Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 7

JWise Travels

Florida coast in 2005

Outside my window this Monday morning, the sky is glowing orange. Across the street, the Gulf of Mexico lies in near-silence as it gently laps at the shore. To the west, clouds are building into thunderheads for storms expected along the panhandle of Florida later today. Another hotel breakfast, and we are again on the road.

Florida coast in 2005

On this return drive through Apalachicola, I took a moment to check out a small corner of the historic district and then stopped along a bayside park where Caroline and I had stopped with my mother-in-law a couple of years earlier. This small town of Apalachicola is one of my favorites in all of Florida. The town has not been commercially invaded yet; no massive new homes and no high-rise condos have crept in. The original charm of its perfect setting is alive and well-maintained.

Florida coast in 2005

Making quick time across the southern states was ok but here on these white sand beaches and their clear waters, I want to linger. Thoughts bombard me to take off my shoes and walk barefoot in the sand. I want to kick at the water and drag my toes through the surf before taking a couple of hours to thoroughly inspect all the shells for the best specimens.

Shells on a Florida beach in 2005

Our mission after visiting Jessica was to get to Bradenton, Florida, in order for Grandpa and Auntie to visit some friends. Along the way, we have taken brief moments to see the sights not seen before by these two in all their years of living right here in America. They, too, like so many others, have never bothered to get off the main road.

Florida coast in 2005

At times, Grandpa has trouble seeing the road for what it is and is trying to act as the driver from his passenger seat. Auntie, on the other hand, is traveling like a pro with maps in her lap, following the road by staying up with the instructions of my meticulous itinerary. She looks for flowers, plants, birds, and more of the boiled peanuts I so desperately desire.

Morning here on the coast is a lesson in tranquility. Approaching spring, the trees are fresh with new growth that is especially vibrant in the coastal sunshine.

Florida coast in 2005

I could drive this road for a thousand years. Make a million stops to inspect anything and everything that comes into view. From the white concrete of this bridge to the dew on leaves, hugging white sands and listening to the light wind rustle the grasses on the soft dunes next to the shore. All of these are moments that should be ingrained into the etchings of my memory, never to be forgotten.

Florida coast in 2005

The day rolls along, getting better by the mile. It is a perfect 74 degrees with deep blue skies dotted with the occasional white fluffy cloud. We fall behind with my constant stops for photos; I want it all for memories, for sharing with family, for savoring on a day when I may no longer be able to come and go as easily as I do now.

Florida coast in 2005

Thickets line the road. Blackwaters reflect grayish trees growing out of their darkness. Cypress sends up roots like buds emerging to flower, and birds sing. I am mesmerized by all of this and saddened, too, knowing that many a traveler can never see this profound beauty laid out before them. It is free for the taking, but others’ cynicism can create barriers that act as blinders where they follow the broken yellow stripe in the center of the road to the next stop.

Church on Florida roadside in 2005

Every so often, a town emerges between woodlands. At times, the place is not much more than a gas station or two at an intersection with a few homes visible from the road. Other times, only some remains are off hiding and nearly gone, falling into decay behind the trees. The community church is not much more than a hulking shell with a pew or two left and a broken piano in the corner.

Where boiled peanuts had once been enjoyed along a busy road, the new highway built miles away diverted people away from these places. Without the traffic, they die a slow death, and consequently, everything fades away. The joy of serendipitous finds or stopping for Sunday services and catching the choir was a uniquely different time than the homogenized pop culture we are cultivating today.

Florida coast in 2005

Not all is lost yet. There is still the adventurous traveler who takes these roads and the hold-out residents who don’t want to be absorbed into a vanilla world of look-and-act-alike banalities. The rural fish stand, a taxidermist, and a small bar and grill can cling to life with just a trickle of traffic. Florida may have huge insects, high humidity, hurricanes, road kill stew myths, NASCAR, mullets, snowbirds, and the weirdest news this side of Germany but I have yet to meet an unfriendly person here.

Deserted church in Florida

Toll roads await us. Here a toll, there a toll, everywhere a toll-toll, the collector takes another dollar and another. The sun peeks through from behind dark clouds that come and go while we fight to make our way through heavy traffic, passing through Tampa to St. Petersburg on our way to Bradenton.

Florida coast in 2005

Checked into another motel, we ventured back out for dinner and some supplies. Auntie has been feeling a little “stopped up” and I am introduced to a new type of embarrassment I never could have imagined. I find us a drugstore and start the hunt discreetly. Overhead, I find the description of the product line I seek, Laxatives. OK, where are they? Bingo found the first item, suppositories, not just any old ones but Fleet Suppositories.

The next item isn’t readily visible but ultimately was found with some help. I had to ask where the hot water bottles were. If you wonder what was so embarrassing about things so far, well, it wasn’t anything yet. That happened as I approached the counter, and my tools for unplugging were being rung up.

