Seasons in the sunset - A seventy (+3) year old looks ahead and back

Seasons in the sunset - A 80 year old
looks ahead and back

Monday, August 8, 2011

Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin to the Rockies

Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin to the Rockies      

Into Madison

We entered Madison, WI around 8 PM and immediately looked for Capital Square, our landmark from last year’s visit. We were tired from twelve hours on the road, and hungry.

I spotted a Hilton Hotel a couple of blocks from the square and said, “How about if I go in there?” 

“Too expensive,” Brett said.

“Maybe they’re full; so then I’ll ask for a recommendation,” I said.

“Don’t count on it,” Brett said.

In I went. “Do you have a room for tonight?”

“Unfortunately we’re full.”
 I feigned disappointment.

* I later saw that it was not too expensive so my subsequent disappointment was real. Maybe next time.


Armed with a recommendation we found a room at a Sheraton, checked in, then returned to town for dinner. Long waiting lines - over an hour - sent us back to the hotel “grill.”

“Sorry, only appetizers after 9,” the grill waiter told us. We settled on nachos and salsa, plus fried cheese.


Minneapolis, a Small Detour, then Des Moines

Saturday morning - a MacDonald’s egg on a biscuit, a quick gas-up and we were off to Minneapolis to meet Kevin at the airport.

After the overnight it was two hours to Deerwood in northern Minnesota. Our car was a bulging suitcase, five stuffed people, plus bags, and four newly purchased pillows all competing for breathing room. Peering over the pillows the beautiful lake country scenery was crisp and, at times, captivating.

Following the hockey camp drop-off Brett and I retraced our morning drive, then locked onto the interstate south through Minnesota and Iowa. All cornfields all the time, once beyond reach of the Twin Cities.

Lonely Road Paranoia

The night before I’d read about Ames, Iowa – ranked third, in all of USA, in a list of best places to live. I booked a reservation at a Hampton Inn. 

Ames seemed to be forever coming.

Rolling endlessly on a middle-America interstate can play with the mind - anxiety mainly. It was scary lonely out here, unless you were a cornstalk. Perhaps a crop dusting plane every two hours. That was it.

What would we possibly do if we broke down?"

There was no town in site - ever.  Just bare exit roads, and a lone green sign with a fake town name. Fake because looking left and right, far into the distance there was no town, not a single building, nothing. "Fake out.”  A glance in the rearview mirror revealed more emptiness, miles of straight concrete ribbon, not even a following car.


Call AAA? OK, but waiting through the overnight for the tow-truck - should we sleep in the field or the car? 

Finally there was a sign for Ames.

The hotel was right off the interstate.  On the access road a man with a deeply sunburned face and a plastic bag over his shoulder watched us roll in. He was not especially well dressed. Brett immediately labeled him a killer.

Apparently the lonely road paranoia was still in force.

“No way,” said Brett as we inched our way into the hotel lot.

I went in and told the clerk that – change of plans – we must now meet my other daughter in Des Moines, so we’re getting back on the road.

 

Five Stars for Des Moines 

“Only thirty miles to Des Moines,” I announced cheerfully.

At the city limits Brett, less than cheery, proclaimed “down and out.” It was her name for dilapidated and dangerous. Once into the downtown proper, however, things brightened. The Embassy Suites Hotel was exquisite. It was bordered by a park on the banks of the Des Moines River; there were railroad whistles and visible trains within earshot (a good thing) and restaurant row, just a block away, was quaint and attractive. In short, a magnificent evening – food, wine and afterward a lingering walk across the river bridge.

So five stars for Des Moines.

Monday it was off to points west. Where exactly, we knew not. It was a hundred-plus miles to the Nebraska border, then close to four hundred more to Colorado. We spotted Omaha and Lincoln so there are people in Nebraska – not just corn. The fact is - Ashley and I had enjoyed a stay in Lincoln a decade ago.

 When You’ve Only Got a Hundred Years to Live

Somewhere in the middle of the great cornfield that comprises most of America – actually western Nebraska in this case - a song came on the radio.

The wind was whipping through the windows drowning out the music so Brett upped the volume. Then she picked up on the words – with exuberance.  Unlike me, she can sing. I recognized the song.


“Five for Fighting.” Brett informed me.

Huh?

“The group, not the song,” she said.

Brett points out, that “Five for Fighting,” means that, in hockey, there is a five minute penalty for fighting, hence “Five for Fighting.”

“Get it?” she says, then adds, “They’re a Canadian group.”

Hmmm. Who knew?  I had heard the song before – 100 Years - but didn't know all the words. 

