Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 3

At the end of Part 2 Nancy and I had departed Disney's Polynesian and headed out to my mother's place in Zephyrhills, about an hour away. The trip was uneventful, and we settled into Mom's steel bungalow with the ease of familiarity. Here's a recent pic of this cozy abode, complete with my favorite possession - a 40' palm tree.

We pick up the action the next morning.

Friday and Saturday, March 11 and 12

Days 5 and 6. I'm reporting on these two days together because, well, I couldn't tell them apart. Let me explain.

When I'm in either of my own nests (Grosse Pointe or Greenbush), my days are fairly routinized. That's because I've had nearly four years of retirement to sort through my favorite activities and craft them into the perfect day. Arise leisurely, lounge with coffee and a light breakfast, watch a little Perry (Perry Mason for those of you at work from 9-10 each morning), dress and groom leisurely (if at all), take lunch (on the deck whenever possible), then spend the early afternoon on whatever "tasks" I've scheduled for the day (that would be from 1-1:30).

After this rigorous work period, it's time for play. Until happy hour. This play could involve a variety of hobby activities involving music, movies, games, reading, even a little blogging. Or when the weather's right, a brisk walk, golf, biking, kayaking, hammock stretching or the like (this may sound like exercise, but it's really playing at a moderately faster pace; and you don't want to overdo it). After happy hour (which can be a happy two hours) and a light supper, back to play until 9:00 or so. Then end the day with a movie from my personal library and some time with my current book, until I nod off. You get the idea. Routinized.

I would like to add here that my Bride, while not quite as deep in a groove as I am, has her own routine parts of which, thankfully, align with my own. Those would be the morning laze, lunch, certain activities in the afternoon play regime (walking, biking, kayaking, golf), and happy hour, which frequently morphs into happy dinner or happy dinner-and-a-movie.

Outside of these shared times, Nancy has a long list of independent interests that fill her day while I'm off in the lab or fine-tuning my dawdle. Among other things, this list includes gardening, the Little Chickadee (her backyard birding website), a variety of craft projects, exercising Coco, binge-watching crime dramas, and monitoring a global network of police scanners (if you're into break-ins in Brisbane, she's your girl).

Our respective routines have served us quite well through the years, keeping us connected through our together time and affording each of us sufficient parallel play to pursue our separate interests. I'm a firm believer that it's similarities that make people compatible but differences that keep them interesting to each other.

Now back to Zephyrhills. As you might expect, Nancy and I have had a fair amount of success adapting our routines to the road, especially in venues where we spend a good deal of time. My mother's place qualifies in this category. Fortunately, my mother's routine dovetails nicely with our own (and has likely had some influence on ours as she has had 30 years of practice - she retired in 1986). The mornings go like this. We arise leisurely, lounge with coffee and a light breakfast, watch a little Perry, dress and groom (not optional at Mom's), and take lunch (at a favorite restaurant whenever possible; Mom likes her lunches out).

Nancy is usually up before me, as is my mother, which provides them a little private time in the morning for mind-tuning (Mom with crosswords, Nancy with her favorite tablet app Einstein Riddles) and to chat about what a great son and husband I am. Once I've joined the morning coffee klatsch, I've noticed that Nancy (technophile that she is) sort of migrates to her laptop and plunges into cyberspace. Curious. Well, maybe not.

But while our mornings in Zephyrhills are only a minor variation of our home routine, after lunch things get a little crazy. There are occasional house fix-it chores for me (have to maintain that "great son" thing). And frequent runs to the grocery store, the drug store, the bank, Home Depot, the liquor store, just to name a few. My mother is an active member of her community and comes from a generation that enjoys getting out. Shopping isn't just a chore here. It's an activity. People know their service providers, the cashiers at the grocery store, the druggist. It's nice.

Once the afternoon's outing is done, we repair to the living room or the Florida room for a little rest and relaxation, and to freshen up for happy hour. Nancy and I may catch up on our emails or challenge my mother to a little cribbage. Every once in a while, a brief nap has been known to transpire.  