The young woman at the counter is a gothic tattooed and pierced ‘grrrl.’ As I approach, I’m compelled to blurt out, “You know, I thought it was embarrassing to have to go to a drug store and buy condoms when I was 20 years old. I thought that would be the worst transaction I would ever have to make, but today, I have found a new low. You probably wouldn’t really believe me that these suppositories and enema bag are for my great aunt out in the car would you?”

Florida coast in 2005

Back at the car, Auntie is happier than a clam. Her long bout with constipation is about to come to an end this evening. This dialogue about function, bowel, and urinary issues is a common one at any given hour. I have driven three thousand miles and heard, talked about, asked, inquired, and helped get to and will soon be dreaming of bathrooms and the problems old age brings regarding elimination.

Our weather is supposed to take a turn for the worse in the coming days, according to tonight’s forecast. Thunderstorms and tornado warnings north of us loom large, but maybe, like other TV weather forecasts, this one will be as wrong as the others. I wish for continued clear skies and that everything comes out ok for Auntie as I go to sleep at nearly 1:00 a.m. after another great day.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 6

JWise Travels

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, and Eleanor Burke at the Pensacola Naval Air-station in Florida

Sunday, though it could be any day, as the road trip has made hay of the necessity of knowing which day of the week it is. Up early to meet Jessica for breakfast in the galley – Navy speak for the mess hall – but upon arrival, we learn that no civilians are allowed, so we are turned away. This means that misinformation was given to us yesterday regarding eating dinner here. Hah, this is from the group responsible for information dominance.

Somewhere near Pensacola, Florida

The last reference is about Jessica’s job in the Navy, where she is being trained in data interpretation. Jessica did her basic training in Chicago, Illinois, and is quickly approaching the end of her first year of a four-year commitment. Here at Corry Station near Pensacola, Florida, she is in her next phase of training. Today, we had the chance to see Jess in her dress uniform; she donned it, especially for Auntie and Grandpa. She is too tired to change into her civilian clothes after hanging out until four in the morning, so we leave the base to get some breakfast.

Herbert Kurchoff at Naval Air Museum in Florida

Without a lot of dining options, we resign ourselves to the only choice in town, Waffle House. Afterward, Pensacola Naval Air Station and the National Museum of Naval Aviation await our visit. The air station couldn’t be better kempt; like any military installation I have ever visited, it is immaculate. With this station here on the Florida coast and its own wide stretch of white sandy beaches, this looks like an ideal assignment for any sailor. Getting on the installation was easy enough; Jessica simply waved her badge; for anyone else, you will only need proof of insurance, vehicle registration, and identification for everyone in the car.

The Museum opened at 9:00 a.m., and we were nearly the first visitors there. Auntie opted for the guided tour, so we got her a wheelchair. She and Jessica headed off on their own while Grandpa and I meandered amongst the more than 100 aircraft on display in this large facility. Our first stop is at a Blue Angels jet and I goad Grandpa into crawling up the ladder and shimmying into the pilot’s seat. Grandpa sends me a wave from the cockpit; I snap it and nearly need a can opener to pry him back out of the cramped quarters.

Herbert Kurchoff at Naval Air Museum in Florida

I asked a staff member if a P-38 might be found here, and while the Navy never used the P-38, the Museum does have one on display anyway. This plane is important to Grandpa as it is the one he was helping build while working for Curtis Aircraft in Buffalo, New York, before the war.

Occasionally, I see Jessica pushing Auntie between aircraft as they take their own path through the museum. After the P-38, we look at amphibious aircraft, a bi-plane, various old and modern fighters, helicopters, fighters brought back from watery graves, some old rare examples from an early flight, along with a good amount of photos that show the times when some of the craft were in service.

After an hour and a half and Grandpa tiring, we leave the museum.

Eleanor Burke on the U.S.S. Alabama Battleship in Alabama

It is a 50-mile drive northwest to the outskirts of Mobile, Alabama, where we head to walk the decks of the World War II-era battleship U.S.S. Alabama. Auntie has never been on a battleship. She had enquired in her more youthful days about the possibility of finding employment doing something on a large seacraft but came up empty-handed. So today, at 93 years old, Auntie has her first opportunity to spend time on a battleship.

Being a great sport, Auntie poses with the big guns on the front of the ship as we are both amazed at the size and weight of everything around us. We read the plaques along the way, and we both wonder out loud what it must have been like out on war-torn waters with guns blazing and aircraft attacking.

Jessica Wise and Herbert Kurchoff at U.S.S. Alabama Battleship in Alabama

Jessica and Grandpa wander off to inspect the decks below and the tower above. An hour passes here at the memorial park before we start on our way back to the car. Grandpa was supposed to take a look at a submarine on display here, but after walking the ship and the air museum, he decided he’d had enough walking and let Jessica go on her own.