Brett knew the words and the tune and her singing filled the car, rising above the blasting wind and mixing into the entire scene – the breeze, the hypnotic fields whizzing by, the hum of our rolling tires with our car shooting through the plains, and most of all, the earnest melodic sound of my daughter’s voice: 

Another blink of an eye
Sixty-seven is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on... 

It brought a tickle to my nose and water to my eyelids.

Travelers Haven

We spent the night in Colorado Springs, pushing ourselves, as darkness neared, beyond Denver to what we called a “travelers haven” those now common interstate "cities" with all travel essentials - gas, food, and lodging – just outside of the USAF Academy grounds at the foothills of the Rockies.  

Just a final word. We ate a late dinner at a "travelers haven" chain eatery. Baked potato and veggie burger for me, Brett, some pasta. It was not crowded at this hour. As I sipped a beer, I could feel the tension slowly drain away. I looked at my daughter. Her smile was relaxed too and had that brightness of youth. - visible to me at seventy. A blessing of my age.

In my comfort I had to ask again - what did I ever do to deserve such blessings? 

Next ... on to New Mexico

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Day 6 Cross-Country - Colorado, New Mexico

Day 6 Cross-Country - Colorado, New Mexico 
 
Campus Tour 
In the morning of day six we headed for the USAF Academy to embark on our version of a campus tour: the book store, the athletic fields, and hockey rink on foot, but the rest by car seeking a quick “college campus” panorama. Then it’s done.

The resplendent Academy grounds, set against the foothills of the majestic Rocky Mountains were compelling. They were pristine and manicured in a manner fitting of a national landmark with a defense department budget. 
 
I Should Work-Out More
“School” was not in session, but there were a number of “cadets” moving about on the various fields, courts and rinks. As I watched them it made me want to exercise more, plus it triggered my usual old man’s awe for the beauty of youth. No it didn’t make me sad- on the contrary, happy – for them, for me and the abundant blessings of this beautiful earth.

Looking at the grandeur of the mountains, the lush lands as well as the bright faces walking about, it was easy to forget that a significant product of this establishment was bombs dropped from the sky. I preferred to think of the young troopers as stewards of our land, akin to CCC or Peace Corps cadets.

Westward Ho
After our tour it was onward - further west into Colorado Springs proper, which I was looking forward to.

We managed to find the “town center” in our predictable hit or miss fashion.

“Turn down this street.” 

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Eventually we pulled the Toyota into a parking spot around the town green.

We saw immediately that the midday character of the city was offset by small but noticeable collection of homeless-hippie-beggar-types scattered around the green – often a characteristic of beautiful western American cities. 

Whether they were homeless, I was uncertain, but by the looks of their crimson faces and rolled blankets in overstuffed backpacks they appeared to be spending much time in the outdoors. Plus staking out positions in the middle of the sidewalk indicated that they wanted to engage the everyday passerby, especially tourists.

OK, I often give to beggars, usually even, but a gift here seemed unwise. Engaging one unfortunate street person, maybe, but getting involved with a group, no.


Lightening Bolts
So Brett and I were careful as we negotiated our way through the downtown streets. We purchased a cup of coffee and got back into the car and hit the road (interstate) pointing for Santa Fe, NM.

The route had us aiming for black storm clouds and menacing, but beautiful, daggers of lightening much of the way into Santa Fe. I stayed on the interstate rather than risk an auto-trek through the mountain pass trails to our right. Guess I've wised up at 70 despite seeing it work on TV with those off-road Jeeps, mud splattered, with rugged cowpokes at the wheel. Plus I was still carrying precious cargo – daughter Brett. 

 With our entrance into the Santa Fe city limits came the usual questions – how to find the downtown area and where to stay for a reasonable price?

Shark Attack
We spotted the Santa Fe Hilton a block from the town square. I put it this way to the pleasant young lad behind the desk, 

“Would my daughter and I be able to afford to stay here?”

“I can give you two double beds for $169,” he said.

“Sold,” I said.

“Hold on,” he said as he handed me a registration form. He had a phone call. 

“What?!!” he exclaimed into the phone. “A shark attack? Where? OK I’ll send someone. Bye” He hung up.

He got back to us, started to pencil in our reservation then looked up at our puzzled faces. “Shark attack is a clogged toilet,” he said.

Who knew?

“Not your room,” he assured.

We had a nice dinner, a good sleep (thanks to a barbiturate or two in my case) and breakfast on the green. Then it was off to Winslow, AZ - the surprise highlight of our trip.


     

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Day 7 Santa Fe to Winslow, AZ

Day 7 Santa Fe to Winslow, AZ
We left Santa Fe right after breakfast, heading ultimately for Winslow, AZ. We had a reservation at La Posada, a reportedly famous historic hotel built by a man named Fred Harvey.* I had read about La Posada over the years and was enticed, not the least, by the promise of the Burlington Northern - Santa Fe railroad tracks running "just outside your window" as one reviewer put it.