After happy hour (which at Mom's is at least two hours), and a not-so-light supper (can you say Mom's home cooking?), we don our walking shoes and cruise the streets of the Tippecanoe mobile home park until our heads clear and our blood chemistry returns to normal. This usually takes about 45 minutes, after which we rejoin my mother for her nightly viewing of the day's DVR'd soap operas. I must say, though it's often weeks and sometimes two or three months between my exposure to these soap operas (I see them only at Mom's), it seems I seldom miss any important plot points.  

There is one notable deviation from this pattern. During baseball season the soap opera airings are held earlier (preempting Pat, Vanna and Alex) so that they can be completed by the first pitch of the Tigers game. My mother catches every Tigers game on MLB.TV, which she HDMIs from one of her two laptops to her big-screen hi-def TV. As you may have surmised, my mother is fairly tech-savvy for a nonagenarian.

On a comforting note, having survived wild variations from my usual routine, I'm generally able to close a day at Mom's in a familiar manner. My mother and my Bride generally hit the hay around 10:00, Mom with her canine companions Lola and Laci,

And Nancy with her tablet. I then enjoy a couple of solo hours in film land, most often with Forensic Files, a worthy alternative to any crime drama - truth is stranger than fiction. This is followed by a little drowsing up with a good book until I fade out, successfully completing yet another day in paradise.

So there you have it, the story of the Zephyrhills portion of our trip (and the Zephyrhills portion of nearly all of our trips). I must admit, it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that my mother's conception of a perfect day has a few overlaps with mine. Just good genes, I guess. Time to move on.

Sunday, March 13

Day 7. Our third morning in Zephyrhills went about like the first two. It being Sunday, our morning coffee TV fare consisted of a little CBS Sunday Morning and a tad of NBC's Meet the Press (with a little Daniel Boone and The Rifleman tossed in).

But, as this was another getaway day, there was a modicum of pressure. I knew where the car was parked. In the driveway. And there was no irritating checkout deadline. But although there was no threat of permanently losing any valuables (we would be back soon, and often), there was the worry of having to retrace our steps to retrieve an item left behind without which life could not go on. You know, like our meds, Nancy's puzzle books, my day planner. Fortunately, the travel gods smiled on us, and we were fully (and properly) packed and on our way back to Orlando shortly after lunch.

Due to our recon work the previous week, our arrival and check-in to the Tree Houses resort at Disney's Saratoga Springs went quickly and smoothly. We unpacked and took a self-guided tour of our vacation home and the surrounding area. Here are some pics. First up, the master bedroom and bath.

  

Here we have the great room sitting and eating areas as well as the kitchen.

And the other two bedrooms and second bath.

And finally the attached deck, walk up and barbecue area.

Nestled into our home for the week, Nancy and I uncorked our favorite libation and awaited the arrival of our friends, the Dyles and Wyatts, who would be joining us after a long weekend on Captiva Island. They made it in safe and sound that night, after which we had a second libation and planned our week in Orlando.

This seems like a good point to wrap up this installment and publish. I'll report on the ensuing week's activities in a Part 4, and as promised in Part 2, take on the issue of adults and theme parks. Talk to you soon.

Grosse Pointe Charles.

Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 2

At the end of my previous post we were wrapping up Day 2 of the trip lounging on our balcony at Disney's Polynesian Resort, having completed our escape to sunnier climes. We pick things up the next morning.

Wednesday, March 9

Day 3. We arose leisurely. Well, I arose leisurely. When I gained consciousness, I realized my Bride had been up for a while. The aroma of coffee was wafting from the little kitchenette, and Nancy was at the table deep into cyberspace. I mustered up enough coordination to achieve a standing position, made the bed (my daily hommage to Feng Shui), robed up, and prepared a coffee with one of those little flavored creamers. Not exactly the way Juan Valdez takes it, but it gets me going.

After a little morning java, Nancy and I suited up for a long walk, which is what a theme park day mostly is. But first we needed food. We made it over to Captain Cook's, the poolside eatery at the main building of the resort. Here at an outside umbrella table we shared an excellent breakfast combo plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, potato wedges, French toast, and more coffee.

I note that we shared this breakfast plate because in recent years Nancy and I have rarely been able to finish any standard menu item in one sitting. Not unless we restrict ourselves to only a side dish or two. We usually end up taking half of our orders home for a second meal. I'm not normally a conspiracy nut. But I've become highly suspect that there's a terrorist cell of Weebles out there trying to render the country immobile by discreetly blowing up portion sizes. You've felt it, too, right?