Sunset on the Florida coast

By the time we get back to Pensacola, it is already time to drop off Jessica so we can resume our trek southeast. Goodbye is too quick. I gave her some words of encouragement and told her to be determined to maintain pride in herself, her family, and her family name by remaining upstanding and doing the right thing no matter the difficulty. I hug her, telling her how great the short amount of time I have had with her, but regrettably, I forget to tell my daughter how much I love her.

Although I hope she knows just how much I love her as I am here with family just to say hello and spend time with her, I still feel that I lost an opportunity to tell her in person. So, I am taking the time here to let my daughter, Jessica Nicole Wise, know that her father loves her and is happy to see her making the best out of what she has undertaken. Good luck, Jess!

It is later than we planned for in leaving Pensacola, so the drive to Apalachicola is expedient and without fanfare. Maybe two stops for a photo, a bathroom stop or two, a quick snack at McDonald’s, and it’s drive, drive, drive.

Outside of Port St. Joe, we move into Eastern Standard Time, arriving at our Best Western Hotel in Apalachicola near 8:30 p.m. Another unloading of the car, situating the folks in their room, and then running over to my room to do the same. Dinner tonight is fast food from Burger King – our junk food day. The King is the only place opened this late, Apalachicola is a small town.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 5

JWise Travels

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, and Eleanor Burke at Waffle House in Pensacola, Florida

It is Saturday in Pensacola, Florida, and we decide to sleep in. This worked out for Jessica, too, as she was on call until 6:00 a.m. Arriving in the evening, we weren’t able to see the damage lingering here until we were on our drive to pick up my daughter at Corry Station, where she is taking her Naval training for the job she will be performing while enlisted with the United States Navy.

Her facility is, like all other military installations, immaculate. I have often wished that cities would organize themselves as well as these posts and keep the landscape clean and in order. We get a brief tour of the grounds and are just as quickly on our way to get some breakfast.

Being here in the south Waffle House seemed like the obvious choice. Even finding an open restaurant is a challenge in Pensacola post-Hurricane Ivan, but Waffle House turns out to be a great choice. Auntie loves grits, Grandpa didn’t much like the waffle, Jessica had a wrap, and I had a waffle, hash browns, and sausage.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Stomachs full and without much of a plan we drive west along the coast. Mile after mile of devastation is all we see. We are all caught off guard as none of us thought the damage was so great or that it was lingering so long after Ivan hit the U.S. back in September. From Pensacola to Fort Pickens in Alabama, we drive through a ghost town.

A few people have come out for the beach; mostly, they are fishing. Some sit on porches in buildings that are largely vacant. The majority of people in the area are construction workers. Everything is damaged.

Beachfront homes lean on their stilts. Foundations of million-dollar homes have buckled, and their raised floors have fallen away, draining their contents and leaving empty shells. Some homes have lost walls, while others had their roofs torn off. In one home, we see through a hole in the wall a dresser with most drawers missing; the closet still has shoes in it. The couch is growing mold, as are the walls. A blade from a ceiling fan is missing, and an old purse, notebook, half-burned candle, and a still-standing open bottle of wine sit on the floor surrounded by sand.

Jessica Wise and John Wise on the Alabama Coast in 2005

High-rise condo owners weren’t spared either; it appears that most if not all, are closed. Facades are torn off; entire corners are gone. Cranes dot the landscape as things are being rebuilt. Resorts and luxury beachfront hotels are all closed. Debris lines the streets and parking lots. Plants, trees, and tennis courts look as though they were abandoned years ago.

Alabama Coast in 2005

The day is gloriously blue-skied, and the weather is perfect. The beaches are crystalline white, with the Gulf waters gently rolling in. A few feet away, a dishwasher sits in the sand, ripped from the home it once belonged to. Across the street, a couch is upended, sitting with other household things scattered willy-nilly.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Bizarrely, a built-in swimming pool floated away from its home and was redeposited where the driveway used to be. Some places have already been pulled out with no further sign of its existence besides some pilings, while others look like they may be salvageable.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Instead of chatting about military life the four of us can’t help but stand in awe at the power of the storm and shock at the tragedy of how life and property were cast aside by the heavy hand of nature.

As far west as we can travel on the 182, the picture is much the same. Time to head a bit north over to Fort Morgan, where we’ll catch a ferry to Dauphin Island. Almost immediately, a sign brings our attention to the fact that the ferry is not open but will reopen soon, another victim of the hurricane.

Although much havoc has been wrought upon these communities, there is still much beauty to be found here. Everything is recovering. The beaches are so very pristine. The forest continues on. Birds still sing, and here and there are the intrepid tourists riding bikes, walking, and playing golf.

