The Next Part

Around 10:00 am, after a leisurely breakfast, we hit the road. Without any hookups to electricity or water, it was relatively easy to pack up and go. I was leery anyway about doing the hooking and unhooking that had been described in my reference books. Studying the manuals proved worth the time spent. Now an old hand at running my Escaper, I look back in superiority at my trepidations about dumping sewer tanks or forgetting to remove the water hose before driving away from a hookup.

This was my first trip of any length in the Escaper RV. In my Sunrader the year before, I had camped mostly taking little advantage of its utilities except for using lights and cooking on the stove. For this trip, I wanted to take advantage of the comforts offered by the gas appliances, as well as use more electricity to run lights, laptop, CD player, etc. With my Toy House, I was prepared to camp at some of the so-called “primitive” campgrounds with no hookups, while still having the advantages electricity and propane can provide.

Tom, the spouse I left behind, had installed a 110-watt solar electric panel on the roof. Our friend Chris, a solar electric expert, installed the rest of the system: the batteries, inverter and other controls tucked into cupboards inside the RV. The system provided enough power so I could stay several days in one spot and not run down the batteries to less than 80 percent of their capacity. That means that I could stay longer depending on how I used the power and whether or not I drove anywhere (driving charges the batteries too). I never needed the power of (nor did I want the noise of) the gasoline generator that came with the camper. I have now removed it, using the space it took up for storage of emergency parts and such.

The Toy House has no air conditioning except in the cab while driving, and the only time I wished for it in the camper was one June evening in Texas when the temp was 110 in the shade. As I got farther south, I used the roof fans to keep the camper interior cool. On most sunny days, if I parked in the sun, my panel provided enough electricity to keep the fans on high plus keep the batteries charged. If I parked in the shade to help keep the Toy House from heating up in the sun, I had plenty of juice to run the roof fan for several hours without running the batteries down.

On this trip, I didn’t run the refrigerator (a big power draw) unless I was plugged into a park’s electric service. The Escaper fridge didn’t come with a 12-volt option, so I would have needed a bigger inverter to run it from the solar panel juice. I never got around to using the propane option for running the fridge until my second big trip in 2005. Maybe I was afraid of doing it wrong and blowing myself up. That and I thought maybe I was saving money for my gasoline tank. I should have gone ahead and used the propane. Recently, I filled the propane tank for only $15. I didn’t even use an entire tank in the 6 weeks of my 2005 trip. As they say, live, learn, and shake your head.

On my 2005 trip, I used a food-cooling system learned from a Boondocker posting. While driving, I didn’t run the fridge. (You are not supposed to run an LP fridge while driving anyway.) When camped, I turned it on and made ice in the freezer in a couple of water-filled plastic containers. Then I turned the unit off for the day, put the containers in the fridge section, and let the ice keep things cool. It worked well enough for me. I didn’t expect to keep food in the frozen state for long. Using this system, ice cream is best eaten immediately upon purchase.

The day began to feel like afternoon as I cruised the Illinois interstate, and I began to think about treating myself to lunch at a restaurant. Numerous billboards promising Amish foods and crafts called to me from beside the Interstate near Arcola. I have long admired the Amish for their determined simplicity. I reasoned that they no doubt made good food as well. Following the signs to the visitor center housed in a little brick depot building, I found a Raggedy Anne and Andy Museum as well as a Broom Museum. I figured I would check out the little museums and then find my lunch.

My attention was distracted from that goal by the neighboring display, proudly announcing America’s Only Hippie Memorial. The Dude needed a little leg stretching before I disappeared into a building for a while, so we went over to investigate our serendipitous find of the day. About half a block long, the colorful metal sculpture stretches out on either side of a large peace medallion. Primary colors punctuate the collection of metal scrap that forms an historical collage. Bob Moomaw fashioned this colorful metal sculpture, abstractly depicting his life and honoring hippies. The dedication sign says he did not consider himself a hippie. The speech posted there was given by his wife, Sherron, on June 29,1999. Bob felt hippies had created an era of freedom in America, so because of them, he didn’t have to conform any more. I was pleased I’d stumbled upon it, as I’m sure all hippies and former hippies are when they discover it. Thanks Bob, that was real nice of you.

When The Dude and I had thoroughly inspected the memorial, he went to wait for me in the Toy House. I investigated the nice display of Raggedy Ann and Andy memorabilia that honor Johnny Gruelle, creator of the stories and the beloved dolls. I had fond memories of the pair of the cloth dolls my mother had made for me. It was worth a quick look at books, dolls and toys of an earlier era.

The broom museum was surprisingly interesting, walls lined with what we moderns consider ancient and primitive tools. Somebody had spent considerable time amassing and labeling the collection. The many brooms and brushes displayed were amazingly varied in styles and purpose, giving me a feel for the daily life of my predecessors and making me thankful for vacuum cleaners.

After making sure The Dude had water and ventilation in the Escaper, I began my inspection of the several-block-long downtown. I walked the main street hoping to find something of interest in the several shops and restaurants. Too early in the season for many tourists, some shops were closed. I poked around in a couple of shops that had typical tourist gewgaws. In an antique store, another couple and I looked around the little storefront for at least 10 minutes finding no proprietor in sight. We agreed it must be a trusting community.