El Rancho Hotel
We traveled south out of Santa Fe pointing toward Gallup, NM.  where we re-filled the gas tank. Next to the gas station was the historic El Rancho Hotel
The El Rancho Hotel has been the home for numerous Movie Stars while filming in the area including John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Errol Flynn, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, Humphrey Bogart and numerous others.
In addition to Movie Stars, numerous Political Figures have stayed at the El Rancho including two Presidents: President Reagan and President Eisenhower.
El Rancho was advertised on various billboards approaching Gallup as a historic gem, a destination of the famous of a bygone era: John Wayne, Katherine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, Errol Flynn, and even politicians like Reagan and Eisenhower.

The billboards piqued my curiosity but I was still a bit apprehensive about going in and asking to look around. I forced myself, remembering "we're only here once." Approaching the front desk, I settled on, "We’d like to stay here on our return trip, so do you mind if we look around?"
"Of course not," was the reply, so Brett and I wandered upstairs. Maids were making up some rooms and we peeked in smiling and saying we were thinking of staying here. Everyone was most gracious.
My assessment? Wonderful, but perhaps not for the modern upscale traveler. Authentic history buffs, yes. Clean, safe and comfortable, just not updated to modern ways. But nicely maintained and truly historic.

 Route 66 to Winslow
From Gallup we got back on US 40, which closely parallels, and at times coincides with historic Route 66. We finally rolled into Winslow. I was excited about Winslow. In addition to La Posada was my liking for the Eagles’, "Take It Easy," which begins with the words, "Standing on a corner in Winslow Arizona… "

I figured that a particular "corner" in Winslow would be memorialized and I was correct. It stood out with sign and a lone eagle perched on a window sill. That was it – a bit of a letdown.
We rolled slowly through the in-town Route 66, inching our way eastward anticipating at any moment an abundance of quaint southwest architecture properly fitting for a spot so immortalized in song.  But quaint never appeared.  Instead the style was a bit on the strip-mall-like side.

The Magnificent La Posada

Brett labeled it, "Down and out." I too was disappointed and as we pulled into the paved La Posada lot we both had apprehensions. It didn’t help that directly across the street was an empty warehouse looking structure with open-air windows. A group of teenage boys stood beneath one of the windows tossing their backpacks through before hoisting themselves up and in, head and shoulders and finally their feet, disappearing inside.
Though the boys appeared young the idea that came to my mind was "Crack den." I kept the thought to myself lest we repeat our Ames, Iowa experience. See 2011 Wisconsin to Rockies
The hotel looked fine from the lot but I feared the worst. A couple was walking toward us heading for their car.
I risked a question, "How’s the hotel?"
"Great," they said.
I was doubtful.

Within minutes, our fears were allayed. Brett and I wandered the inside first marveling at the exquisite restoration of authentic southwest architecture. The room was even better, spacious, pristine, magnificently restored. Perfect.
Restaurant and bar. Perfect. The back lawn and garden? Perfect.  And the BNSF railroad tracks at the edge of the back lawn – a train watcher’s dream.
We walked around inside and outside for an hour finally admitting that the hotel was so marvelous that we both agreed that La Posada was the kind of place that was, in itself, a desirable destination.

Our dinner was wonderful with a window looking out at the railroad tracks where the promise was that the Amtrak Southwest Chief would be stopping around 10 PM. We strolled around the grounds for an hour after dinner, then sat on the patio chatting with the restaurant manager as BNSF freight trains rumbled by. I was in heaven.

Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind
As we talked an unusual looking passenger train pulled in, not the normal Amtrak look.
We were told by a reputable source that this train was filled entirely with BNSF "bigwigs." With few exceptions, the window shades were drawn and no passengers peered out at us or at La Posada. Nor did anyone get off. The train remained stationary, going on an hour now. Of the few glimpses into the windows we could see exercise equipment. Gymnasium car I supposed.
Still no visible passengers. I suspected there were none on board. We were assured otherwise and we were also assured that seeing this train stop like this was extremely rare and therefore most exciting.
Not really. Aliens from outer space was my guess. Like the famous Roswell UFO Incident, circa 1970s, this was the 2011 Winslow Alien Train Incident, witnessed by just three people, a NJ man and his daughter plus an unknown mysterious man who has never come forward.
But we’ll never know the truth because Brett and I finally gave up and went inside to sleep.

After a restful night and stop for breakfast in Williams, AZ, 100 miles west, it was back on the road pointing for the California desert, a 400 plus mile section, of the day’s 550 total.
We were home before dark.