Fort Pickens in Alabama

At Fort Morgan, we pay a small fee to view this historic site. The large fortified structure came through the storm without a scratch. The massive walls stood much the same way they have for the past 150 years. What is broken and looking beyond repair is the dock where the ferry to Dauphin Island once stood. Crumpled, folded, battered, this dock we drove off with my mother-in-law just a year and a half ago is in dire need of some tender loving care.

Fort Pickens in Alabama

Sadly, Alabama is in dire need of some cold, hard cash. Fort Morgan is run now by a skeleton crew due to budget cuts. I just want to scream at President Bush: yeah, go ahead and give more tax breaks to the rich and just have the states shut down our state historic sites and close the state parks too to finance changes in Medicare, whose costs will have to be absorbed by the states. Send troops into Iran with bags of cash so we leave our roads potholed. Don’t develop alternative energy; we can export suitcases of cash to the Middle East for oil and move to close down or limit access to our national parks. No child left behind means no cash for forests; log them out of here.

Sorry, but you can’t drive across this country seeing the decay, and ignore it. Of course, you can sit at home in a city that’s doing well and not have a clue any of this is happening, but I’m out here seeing it, hearing about it, and not being able to do a thing about it. America the Beautiful is going to need a Band-Aid.

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, Eleanor Burke, and John Wise at Fort Pickens in Alabama

Fort Morgan, though, is still here, and we don’t have a lot of time to visit it. The grounds are beautiful; the bunkers are mossy and wet, with stalactites forming from the minerals oozing through the old brick structures. Displays within the fort walls are well presented, but I wish the glass was cleaned a little more frequently. Old cannons dot the grounds, and darkened passages lend a mystery to the history this fort exemplifies.

A small museum helps tell the story of the coming and goings of this facility that had originally been built to protect Mobile Bay. Do your research before arriving, as the gift store is being starved out of existence due to those budget cuts.

Auntie and Jessica had a great time walking and talking here today. Later, Jessica told me of her respect for Auntie’s enthusiasm and genuine excitement at being at this historic site.

Grandpa had originally been a little reluctant to join us in the fort but ultimately joined the party. Due to the blood thinners he takes, Grandpa is most of the time quite cold; here on the open coast with a good wind, it was a bit chilly, but he overcame that to catch a glimpse of things and visit the museum with us.

I know Jessica appreciates getting to know these two a little better during the past year and a half. Often, she blurts out how funny or cute these two are, how sweet Auntie is, and how Grandpa says some surprising and laughable lines that seemingly come out of nowhere.

Florida Coast at Sunset near Pensacola

It would be nice if Jessica could join us for the next week, but the Navy has plans for her, and what the government wants, the government gets. Even these few short hours spent here she has been able to accumulate memories that will surely leave a positive impact on her and her future.

At 4:30, we are driving east and decided we should try to make the galley before closing time. Jessica calls a buddy and finds that the closing time is 5:30; it’ll be close but we try.

Not a chance; it is 5:27 as we enter Pensacola. Before going on a wild goose chase, we call information to find a Po-Folks, but while on the phone we pull into Barnhill’s. Wow, we were lucky. This is a buffet-style restaurant serving up southern cooking.

The menu includes fried shrimp, catfish, pulled pork, fried chicken, ribs, greens, yams, rutabagas, cabbage, green beans, and at least 25 other dishes. For dessert, we can choose from peach, berry, or apple cobbler, bread pudding, banana pudding with Nilla wafers, and another half dozen items. I am so happy this place doesn’t franchise and open in the southwest; I would weigh 400 pounds before Christmas.

With dinner finished, we went to the hotel and set up Grandpa and Auntie in their room. Jessica comes to my room to read the story of the road trip so far. With tears in her eyes, she smudges her mascara into a fright mask. Next, she views the photos we’ve taken after leaving Arizona and driving through New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida, and Alabama.

Just as we finish, a humongous man-eating Florida-style cockroach crawls across the wall. I open the door while Jessica, with Samurai-like moves, lunges at the roach and gently but firmly siphons the hand-sized mutating insect from its clutch on the wall and hurls it outside. Hey, Go Navy! That’s some training. I am impressed with the skill and dexterity that have developed in my offspring.

A friend drops by the hotel to pick up Jessica, saving me the drive back to the base and allowing me to sit down to relate another day on the road with family.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 4

JWise Travels

Lousiana

As is our routine, we have an early morning wake-up except that today the sky is blue, although we are surrounded by fog, heavy fog. North out of Lafayette to Opelousas and then right. Turning east on the 190 goes smoothly. After that, I blame poor signage in the American South for my morning repeat of the lost path, just as I’ve experienced the last couple of evenings.

The sign for Highway 105 is either too small to see or is non-existent. I have to drive for what seems like 10 miles before being able to make a U-turn and head back. There it is, a sign no bigger than a pack of matches where I turn right to drive north on the 105.

