Maybe I’ll try listening to some of his other music.  Like a replay of the theme from the Dukes of Hazzard!  Some of us in the right age category remember that show…if not by name, then by the Dukes’ famous General Lee  (a copy of which I visited in Nashville in 2015 – see below).

The General, from the Dukes of Hazzard.

It certainly was a copy-car…the driver’s door opened.  I didn’t have to climb through the window!

More later…

Mandy

This is a summary of part of our trip to San Antonio, TX during the summer of 2018 – which now seems like ages ago!   As you can imagine, writing this during a trip was a challenge.  Bits and pieces at a time.  I continued working on it after we returned home…   

We haven’t seen the desk clerk who checked us in for a couple days.  Guess he is part time and off duty.  Other clerks have addressed us as “folks” which is fine.  But one day, our clerk magically appeared.   He obviously remembered us, and now it became quite clear to him that we were indeed two women.  I was “Ma’am” a number of times…and we were both “ladies.”   Maybe my hot-weather gear (shorts, polo and sneakers) isn’t an issue?  Or were the whole bunch of them just being “politically correct?”  We’ll never know…and it doesn’t matter.

Anyone familiar with American history may remember the politician named Teddy Roosevelt, and his “Rough Riders.”   The Menger Hotel became a part of that history.

Back in 1898, before becoming President of the US, Mr. Roosevelt was Assistant Secretary of the Navy.  He resigned to organize the Rough Riders, the first voluntary cavalry in the Spanish American War.  Roosevelt recruited a diverse group of cowboys, miners, law enforcement officials and native Americans to join the Rough Riders.   This group participated in the capture of Kettle Hill, then charged across a valley to assist with the seizure of San Juan Ridge.    

The Menger Hotel bar is allegedly the location where some of this recruitment took place!

In today’s world of electronic gidgy-gadgets, it’s rare to find a real, operating “conventional” phone booth.  There are 4 of them at the Menger, lined up like ducks in a row.   I wonder if enough people use them to cover the cost?  (Don’t know about you, but I can’t even remember the last time I put a quarter in a pay phone.)  Yes, I sure can remember the old days, when the cost of that call was a dime!  Oh, the uproar that change caused in yesterday’s society!

The San Antonio River snakes through San Antonio, but instead of being a nasty, swampy mess, with periodic flooding and weeds littering the banks, city fathers took a lemon and made lemonade.  With substantial investment and expansion, sidewalks on both banks, and more than a bit of landscaping and commercialization, it resulted in a perfectly lovely place to stroll with your wife, hubby, significant other, or even (gasp) by yourself.   

While in town for less than a week, we walked over 20 miles (with an electronic gidgy-gadget measuring the distance) exploring the area, and over half of that was on the memorable river walk.  If you ever get a chance to visit Texas, be sure to stop in San Antonio.

We (and a whole lot of others) enjoyed a couple of delicious meals under the colorful umbrellas at one restaurant along the riverwalk.  It’s a historic place, having been established in 1946.  At times, there is quite a wait for a table.  Our challenge was to get there when the wait was short.   We succeeded!  The food was good, but oh, my – the atmosphere was superb!

With small battery-powered barges full of people paying princely sums for barge tours of the riverwalk area constantly passing by, we had fun watching the tourists watching us, and watching the ducks scurry around, cleaning up on any crumbs accidentally dropped under the tables. 

It’s hard to resist the hungry eyes of this feathery little buddy:

Someone – or someTHING – was tugging on the untucked hem of my blouse.  Not sure who was trying to look up my top, I quickly glanced around and down…at an apparently-hungry, and very tame, generic brown duck (like above) with its beak clamped on my shirt, tugging at it in an attempt to get my attention and beg for food.  When I reached around to grab my camera, the duck promptly let go of me (no harm done) and skedaddled off to greener pastures!   

I wonder if anyone fed him afterward?

Following is a sample of some of the fabulous scenery from our tour barge, with more fascinating things waiting around every curve!!

More to follow!

Mandy