After breakfast we had one more chore before heading to Hollywood Studios. That was to check out the digs for our planned Disney outing the following week with our friends, the Dyles and the Wyatts (or as we like to refer to them, the Dyatts). That meant a trip across The World to the Treehouses. So we grabbed our gear and hopped on a Disney bus.

We had never stayed at the Treehouses, a rather recent addition to the Disney Vacation Club portfolio, and wanted to familiarize ourselves with the layout before entertaining guests. After reviewing check-in procedures, sizing up parking options, assessing dining and souvenir shopping facilities, and confirming the location of the pool nearest to our preassigned vacation home, we felt prepared for basic hosting duties. With this chore completed, we were finally ready to play.

Now, I know what you're thinking. What is their problem? If they are really going to a theme park today, with the outrageous price of theme park admission, what are they doing wasting time fiddling with a leisurely breakfast and a resort tour? You're supposed to get to a theme park at the crack of dawn and stay until they kick you out, right? I mean, are they nuts? Has all that Canadian whiskey finally taken its toll? Are they senile? Well, in the not too distant past, I would have wondered the same thing about our nonchalant pace. But no longer. Because my Bride and I now have these.

Yes, that is a picture of an annual pass. That means we can come and go as we please for a whole year. That also means we don't have to go early and stay late. We can run with the kids through Fantasyland for a few hours and then retire to the pool. We can go just for breakfast at the Magic Kingdom's Crystal Palace or pop into Hollywood Studios at the last minute for the fancy new fireworks. We could hit EPCOT for a lunch in Norway on our way to miniature golf at Fantasia Fairways, then drop by the Animal Kingdom for the last performance of The Lion King. In short, our mood can now drive our activity, rather then the other way 'round.

Okay. That explains why we didn't feel pressured to hurry the morning's agenda. But, I can hear your next question. How can that be even remotely feasible from an economic perspective? Annual passes can't be that cheap. You're right. They're not. But, you forget my 40 years of government service. With only a smattering of inspiration, I can rationalize with the best of them. Here's how the decision to purchase annual passes evolved.

Disney's theme park pricing scheme has always favored multiple-day tickets. And the best deal was a 10-day ticket, which brought the price of admission to about half the going single day rate. This approach worked for us for a number of years due to two factors. One, we knew we would be making recurring visits to theme parks because of our Vacation Club membership. And two, the unused portions of multiple-day tickets never expire.

But, this past February, just as we needed to buy new 10-day tickets, Disney pulled a fast one. They ceased selling theme park tickets that never expire. So to get any break on price you had to buy at least a four or five day ticket and use all the days within two weeks. This was bad news for us, as we never go to a theme park more than two or three days during a typical week's stay (after a full day of theme park trudging, seniors require at least 24 hours of downtime to recuperate and update their blood work).

So after moping a bit about increased theme park costs, it hit us. We remembered our basic fractions. If you can't reduce the numerator, increase the denominator. In other words, the only way to beat Disney at their own game was to - GO MORE! Brilliant. I've been waiting my whole life for a problem where the solution was to have more fun. Enter the annual pass. By fixing our costs with the purchase of annual passes, we could drive the cost-per-day down by adding theme park days to our schedule. And with the frequent Florida visits already in our lifestyle plan, we have plenty of opportunity to bring our average daily theme park admission cost down to maybe even below our traditional savings of 50%.

Granted, with our slower pace the total hours we would be at a theme park in a year's time might not be much different from five opening-to-closing marathon sessions like the old days. But it might. And the pace will definitely be more suited to our current cruising speed and, as such, the visits should be more enjoyable.

This of course leads to the ultimate question that you have been too polite to ask - why would any reasonably intelligent adult want to spend that much time at Disney theme parks? I'm glad you asked. But I'm going to save my discussion of that issue until later in this chronicle, to give you a little time to digest the material I've already presented. But, not to worry. I'll get back to it. It's a good question, and it deserves a worthy rationalization. Now, on to the rest of March 9.

After the recon of the Treehouse Villas, we finally headed off for a little time at Hollywood Studios to try out our fancy new passes. After unzipping our bags and offering our index fingers to security, we strolled up Hollywood Boulevard to the plaza in front of the Great Movie Ride. We took the ride again, just to get the juices flowing, then hit the Commissary for lunch (yes, we split another entree).