Driving next to the levy of the Atchafalaya River from Krotz Springs to Melville, we see more blue skies with only minor spots of fog. Oh no, not again, not another detour! Why couldn’t they print on the map that the ferry crossing the Atchafalaya runs between 5:00 and 8:00 a.m. and then again from 4:00 to 6:00 p.m.? Just why do we have to arrive when it’s not during those hours?

Lousiana

Should we go north or south? We could turn around and go back over the road we came on, or I choose the new road. I opt for new sights and drive the really long twisting detour north and then, in Simmesport, turn south to meet up with the road we should have been on.

Lousiana

An hour and twenty minutes of detour later, we got to where we needed to be. On the way, we took a slow drive through Simmesport, which Auntie swooned over as being a replica of her beloved Angola outside of Buffalo, New York. The family used to own a vacation cottage there next to the lake. Only my mom was missing from the picture; Auntie dearly wanted Mom to see how uncannily similar the two towns were to each other.

Lettsworth, Louisiana

Ghost towns of the Southwest are not that different from ghost towns here in the South except for the mold and the way the plantlife devours things that people built. Wood is wet and rotting, concrete is now green, and rusty brown roofs fall into crumbling walls. The trash from people who have squatted in these broken homes litters the grounds with beer bottles, empty cans, and an occasional splash of graffiti scrawled on disintegrating interior walls. This is what was left of Lettsworth, Louisiana.

Lettsworth, Louisiana

How long have these tattered curtains fluttered in the breeze as they seek disappearance? Whose hands sewed the once fresh, clean fabric that helped lend a sense of hominess to this dwelling that now lies empty? I try stopping at as many abandoned homes as time allows in my secret hopes of stumbling upon old memories forgotten and neglected along the road.

The town of New Roads is a nondescript, poor place on the way to the ferry taking us to St. Francisville. We are fourth in line, waiting to cross this river. The ferry is nearly visible out on the water, so we must have at least a few minutes out here. I get out to stretch my legs, scouting a location for a good photo.

It is a little too foggy again so I satisfy myself with a photo of some withered trees in the water.

Walking back to the car, the driver of a catfish delivery truck asks if I got a good photo. Not really, I tell him, though I’m unsure of exactly what I got. He says, too bad; I agree. I shared with him how amazing it was down at the water level seeing how fast the river was moving, to which he responded with: “Yep, that Mississippi gets a-moving.” Oh, I hadn’t realized that this was the Mississippi we were crossing. Well, that makes this ferry ride all the better, then.

After a few minutes, the ferry blows its horn on the opposite bank and is on its way back over here. Maybe 20 vehicles are driven on, a few more minutes pass, and we are on our way. Last year, Caroline walked across the headwaters of the Mississippi and then stood knee-deep a quarter-mile downstream; today, Auntie, Grandpa, and I cross this mighty muddy river not far from its terminus, where it spills into the Gulf of Mexico.

Into the lap of luxury is the contrast from the last town with St. Francisville here basking in the sun. This small town is a vacationer’s dream. Beautiful historic buildings with well-maintained homes, churches, and a vibrant business area all come together, working to scream at me to bring my wife back here at the first opportunity.

This is the Rosedown Plantation State Historic Site. Pressed for time due to our detours, we can’t visit the home or the gardens, and for the small entry fee, it doesn’t make sense for us to pay for a 10-minute view of the grounds. Surprise of surprises, the kindly lady at the front booth must have sensed this and allowed us to pass for free. She directed us to drive to the second driveway, where we would be able to sneak a peek at the plantation’s main home.

What a beautiful sight it was. The grounds are maintained with a focus on perfection. Flowers were in bloom, and the trees were freshly green. The original entryway to the home is a fenced-off tree-lined and -covered pathway with the house centered at the path’s end. Auntie and I fawn over its majesty while Grandpa, more in touch with his manliness, remains in quiet respect.

Now in need of a shortcut to make up for the lost time, I turn left on Louisiana 19 toward Mississippi in the hopes of getting on the 24/48 to the 98, which all looks bigger and faster than the winding roads I am currently navigating. That’s right; it happens again. I am about to detour us so we can lose even more time because this is becoming the primary means of getting to our destinations.

Outside of Wilson and just before Norwood, where we could have taken a right, we come upon two dozen cars stopped with a policeman ahead blocking traffic. Considering the traffic we have seen on these roads, this is a humongous traffic jam for this neighborhood.

Trying to be patient, we use the time for lunch. I make us each a sandwich from the food we packed just to be able to picnic along the road. Sandwiches made and nearly gone, some people have turned around and have given up on waiting. We do the same. We turn back on Louisiana 10 towards Clinton, but before we get there, it’s road construction time again.