I ate at a little café called the Daily Knead, because I liked the look of it and the posted menu had some delicious sounding items. I didn’t meet my goal of an Amish meal, though there was a restaurant labeled as such just down the street. At the Daily Knead, the décor was Caribbean and the menu creative. I had a Rachel Sandwich – a turkey Rueben because, said the menu, “Rachel doesn’t eat red meat.” On marble rye, it was grilled just right and topped with tangy sauerkraut that hit it off with the sauce and the sliced turkey. Eating at a table near the front picture window, I read a newspaper from Champaign, Illinois. They had national stories with better coverage of the Iraq war than my local daily. Another article told of budget cuts destroying a youth service for troubled teens. Funding for seven positions had just been cut. They were going to have difficulty providing any of the services that had been helping some young people become contributing members of the community rather than young criminals or alcoholics. What a world--where wars continue to be more important than taking care of people at home. Well. Nothing I can do about that. Back to using up the gas supply. I determined to hit the road and make my way farther south before stopping for the night. Once again eager to see my first national park of the journey, I cut across country from Interstate 57 at Effingham down State Highway 45.

As I followed the black bituminous paths, I listened to a book on CD rented at a Cracker Barrel restaurant. I believe that according to the really sophisticated debonair gourmet, it is extremely unsophisticated to patronize chain restaurants. Woe is unsophisticated me. LOTS of people stop at the Cracker Barrel restaurants conveniently located near freeway exits. There always seems to be a line to get in. The main advantage of this chain is a couple racks of books on CD that you can rent and return at any of the other proliferate Cracker Barrel locations. Oh yeah, the food is good once you get in.

That day I was listening to Jimmy Carter’s The Hornet’s Nest: A Novel of the Revolutionary War. The subject was appropriate, as the story was set in some of the southern states I would be visiting. I found I didn’t remember much of the history covered in school, nor will I remember many of the historical facts I “learned” on the trip. But while I was visiting the South, Carter helped me understand the context of some of the historical sites. His characters helped me envision real people struggling to survive the revolution as I viewed monuments dedicated to a battle or an important meeting.

My mainstay reference for camping information was Don Wright’s Guide to Free Campgrounds, 2002 Eastern Edition (and later in my trip, the Western Edition). There are very few free places to camp in the east, but the directory also contains listings for places that charge less than $12 per night. I had found Comlara Park there. This evening my goal was the Hilltop Public Campground in Grayville, Illinois. Grayville is just a few miles north of Interstate 64. The city-run campground had great signage from the freeway, just as Mr. Wright had said in his directory. I drove right to it through the little town, into a gate where the park began and up a hill above a large grassy park. At the top sat a ring of campsites, all of them empty. It was a little spooky that no one else was camping, but I decided to check the place out. I parked near the small rest room building, and got out to see if I could find a sign telling me where to pay. The toilets were open and clean. The garbage cans had neatly tied bags in them. There were electric boxes and water spigots at each site, but no indication of how to pay or of an official-looking person to ask.

The only other people there were a man and a woman of about my own age (50 at the time) in the cab of a pickup truck with a four-wheel ATV in the back. I drove over to see if they could tell me what was up with this ghostly campground. The woman rolled down her window, and I asked them if they knew whether the place was open. They had no idea. They too were just checking the place out. So I chose a spot, put on the parking brake and parked for the night. I didn’t use any hook-ups, because I had no way to pay for their use. If local kids came there to party, I might decide to make a sudden exit and not want to deal with bringing in camping paraphernalia or unplugging cords and hoses. I figured that between the rain and the cold, even hoodlums would stay at home, while teens would be less likely to be searching out a place to park. The evening was uneventful – a few cars drove through, but no one stopped. Streetlights illuminated the campground after dark. Most importantly, no one scared the living daylights out of me by knocking on the door that night, even to ask for a campground fee.

With the rain firmly tapping the roof of the Toy House, I felt like I was on a childhood vacation. Though people don’t generally like to be out in the rain, the sound of it on a roof – be it tent or house - is comforting. I have pleasant memories of a nice gentle rain on the roof of a small cabin while playing cards or dominoes with my cousins and siblings. A rollicking thunderstorm could be something else in a tiny camper with a dog who hated thunder. But this was a steady pleasant rain. A bit chilly though, I thought as I turned on the heat so my hands wouldn’t freeze as I wrote in my journal that evening.

The Dude watched me write from his perch in my bed. He is agile for someone of his height and breadth--stout of body and short of leg. I think of him as a bratwurst with legs, or more kindly I suppose, a Labrador with the legs of a Dachshund – the Danny DeVito of the dog world. Independently, he jumps into my bed above the cab by climbing first onto the seat of the booth. The back of that forms a cushioned step allowing him to pull and leap the rest of the way to the Toy’s “second floor.” As we got farther south into warmer and warmer weather, he would instead choose to have his own private bedroom in the cab. There, he could be vigilant, yet comfortable, curled up in the bucket seat of his choice.

Despite the currently cold night, flowers had been blooming all over the areas I had driven through that day. Leaves were erupting from swollen buds on trees. Magnolias bloomed in people’s yards. Flowering Redbud shrubs lined the interstates for miles in places, shining brilliantly red and pink in the sun. I had seen tulips, daffodils, hyacinths and even a rhododendron in bloom. Wildflowers were shooting up as well. I had seen carpets of small white and pink striped flowers, though I was “too busy” to look up their names. Around the hillside campground I had found a few purple violets, lots of Dutchmen’s Breeches and some unfamiliar tiny purple flowers. There were stems of drooping trillium leaves, but no flowers yet.

Before leaving Two Harbors, I had seen a crocus about to bloom but not much else had dared to sprout yet. It was plenty chilly at home with snow still defrosting in the woods. Traveling south was an excellent way to accelerate spring even if the nights were still chilly. And the next day the Dude and I would easily meet our goal of reaching Mammoth Cave National Park in a short day’s drive.