We then went on the updated Star Tours ride (a thrill ride in a flight-simulator setting). The new features include rotating adventure scenarios (you won't necessarily experience the same story as you did on previous rides) and updated sequences using scenes from Star Wars - the Force Awakens.

As we exited the ride we stumbled onto this happening. Kids from I'd guess as young as five or six up through their early teens were learning fighting skills from two Jedi knights.

 

I was about to check into the availability of a seniors class when a large door rumbled open, there was a loud woosh, and this guy popped out.

So I reconsidered. But the ominous presence of Darth Vader didn't phase this young Padawan, who took his turn exchanging thrusts and parries with the bad man himself.

 

With light sabers flashing in the background, we inconspicuously moved on to the safety of the Disney animation studios. There we saw a preview of their recently released Zootopia, a story about a bunny cop trying to prove her worth in a rough and tumble animal metropolis. I know it's on my must-see list. Seriously. It is.

After a little more cruising around the shops and some top-drawer people watching, we'd had enough for the day and took the bus back to the Polynesian. When we arrived in our room, we very much appreciated its creature comforts as we settled in to recover from hours of walking and to catch up on the day's news. We also took a few pics of the room for the archives. Here is the entry corridor which provides a kitchenette and access to the two bathrooms, one with a tub and the other with a shower. Very convenient.

 

And a few shots of the sitting and sleeping areas, including a sofa-sleeper and under-bed storage drawers. The ottoman is also a storage area. It's good to keep things tidy on the road.

Here's the entertainment center. The panel with the Polynesian art work is actually the bottom of a fold-out bed, making the room a rare five-person sleeper. This was also a feature of the original Polynesian rooms, and is what drew us to this location in the first place back in 1994 as we had three kids to accommodate.

Finally, here is our favorite part of the room - the  balcony overlooking the Lagoon. Perfect for morning coffee and evening cocktails.

After returning to Captain Cook's for a light supper of Polynesian nachos (two kinds of chips, pulled pork, barbecue sauce, cheese, onions and pineapple - and yes, we shared it), we dragged ourselves back to our room and crashed for the night. Another routine day of retirement life in the books.

Thursday, March 10   

Day 4. A getaway day, which I define as any day when you will go to bed someplace other than where you got up. It almost always involves packing, lugging, driving, lugging again, and unpacking. This was a mini-getaway day because we had only unpacked a little (for the two night stay) and were just driving an hour to my mother's place. Nonetheless, there was pressure involved. Could we with our retirement metabolism clear the room by the check-out deadline? Would I remember where the car was parked? Would we leave anything important behind in the room? It was typically brutal.

To ease the tension, we returned to Captain Cook's for another of their fabulous breakfast platters. Food always helps in these situations. And this time we had the presence of mind to take a few pictures of this beautiful and refreshing spot. First the table area between Captain Cook's and the pools.

And the big pool and kids' play areas.

Before heading out, we snapped this shot of our home away from home - the place it all began for us in 1994, 

And this final pic of the map of the Polynesian grounds, just in case we needed a little help navigating our exit. Oh, like that's never happened.

Once clear of The World, we drove the one hour down I-4 and Florida Route 39 to my mother's place, to unwind from the rigors of resort life and catch up with the family. But in order to do justice to the intricacies and eccentricities of life in a Florida retirement community, I need to wrap up this post and move on to a Part 3. See you in Zephyrhills.

Grosse Pointe Charles

Trip Chronicle - March 2016, Part 1

I've often blogged about road trips. Here's another one. I figured out a while back that in a typical year I spend about half the year at home in Grosse Pointe Woods, a quarter of the year at our cottage in Greenbush, and a quarter of the year other places (mainly in Florida). Now that I've been retired for almost four years, I need to redo that calculation. I might be gone from home even more than before.

But here's what I'm getting at. I find that my thought processes are affected by where I am. I've always had a healthy respect for geography as a force of life. Where you are physically at any given time is way important on a number of levels.

When I'm on the road, I find it easier to look beyond the bubble I happily live in most of the time, and pay more attention to what others are doing, the environment around me, and the more philosophical side of life. I find myself thinking differently and about different things. It's fun, and refreshing. And a good time to capture thoughts and observations, mundane or sublime, and slip them into the blogosphere. Here goes. A report on our recently completed trip south, presented in log form.

