An American’s observations of a first time trip to France. *Normandy Landings Omaha Beach – Pointe du Hoc – Sainte-Mère-Église – Normandy American Cemetery A dog romps around this mostly quiet beach. There’s nothing quite like the unbounded joy of a dog on a beach, kicking up golden sand, and stopping occasionally to inspect the …
An American’s observations of a first time trip to France. *The road less traveled. When I told friends that Cora and I were going to venture outside of Paris during our trip to France I was advised to take the train. “The trains in Europe are great,” they (the ubiquitous ‘they’) all said. It’s an …
October 14th, 2022I’m on a one night layover in Prison Town, USA. No, I’m not staying in a 6 x 8 concrete studio, courtesy of the great State of California. I am a less than satisfied guest of the Super 8 Motel, in Susanville, California. It ain’t all that super but we’ll leave the details …
A loose continuation of the post Incidental Notes From the Road – link here. “I dropped south to New Harmony, Indiana, twelve miles downstream from Grayville, Illinois where I’d spent that first grim night.”From Blue Highways: A Journey Into America, by William Least Heat-Moon. October 12, 2021I’m standing in New Harmony, in front of the …
Santa Claus strikes me as being a bit creepy. But I’m getting ahead of myself. After getting over my Bruceville gloom (see previous post), I set out, eastbound, for French Lick, hometown of hated former Boston Celtic, Larry Bird. “The hick from French Lick,” they called him. Still do I guess. Back in the day, …
“Leaving home was one of the easiest big decisions I’ve ever made. But once I left home, continuing the journey until it reached some kind of sensible conclusion or fully played itself out, was another matter – one of the hardest things I’ve ever attempted.” ~ William Least Heat-Moon, Blue Highways. ‘Just drive,’ I tell …
The twelfth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. I’m southbound out of Pendleton, Oregon on Highway 395, a two lane sluice through broad fields of ranchland on either side of this solitary highway. Acres of yellow cheatgrass undulate in a light breeze and a bright morning sun just topping …
The eleventh in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. It’s seven in the morning and it’s toasty inside The Rainbow Cafe in Pendleton, Oregon. Outside it’s, as my daddy used to say, colder than a well digger’s ass. That is, the temp is somewhere south of 30 degrees. I’ve never …
The tenth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. Antelope, Oregon marks the terminus of State Route 293 and the junction with State Route 218, which takes me back to U.S. 97 and the one time, “Wool Capital of the World.” Route 218 is just as isolated as 293 which …
Banner Photo: Dorris, California The eighth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. Eugene Charles Valla spent four years of his young life hanging onto the edge of his boyhood dream. Valla was 21 years old in 1947, when he was signed to a minor league contract with the New …
The Life in My Years 