Herbert Kurchoff at Camp Shelby Mississippi

Not too bad, just a single narrow bumpy lane for a few miles, and then it’s on to Road 67 into Mississippi. Sadly, no neat “Welcome to Mississippi” sign is seen at this tiny crossing. The first town we come to is Liberty, how fitting as we are now free to make tracks at 65 miles per hour in a nearly straight line to Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

Just as we enter town, we turn right, following the 98 to the 49 South, where Camp Shelby is situated. As I was told on the phone prior to our visit, we are not supposed to enter through the north gate. Well, the sign said this way to the museum; maybe I misunderstood the lady speaking with a heavy Southern accent over the phone. I didn’t misunderstand: we were told to turn around and go down to the southern entrance.

Camp Shelby is where Grandpa did his basic training 63 years ago before shipping out for World War II. At the time, this camp in the forest was the world’s largest tent city. Grandpa was prepared to go fight the war and ultimately shipped off to New Guinea making his way to the Philippines before coming home.

Herbert Kurchoff and Eleanor Burke at Camp Shelby Mississippi

Grandpa was with the 155th Infantry Headquarters Company part of the DD (Dixie Division). He had originally come down for his first encounter with the South via a four-day train ride that delivered him here. Freshly married, my grandmother Hazel took leave of her job with Curtis Aircraft, where Grandpa also worked prior to his time in the Army, to join him until he shipped out.

Herbert Kurchoff at Camp Shelby Mississippi

The museum here houses a wonderful display of artifacts, equipment, and their environment that the soldiers back in those days would have been using. Not only World War II is featured but also how the camp contributed to World War I and its function in training troops for Korea, Vietnam, Somalia, Desert Storm, and the current War on Terrorism.

Herbert Kurchoff at Camp Shelby Mississippi

An Army baseball cap with Camp Shelby embroidered on it, along with a book about the history of this place was bought by Auntie and me to give to Grandpa as souvenirs from his trip back in time.

We need to make tracks, and without further ado, we are moving south again. Highway 90 brings us to dinner midway between Gulfport and Biloxi. Aunt Jenny’s “On the Beach” Catfish Restaurant serves up the same thing we had for dinner last night. We all love catfish, so a second time around is a natural fit. This all-you-can-eat catfish dinner might have been a bad idea because, after nine pieces, I’m feeling a bit weighed down.

We check into Days Inn after having missed the exit off the I-10, road construction, and an accident obscured the ramp so I HAVE TO DETOUR YET AGAIN!!! This tragedy is becoming a comedy of absurdity regarding how frequently it is happening to us. Why does this so rarely or maybe even never happen with Caroline as my navigator?

In the morning, we will pick up my daughter Jessica from the Corry Station Naval Training Area in Pensacola, Florida. I can’t wait for her to talk our heads off with her 195 miles per hour 140-decibel, indecipherable onslaught of mouth sounds she probably believes are words. Auntie will likely have to turn down the hearing aids while Grandpa ratchets down the pacemaker after being bombarded and adrenalized by my progeny.

One last item for the day is a big thanks going to Caroline “Onstar” Wise for the righteous restaurant, weather, and road help she is providing from her secret location in the Desert Southwest.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 3

JWise Travels

Louisiana 2005

Day three, and we are up and out early with a quick breakfast at the nearly infallible Denny’s. As it was for the majority of yesterday, our skies are cloudy, overcast, and looming with the darkness of impending rains. So it goes; we trudge on across the breadth of Texas.

Leaving the 10 Freeway near Winnie, Texas, we are on Highway 73 headed to the 82, which will bring us to coastal Louisiana. A small road turns off to a swampy wetlands area known as a bayou down this way. It was the cypress trees with their unique shapes standing in the water with a glimmer of sun sparkling on the water that had us making the u-turn so we could gain a closer look.

Eleanor Burke formerly Kurchoff in Louisiana 2005

Grandpa and I start walking down the boardwalk over the water, grasses, and other water-loving plants that are lusciously green when Auntie decides she just might miss something and decides to join us. As Auntie and I approach the lookout, Grandpa, feeling the cold from over the water, is already on his way back to the van.

Auntie and I linger in the beauty of the cypress, spy an osprey perched in a nearby tree, and gaze into the dark water for signs of fish or turtles but find nothing.

Herbert Kurchoff and John Wise in Louisiana 2005

Not much further down the road, we cross a bridge tall enough to make Auntie squirm with vertigo. On the other side, we are now on the Intracoastal Waterway. Lunch today will be in a small roadside park. The timing was picture perfect as the sky started giving us our first peeks at blue skies.

Louisiana 2005

I’ll do my best to keep us on the Creole Nature Trail National Scenic Byway as long as possible as we crawl along the road to Lafayette.

Louisiana 2005

The day has come alive. We are away from the ever-present policeman looming in the background of Texas and are greeted by a Louisiana Sheriff who offers a friendly wave. The coast of the Gulf of Mexico and its white sand beaches offer life support, too, lifting my spirit that we are now on the more important part of this trip.