Monday, March 7

Day 1. Getaway day. Nancy and I arose at 6:00. For her, a little earlier than normal. For me, the middle of the night. We had dumped delivered our too-cute-for-her-own-good puppy to the Beverly Hills Kuhlmans the previous day, so we were unfettered in our getaway efforts. (Those of you that have pets know that what to do with these important family members during an extended absence is an integral part of trip planning. My Bride and I are very fortunate in having a number of family and friends that seem to enjoy hosting Coco. Either that, or they are taking pity on us in our dotage.) 

By 7:00 we had dressed, loaded the car, and hit the road. There was a little bit of what passes in Detroit as morning rush hour, but we made it across the city and on to southbound I-75 fairly smoothly. As we settled into our road groove - GPS set for our Macon motel for the night, WWJ passing on the news of the morning, and travel mugs of life-sustaining coffee snugly ensconced in their cup holders - my mind began to wander. (On our family trips, Nancy always drives first. This will come as no surprise to those of you who have seen the energy with which she starts the day, and contrasted it with the pitiful animation I exhibit upon rising. It generally takes me a couple of hours to boot up essential systems and reach a level of awareness that could support freeway driving.)

As I sat in the front passenger seat of our sturdy and trip-tested Traverse, I found myself focusing on the familiar roadside fixtures that have marked our progress south for many years. Fumbling with my coffee, the occasional fast food delight and my camera, I managed to capture enough of these old friends to provide a sense of our first day on the road.

First up is this shot as we cleared the southern border of the city - the Rouge plant. Despite its dystopian appearance, every time I see it I can't help feeling the sense of industry, history, and the amazing science that is the Rouge plant. I think I read once that from within the plant they can make every part necessary to produce a finished automobile. This thought always brings to mind the broader wonder that every man-made thing - including the internal combustion engine - came out of the Earth.    

Shortly after descending from the Rouge plant bridge we have this site.

This curiosity usually brings me from cosmic considerations back to appreciation for simpler things. Sports are a big part of daily life in the Motor City (as I write this sitting in my Tigers hoody). It's not the quest for championships. Those happen, of course, but too rarely to be the reason we care. Rather, I believe it's the experience of the games. The thousands of hours over the years that we have spent in front of our TVs, and occasionally in stadiums or arenas, watching games unfold, cheering for favorite players, castigating officials, hoping for the best, fearing the worst, and when a game ends looking forward to the next opportunity to do it all over again. When I see this spherical tank remade into a sports icon, I think of how much fun it's all been, and of how the mood of the city can rise and fall with the fate of its teams. 

From the big basketball south I sort of glaze out, sipping my coffee and doing my best not to spill any as we race down the washboard that is I-75 in Monroe county. Until we see this.

Ohio. Or as it's referred to it in our household, oh-aitch-ten. We're always excited to pass under this marker and, as I like to think of it, achieve escape velocity. We're now leaving the home planet behind and venturing out into the solar system. As an avowed science fiction fanatic, I tend to liken each trip to an episode of something somewhere between Star Trek Voyager and Farscape. You know, seeking out strange life forms (ever exited the freeway for food or gas in the mountains?), moving from one commerce planet to the next, and with a strong woman in charge.

At half impulse, we rush through Toledo and cross the mighty Maumee.

This site (and others like it) always brings the river crossing scenes from Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove to mind. Crossing rivers is just another part of modern life that we take for granted. Not so before the 20th century. Even the most hardened cattle drover in the old west took on rivers with a great deal of trepidation. Deep water, fast currents, marginal aquatic skills, snakes. All this made for high adventure when pushing a herd of bovines and a convoy of covered wagons into, across and up out of untamed rivers. And doing it wearing most of the clothes you own and clinging to a frightened horse. Tricky. All we have to do today is get in the right lane for the next turn.

Shortly after drying off from the crossing, we turn south for the long (oh, so long) journey through Ohio (sort of the outer planets). But there are a few old friends we look forward to that mark our progress. Next up is the football stadium at Bowling Green, at mile marker 181.

