The hotel desk clerk in Jackson, Mississippi recommended the Iron Horse Grill for a meal. "Pretty much everybody goes there." The waiter led me to a table way too close to a live performer. Few other diners paid him much attention as he sang and strummed his guitar. "Take Me Home, Country Roads" didn't sound a lot different from "Hurt" and nobody applauded after either. I ate my salad as quickly as I could and left after throwing $5 in his empty tip bucket.
Despite the sticky heat of a Saturday morning in early June, hundreds of men and women participated in "Tulsa Tough," racing for as long as 40 minutes on downtown streets that had been closed for the event. The Mens Novice 35+ category flew past as I made my way to the air-conditioned Bob Dylan Center.
When I pulled up to the Jim Thorpe Home in Yale, Oklahoma, this sunburned fellow was walking away from the entrance. "The sign says it's supposed to be open but it's closed," he reported. At first I thought he might be a negligent volunteer on his way to lunch, but then he pulled up in his very messy Toyota Tundra and looked me over. "Wasn't Thorpe part Native American?" I asked a little nervously. "Pretty much all of him, I reckon," he responded. "Do you know how he greeted the king after he won his gold medals in Sweden?" "I don't." "Hi ya, king."
Did you know that owls can swivel their heads 270 degrees, more than any other bird, and that they're much dumber than their reputation? That's what Uni--short for Unique, she said--told us during an informative raptor show at Royal Gorge which included a barn owl as well as a hawk and a vulture. She also made an impassioned plea for the audience to stop using poison to eliminate rats. It slows the rodents down and makes them easy targets for raptors, thus endangering the birds, too.
There's definitely a strong, countercultural vibe in Fremont, WA.
Stacy gave me the scoop about the kinds of salmon using the fish ladder at the Crittenden Locks in Seattle. Most are from local hatcheries. If they're wild, they're more likely to be sockeye, which start running first, but the coho and chinook climb the ladder, too.
Sandy had begun the daily count of sockeye salmon in the Crittenden Locks the day before I visited. Once sufficient numbers have been tallied, officials declare the fishing season open. She's attaching her harness to the railing so she won't fall into the locks while she's counting, something the guys directing boat traffic through the locks do, too.
When I started asking Sandy questions about the operation of the locks, she referred me to her boss, who had started in her position a decade earlier and now heads the program even though he lacks a relevant higher academic degree. "They release 80,000 gallons of water a minute into the locks to raise the boats through openings beneath the surface," he cheerfully explained. Definitely the kind of engaged, can-do kind of guy you'd want working for you.
The fishmonger at Seattle's Pike Place Market was looking forward to quitting time after a long day serving tourists who come for the show as much as the freshness of the product.
I figured if this garrulous hiker could ascend to the top of Mt. Baker, just outside of Seattle, I could, too, although he certainly was better equipped.
Alison, a 60-year-old Chinese immigrant is an avid trekker. Unlike nearly everyone else we encountered on Mt. Baker, she intended to descend to Snow Lake, visible behind her and accessible only with crampons.
You almost can tell by his expression that this roadside cherry huckster in Chemult, Oregon, had been caught pulling a fast one. As I handed over $15 for 1.5 pounds--a high price justified in my mind only because I figured the ripe fruit in several varieties had been plucked very recently from local trees--he admitted they had been trucked in from Sacramento, California, nearly 400 miles south. Nevertheless, the yellow cherries were as sweet and juicy as any I've ever eaten.
This docent solved a mystery we encountered in the sculpture garden that depicts the Stations of the Cross inside the St. Francis Cathedral in Sante Fe. "Who's Veronica?" I asked Thom and Léon, identified at the 6th station. Neither knew. "Catholicism is a blend of scripture and tradition," explained the friendly, masked fellow. "Although the Bible doesn't mention Veronica, she encountered Jesus on his way to Calvary. In an act of kindness, she removed her veil, now a holy relic, to wipe his face with it."
Mouths agape! That's the reaction both Thom and I had to Buc-ee's, a mammoth convenience store with a beaver mascot where we charged twice in the Lone Star State. To give you an idea of its size, there were 120 gas pumps outside. Five pounds of ice costs just $1.50 and inside you can find almost anything. "Except a car vacuum," complained Thom. Standing in line for the restrooms, which live up to their reputation as being the cleanest in America, you'll get a good look at the people who pass you going fast as hell in trucks with rifle racks on Texas highways. I'm pretty sure some of the guys waiting to pee were sporting holstered weapons, too.
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