Birds are everywhere, from cormorants and blue herons to egrets and various songbirds. Occasionally, the sun pokes out of the clouds long enough to grab a photo with a more dramatic background than somewhat boring grey. Other wildlife in the stuck-to-the-highway-in-a-pile-of-stink variety is spotted here and there.

Louisiana 2005

At Holly Beach, a rush of warm memories comes over me. Caroline and I spent the longest time walking this beach collecting seashells. This is the greatest beach for shell collecting we have ever been on, and so today, I must pull over to collect a few for her. Approaching the water’s edge, I called her and turned the phone to face the water so she could listen to the crashing surf. I pine away about missing her, wishing she were with us; she tells me she now feels a hint of jealousy.

Louisiana 2005

I didn’t call her when we crossed over from Holly Beach to the Cameron side on a ferry she and I used on our last trip through here. Ferries are also a favorite of Caroline’s, especially those little ones on the Chesapeake Bay. Grandpa and Auntie loved the ferry trip; it was the first time on a ferry for either one of them in decades.

Louisiana 2005

Live oaks with Spanish moss and a cow just hanging out in the field looks like a good life to me.

Louisiana 2005

The nearly empty road is taking us north toward Lafayette for the night.

Louisiana 2005

One more stop to listen to the birds and catch the sun skimming over the water with dark clouds reflecting on the even darker waters.

Louisiana 2005

Before our final approach to Lafayette, I called “Onstar” for directional help. My experience goes sort of like this, “Hi,” “Hi,” “Would you Yahoo ‘best catfish in Lafayette’?” “Okay, you have these options…” “Thank you, Onstar, you are a lifesaver,” Caroline replies with a wry “Whatever, John.”

With the sun long gone, we planned on stopping at the Days Inn at University Avenue and the I-10. Oh God, I’m turning off of University and ending up on the freeway. Holy moly, it’s a repeat of the night before. Everything is under control; I try to reassure myself. I’ll just take the first exit, but that is a transition to Highway 49/167 going south. Okay, the exit after that, I’ll get off. Oh no, it’s the 90 East!

Hello Onstar, HELP! “Calm down, sir, and just go straight ahead, turn on the next street. Now, go about a billion miles because you are way off target, and then turn right. You are almost there, goodnight John, try to relax. Oh yeah, and more thing, that Catfish Shack place I recommended? Well, they are only open for lunch, but there is another place. Would you like directions?”

Louisiana 2005

That place was Julien’s Po-Boys, also on University Avenue, just down the road from us. I ordered a half shrimp half catfish po-boy and ordered Grandpa and Auntie the half a catfish platter to go. A nice surprise was that the half order of catfish was two filets, full order was four filets. I get back to our hotel with the food still hot.

My shrimp half of the po-boy is ok, the catfish side is excellent. Grandpa and Auntie are all eyes when they open their containers. Neither one of them could be any happier right now; they ooh and aah on every bite. Auntie offers me some of her dinner insisting it’s too much. I decline, and only two minutes later, her catfish is gone, apparently, she was hungrier than she thought.

The weather forecast for day four looks promising. Auntie’s legs are feeling much better, and she’s confident that we can carry on. We have driven 1,523 miles so far, only 3,000 miles remaining.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 2

JWise Travels

Texas Sunrise

I sat up and stayed awake until I could hear the unmistakable sound of breathing from someone asleep. It was 4:30 before I was asleep again. It’s 6:30, and everyone is awake. It’s going to be a hard day.

Hard bagel, not really so much a bagel, but a chewy piece of dry bread that cream cheese will try to camouflage. Some fake orange juice water to wash it down, and we’ll call this breakfast. The dessert for this breakfast, or proverbial icing on the cake, is getting pulled over shortly afterward to be questioned if I was the culprit who kept Van Horn awake the evening of March 1st, 2005. No, it wasn’t me; I swear it was the freight train.

That would have been interesting getting pulled over for that, but I have to get pulled over for doing 6 miles an hour over the speed limit. I told the officer, sure, I know I was doing 81, maybe 82 in a 75 zone, but….? “Well, here in Texas, you can get pulled over for doing 1 mile an hour over the limit.”

I was asked to step out of the vehicle so as not to influence what came next. This officer asked my aunt and grandfather if they were being moved across Texas against their will. Are you f’ing kidding me? Does this guy really think I might be involved with human trafficking?

Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph on a moped, a mile an hour was all that it would take, and then it’s considered that maybe I’m selling old people on the black market. But it was my lucky day as Eleanor and Herbert covered for me, and I was let off with a warning. I’ll just set the cruise control at 2 miles an hour under the limit for the rest of the day. Wouldn’t you know it, everyone starts passing me by.