This collection of concrete columns is a welcome sight as it usually marks our first pit stop of the day, to service the morning's first cup of coffee and procure its second. Maybe along with a sausage McMuffin or a breakfast burrito. Fortunately, finding sustenance on the road is also easier than it was in the old west. So much easier that we often leave our hunting, fishing and open-fire cooking gear at home.

A small aside is warranted here regarding dining on the road. While food (or something like it) is readily available along America's highways, finding options that approach even the outer limits of a healthy diet can be a challenge. But, with perseverance and a little planning (I have the menu nutrition details of every fast food chain in the US on my phone), one can minimize the damage of extended in-car dining. All you have to do is order the wraps and fruit slices instead of the burgers and fries. And cease the self-destructive habit of packing snacks to nibble on in the car. Well, maybe a banana or two and a small supply of pretzel nuggets would be okay. But nothing with any flavor. Now back to the road.

Central Ohio is not much to look at until the Dayton area, a spot I failed to appreciate until recently. Rushing ahead on this saga just for a moment, on my return from Florida on this trip I listened to an audio version of David McCullough's biography of the Wright brothers. They, of course, spent most of their lives in Dayton, and the book goes into some detail about the booming industrial center that was Dayton in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Who knew? So I now have renewed respect for this historically important sub-metropolis and its guilt in fashioning the nature of our air travel-dependent society.

There are two sights I mark as we take that little westerly jog on I-75 into and through Dayton. The first is the art institute, an impressive and comely structure (especially when compared to its surroundings, which are rather plain).

And the more modern but equally attractive Dayton Daily News building, with its steel and glass and sleek lines.

I know little about either of these structures except that they mark the beginning of the descent into the Ohio River valley and the crossing to Kentucky.

This next image is of what used to be the Holiday Inn at 8th and Linn on the west side of Cincinnati, as seen from I-75 as it turns toward the river. The building now appears to be closed or perhaps is in some state of renovation. However, its place in the history of Chuck and Nancy is secure as it was the site of a rooftop disco bar named Lucy's in the Sky. We spent much time there during off hours at the IRS training class in 1979 when we met.

For good measure here is a picture taken in Lucy's, of Nancy and me and a few other hardy IRSers who closed the bar most nights during the two weeks we were there. In the foreground from left to right is Nancy, yours truly, and Sharon Kelly. Behind we have Bob Douglas and Al Morrison. You will notice that the Detroit/Ann Arbor-based members of the group (everyone but me) were faring a little better through the evening than the poor bumpkin from the Flint office (I had taken my glasses off as part of my Chad Everett impression). 

 

Bob and Al, rest their souls, are no longer with us but live vividly in our memories as larger-than-life characters with whom we shared many good times. Sharon was a coworker of Nancy's in the Ann Arbor office at the time, and is now Facebook friends with both of us. She will likely remember the night this photo was taken. 

But turning off Memory Lane back onto the freeway, we have only one more Ohio image to cover - this double-decker bridge across the Ohio River connecting Cincinnati with Covington, Kentucky. This is also where we leave the solar system and head for deep space.

To the left of the bridge you will notice the Radisson Hotel, formerly known as the Quality Inn. This round, 20+ story edifice holds many memories for Nancy and me. During the '80s and '90s we each spent many nights here while attending business meetings and training classes at the IRS Central Region offices. But we were seldom there together as after Christine was born in 1981, one of us had to be home doing the parent thing.

The hotel's rotating rooftop restaurant has a spectacular view of Cincinnati's riverfront including the baseball and football stadiums. I still remember one night dining there with friends and noticing through the panoramic windows a major ruckus outside of the ball park, complete with a sea of emergency vehicles and flashing red lights. After a little gawking, we lost interest and moved on to dessert.

The next day we learned that what we had witnessed the previous night was a "festival seating" riot of people fighting for good seats at a Who concert. If I'm remembering correctly, at least one person was trampled to death and many others were injured. Since then I always check my concert tickets for a row and seat number.

Not all of our stays at the Quality were that dramatic. But each time we cross over this bridge, we take stock of the hotel, its current condition, and the many good times we had there.

Now safely into Kentucky, we settled in for a lot of scenery that looks just like this.

There are grasslands, rolling hills and of course horse farms to see as one cruises through Kentucky, but the mountain passes are for me the most interesting sights. I'm always mesmerized by the rock strata patterns and the "watch out for falling rocks" signs, so different from my normal Michigan highway fare. And I wonder what it was like to build these roads, figuring out which hills to blast paths through and which ones to just pave over. I'm also curious as to who is it that lives in the many fancy hilltop homes visible from the freeway. They seem to be out in the middle of nowhere. Must be weird retirees, I think, or telecommuters. Wait, that is/was.......me. 

Escaping the hills of Kentucky, we run smack dab into the hills of Tennessee. You know that, usually, because of this pretty blue sign.

But this time, we knew it because of this sign, marking a well-publicized detour just into Tennessee. It was created by - you guessed it - falling rocks. I guess those earlier warning signs meant it. 

For those of you taking notes (to help with your next trip south) here is a map of the troubled area.

 

The regular route, of course, is the big blue line. It's tricky enough on its own in this part of the mountains. The detour was down the thin gray line shown here just left (west) of I-75 - County Road 297. The map says it passes through the towns of Jellico, Newcomb, Elk Valley, Terry Creek and Pioneer, to State Route 63 through Royal Blue and back to I-75. Now Jellico is for real. Traffic lights, businesses, nice homes, the usual. But I swear I saw no other spot on this route with sufficient structures or mail boxes to be mistaken for a town. Not even a flashing light. Just a city boy's blind spot I guess. Here's what I did see, from the passenger seat as we wove, dove and shimmied up, down and around the detour. Some of it was like this - nice, semi-straight, tree-lined two-lane blacktop. 

  

A little more of it was like this, a little narrower with only a low-bid guard rail between me and a nasty insurance claim.

   

Then there were occasional encounters with the hillside habitats of local denizens. A couple of times I think I heard the faint sound of a pair of banjos, sort of dueling in the distance. Not sure.

But the best sight on the detour was this one, ushering us back to familiar surroundings. Although, even this sign was a little disconcerting. If you look closely, the arrow is directing foreigners to turn left, while the path to I-75 is clearly to the right. I fear that some less alert detour travelers may still be there circling in the north Tennessee woods, out of food, low on gas, and caught in a cell dead zone.  

After the detour the ride through Tennessee was comfortably uneventful, although we did catch this curious site.

If you can't quite make it out, here's a blow-up of the lower right-hand corner of this pic.

So, what? Locals hit the Liquor Barn on their way home from church, or vice verse? 

After stocking up on moonshine (for medicinal purposes), we wound our way out of the mountains and around Knoxville toward Chattanooga. Just about dusk we reached this friendly site.

As this was a Monday, we missed the flea market, but were still thankful for Governor Nate's welcome. We were even more thankful that this represented the last state border crossing for the day. And that is our usual way. Somewhere between Atlanta (12 hours and 710 miles from home) and Valdosta (16 hours and 980 miles from home) is were we traditionally crash for the night. This trip, we stopped at a favorite spot, the Best Western on the Macon by-pass (13.5 hours and 815 miles from home). Unfortunately, most of the journey through Georgia was after dark and not suitable for photos. We'll have to document Georgia land marks in a future post.

The first day of our trips always ends with essentials being removed from the car to our motel room, followed by a "child's portion" of our favorite cocktail (to clear road dust) and a fairly quick lapse into dreamland. And so it was for this trip. The end of a long but enjoyable day on the road, and a good start to the vacation.

Tuesday, March 8 

Day 2. If Day 1 was getaway day, Day 2 was "get there" day. And in the vast majority of our road trips, that is the case. By the middle of the second day, we're enjoying our destination, well rested and charged up mentally. After all, we've just spent 18-20 exhilarating hours with our favorite persons (either side of a peaceful night in a bed we didn't have to make). We very likely have been listening to an interesting audio book and/or favorite music, and exploring the more weighty issues in life (like which fast food chains we haven't hit yet and whether or not to take the Atlanta bypass). 

Now true, flying can get you to your destination earlier. But you pay a hefty price. When you consider the costs of air fare and getting to and from airports (or paying for airport parking), and the unpleasantness of almost every moment of being in an airport or airplane (slow lines, heavy bags, surly TSA officers, disrobing, re-robing, expensive bad food, cramped seats, other unhappy travelers), getting to your destination only a few waking hours later seems like a better choice. Especially when the majority of that extra time is spent in the delightful manner described above.