How Texas law enforcement gets away with it, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s my out-of-state license plate influencing things? What is up with all these police in Texas anyway? I see them passing me in unmarked pickup trucks with red-blue lights under the cattle pusher mounted over the grill. They cruise by in sedans of various colors, primarily white, black, and grey. Squad cars line the roads next to and behind trees, on the other side of hills, and around corners; all of them with a driver just watching the traffic go by, looking for human traffickers pimping the elderly.

Later in the day, at a gas station, I asked someone filling his tank how he could live in Texas with so many police lying in wait around every corner. He laughed and said, “Good luck; you are up against three agencies vying for your tourism money-lined pocket.” There are state troopers, highway patrolmen, and local police all waiting to mop up some state revenue. I guess it costs a lot of money to fry so many folks on death row here in Texas.

Texas roadside

Oops, now anyone reading this will know I am a liberal. Nah, I’m just an American with a view. The guy at the gas station leaves me with a description of his favorite new t-shirt, “One Nation Under Surveillance.” And I thought all the kooks lived in Arizona, New Mexico, California, Oregon, and the other 45 states; now I know that Texas is kooky too.

We left the 10 Freeway at exit number 307 to see another side of Texas and also to avoid seeing so many law enforcement agencies on the prowl. The 190 going east through Iraan, Menard, and Mason is a great introduction to the hills of the Pecos region and the beginning of Texas Hill Country.

Texas roadside

Badgers, wild turkeys, owls, sheep, goats, cattle, and oil pumps are some of the wildlife we see on either side of the car. Dead wildlife populates this rural stretch of road, too. Skunk, raccoon, deer, feathers in clumps, and random fur make up the deceased roadside buffet, a veritable smorgasbord.

Texas roadside

The drive today ran into its first snag: Auntie’s legs weren’t feeling well. She props them up, covers them, and tries to do some minor exercises but has warned us that if they don’t feel better soon, we may be turning around early.

Texas roadside

The marquee at the old Odeon Theatre in Mason, Texas, couldn’t have been more appropriate with the title, Are We There Yet showing. With my fellow travelers getting a bit grumpy at the long rural drive, we head south here on the 87 to find the 290 so we can get to Austin as soon as possible and check into our motel for the night.

Texas roadside

The weather is dour which is okay as it fits the mood in the car. We just keep driving because Texas, being the giant state that it is, requires us to just keep going.

Texas roadside

A rest stop beckons, which, I should point out, features a star. Everything in Texas has a star on it, the symbol that represents the entire idea behind the Lone Star State.

After arriving in Austin, I checked in with a Gujarati guy who I quickly learned will someday soon be releasing his first music CD. Without time for small talk, I unload the car, bring Auntie to her room, and then do the same with my room. Yep, my room; Grandpa needs sleep, which he is certain he wouldn’t get any if he were to continue sharing a room with me. So, he and Auntie are sharing a room that, if I am not mistaken, will be 114 degrees before they fall asleep – if they fall asleep.

Before indulging in their hotel sauna/sweat lodge, we attempted to get some Chinese food delivered. They only deliver before 1:00. Okay, but it’s only 7:00 now. That’s 1:00 in the afternoon. Oh My God, Texas, let me guess, the police are on a late afternoon patrol for illegal Mexican Chinese food delivery people who are doing 40.5 in the 40 zones, so restaurants only deliver until the police wander out of the doughnut shops?

Bad thoughts make for bad times: this is a new proverb for Texas, I’m coining. I drive 3 miles south past a large freeway construction zone, make a U-turn, and follow the frontage road looking for ‘the’ street with the Chinese restaurant. Somehow, I miss it and am soon north of downtown Austin, approaching the airport, certainly an omen.

I call Caroline to be my eyes on the internet. I learned that I was on the wrong side of town. I make a U-turn and get back on the freeway to go back across town. I get off the freeway a mile from our hotel to fetch our aging dinner. That fast-food idea required an hour to order, drive to, wait, and drive back before we sat down to eat.

In the hour I was gone, Auntie and Grandpa managed to heat the room to a point where the nylon fibers in the cheap curtains were dripping into pools of plastic on the floor. I was able to endure the inferno long enough to wolf down my dinner. My beef and scallops had originally been a spicy dish, by the last fork fulls, it became Twice Cooked Beef and Rubber.

Out of their door, I stood looking like the Old Faithful geyser from Yellowstone due to the steam rising out of my clothes. Naked with white rice clinging to my beard, I return to my room in order to practice snoring loud enough that I’ll keep Grandpa awake, even if he is eight doors away around the corner. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t change a thing. If you could have seen my aunt’s face smelling the wildflowers, anyone would have changed places with me in an instant. I look forward to the coming days and wish my aunt good health so that we may be able to continue my first cross-country road trip with these two great relatives of mine.