Okay. I hear you. Things can go bad on the road, too. Traffic backups, nasty weather, extremely rare but conceivable periods of marital discord. But with a little planning and some practice, willing souls can certainly master the fine art of extended road travel. So on with Day 2.

After a modest complimentary breakfast at the Best Western, we headed out through southern Georgia. And keeping with my theme of road trip milestones, we were looking for this sign.

Crossing into Florida, we always take comfort in the fact that we're almost there. This is almost exactly 1000 miles from our front door. Our car ride this time out, save for the Tennessee detour adventure, was pleasant and uneventful. But not quite as relaxing or fun as the next couple of weeks will be. And there will be as much sun as a fair-skinned northerner can take (and way more than he should without resorting to protective chemicals). Seeing this sign is always a happy moment.

The next milestone we look for, about 150 miles into the state, is this sign.

In our first phase of regular Florida visits, from the mid '80s, to the mid '90s, we always kept to the right at this fork in the road. This was usually to spend a week with my then snow-birding parents in Tampa. But occasionally we would venture a little further down I-75 to stay with Nancy's parents who in retirement often spent March out of the winter weather at The Meadows, a beautiful Sarasota resort just a short car ride from the Gulf (more to follow on these early trips as I resume converting our family slides into digital format).

During our second Florida phase, after purchasing our membership in the Disney Vacation Club in '97, we usually went left down the turnpike to "The Happiest Place on Earth". In those days, we would make this trip over the Christmas and Easter vacations, and also in February when schools started taking Presidents Day week off. On those trips, my parents would come over to Disney for a few days and join in the fun there.

When Cathy went off to college in 2003, our lives were no longer driven by the local school calendar. This began our third Florida phase when Nancy and I would plan extended trips south, often still around the big holidays but now for a couple of weeks. The kids would then journey down on their own to join us for a few days when they had time off from school or work (that is, if they didn't get a better offer). During those years, we were back to taking the right fork at this sign, to spend time with my parents and/or to visit other favorite Florida spots before and after our times at Disney resorts.

And now, I think we're sliding into our fourth Florida phase. That would be going to Florida (mostly kid free) five or six times a year, mainly to keep up with family but also to get the most out of the money we've invested in Disney. So which way we go at this fork in the future may be a game time decision.

It's a demanding responsibility, spending so much time in the Florida sun, but I think we're up to the challenge. And based on our last couple of theme park visits, we're right in step with the large population of boomers now doing the very same thing. If any of you millennials can't find your parents, we know where they are.

So you can see, this sign has a lot of history for Nancy and me, and it all seems to flash before our eyes each time we approach and pass under it. On this trip, we went to the left down the turnpike to first see The Mouse.

Speaking of The Mouse, about an hour after making the turn we were welcomed home in the usual manner.

While our base home at Disney World is the Old Key West resort (still in our view the best and most spacious), that was not our destination for this visit. We had decided to try out the new Vacation Club facilities at the Polynesian. But it still felt like going home as our very first "on World" experience at Disney was at the Polynesian in 1994. We stayed in a studio that overlooked the Magic Kingdom. At the Polynesian, the buildings all have appropriate names. Our room was in Moorea (pronounced more-ay-ah). As it turns out, that is one of the buildings that Disney converted to a Vacation Club facility, and that's where we stayed again, just a door or two we think from that first visit.

After a day and half on the road, we were ready for a little relaxation. So we unpacked a bit, set up the bar, and explored the room. It was typically gorgeous and comfortable, with a great view from the balcony. Below we have looking left, center and right. 

In the first and second shots are the new Polynesian Vacation Club cottages built out over the Seven Seas Lagoon. They have two bedrooms, sleep eight, and each has its own hot tub built into the lagoon-side deck.  In the second shot you can also make out Cinderella's castle and Space Mountain in the background. In the third shot you can just make out the Magic Kingdom ferry and dock beyond the deck walk and palm trees. It was pretty serene relaxing on our little balcony recovering from the rigors of the road, sipping our iced anti-energy drinks, and planning tomorrow's fun.

So ended Day 2. And time to end this post, I think, and go to press. Be back soon with Part 2 of the story.