FLASHBACK: Wyoming Wedding (1983)

A wedding invite between jobs and a new car took me past Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.  Somehow I expected four old white guys to be more imposing on a uniquely American national monument.

Herr Cucachara proved its mettle, reliably and cheaply carrying me nearly 3,000 miles from 47 Pianos to Rock Springs, Wyoming, where David, Lois's youngest son, was tying the knot to Jan, a local gal.

Although honeymoon-less, I pulled over in Niagara Falls, bought a souvenir shot glass that I used to gargle mouthwash and a pamphlet describing Annie Edson Taylor, the first person to barrel over the Falls.  I thought her exploits might serve as the basis of a feminist screenplay.  Yep, I still was dreaming in those days.  Solo travel gives you a lot of time for that.

It would take me another 34 years to get wet on the Maid of the Mist.

My route, plotted with Rand McNally, took me to the Wisconsin Dells, where I ignorantly slept through a tornado warning in the same little green tent I had pitched nearly a decade earlier in Maine and taken with me to Alaska, too.  After navigating the amber-grain monotony of the Great Plains, the wind-and water-sculpted Badlands came as a relief.

I got to Mount Rushmore late in the day.  The parking lot was nearly empty.

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln gazed out from the shadows.  Only Lincoln's reputation remains unsullied four decades later.  Father Time takes no prisoners.

I looked forward to seeing Barb as much as seeing the four Presidents.  We took BJ to Flaming Gorge, Utah, a huge reservoir formed by damming the Green River.

I don't think I had become a regular swimmer yet, but I always loved the water.

Ken and Lois drove up from El Paso for the nuptials.  The next time I saw Dad, we were on the other other side of the world, in Sydney, about to depart on our Australian road trip.

Lois (center, blue dress); David & Jan (to her right); Ken & Jeff (to her left); and Barb holding BJ

 

FLASHBACK: Baja Peninsula (1987)

Alaska, Australia and now, the Baja Peninsula with my father, our least successful road trip even though this time we travelled in style.  Dad had purchased a Vanagon, a high end VW camper van with a pop top,  and we towed the Honda 100cc motorcycle he and Mom had given me as a Christmas gift, less than a year before I left for college.

The Mexican love of color and American culture was on full display in Ensenada.

You rarely see a dog this skinny in America.

We found Day of the Dead memorials in the middle of nowhere.

I'd grown up in the desert, but the landscape felt much different, perhaps because of its isolation.

Dad suggested including the knife in this photo to give a better sense of the size of the spider and her egg sac.  Pretty sure he learned this trick from the crime scene photos he collected in Japan.

Our route stayed mostly inland until we detoured to the Gulf of California, tucked in between the east side of the peninsula and the Mexican mainland.  The sand dunes were prettier than the shallow, murky water.

Dad had warned me about driving faster than 40 mph after we filled up on Mexican gas because lower octane levels would affect the performance of a combustion engine. 

I didn't listen and the engine seized up about halfway to Cabo San Lucas, our final destination.  Fortunately, we hailed a passing vehicle and the driver gave us a ride into San Ignacio, a sleepy oasis.  And the motel manager allowed us to leave the Vanagon until we could retrieve it in exchange for a gift of imported sneakers. 

The irregularity of public transportation gave us a day on our own to explore.

To his credit Dad never said it.  I got the message from the back of this truck.

It took 12 hours to get to Tijuana on a crowded Mexican bus.  With chickens!

A neighbor lent us his truck when we returned to El Paso.  I am ashamed to admit that I nearly flew back to New York instead of accompanying Dad.  Filial duty prevailed in the end--along with a near arrest by Mexican police for illegally importing orange palm fronds that I picked up from the side of the road--but we never took another trip together.  I began spending all my vacation time in the Pines, with a different family.

More Travels With Ken:

FLASHBACK:  Sydney (1983)

FLASHBACK:  Melbourne (1983)

FLASHBACK:  Aussie Road Trip (1983-1984)

FLASHBACK:  Uluru (1984)

FLASHBACK:  Alaska With Ken

FLASHBACK: Melbourne (1983)

My journey down under actually started with a movie.  Several, in fact, including Peter Weir's Picnic At Hanging Rock and Gillian Armstrong's My Brilliant Career.  During our regular Sunday phone calls, I couldn't stop talking to Dad about Australian movies I'd seen. Recently retired, he took it a step farther.  "Why don't we go there?"

The view from Hanging Rock lived up to my expectations.  You go to Australia for the natural beauty of the vast landscape more than anything.  Just 15 million people populated a country the size of America when we visited, with most living on the coast.

En route to Victoria for Christmas, we meandered through the wet and rainy Blue Mountains of New South Wales cooking meals in our Kombi kitchen.  We equipped it with a propane-fueled refrigerator and stove.

Just as essential was a screened annex, to keep out the flies and mosquitoes.  

Roos, too.  We adopted Van Life long before it became a hashtag although I usually slept in the same green tent that I bought for a college trip to Maine.

Dad changed the oil the first chance he got using the tools he dragged all the way from El Paso.

  

I mapped a gawk at every waterfall.

Tianjara Falls, New South Wales

En route to Victoria we passed through chilly Canberra, the nation's capital.  Entirely planned (by an American!) it sits on formerly Aboriginal land about halfway through Sydney and Melbourne, both of which had vied for capital status.   Here's the view from the Australian War Memorial.

You can't miss the Telstra Tower.

Telstra Tower

Victoria's spectacular land- and seascapes did not disappoint.

Gippsland, Victoria

Wilson's Promontory was as close as we got to Tasmania, the only one of Australia's seven states not on our itinerary.

Dad was eager to get to Melbourne to meet Gus, an American expatriate and Australian actor.  His brother, an Army buddy, led us to believe he was The Man From Snowy River.  We detoured to get a look at the landmark.  The Snowy Mountains include Mount Kosciuszko, the continent's highest peak at 7300 feet above sea level.

Ken, Snowy River

After a week on the road, I wanted a shower more than anything.  We found a modest guest house in St. Kilda, near the beach, and explored Melbourne on our own for several days. Australians do love their water sports.

Port Phillip Bay

Melbourne immediately felt more cultured than Sydney, a city of strivers.  Nicholas, a Perth transplant, had sneered it was for old ladies.

A museum exhibition begged to differ.  I was listening to ABC's "Beauty Stab" non-stop on my Walkman at the time.  "That Was Then But This Is Now."

A Vietnamese tram conductor allowed me to take her picture.  Australian racists expressed their anti-immigrant fervor by spray painting "Out Asian Filth" on many blank walls.

The massive, outdoor food market offered an abundance of fresh produce.

Loin lamb chops were incredibly cheap!

Queen Elizabeth planted this tree in the Royal Botanic Gardens six months after I was born. Her life story wouldn't interest me in the least until "The Crown."

I preferred the aloe barberae to the Queen's native evergreen.

Gus and Rita, whom he called his "lady," invited us to spend Christmas Eve at their country home in St. Andrews, just north of Melbourne. Gus's youngest son with his divorced wife showed up, too.  Michael more than compensated for the absence of older brother Paul, a professional dancer who went on to ACTUALLY star in Strictly Ballroom, Baz Luhrman's first film.  Dad and I saw him perform with the Sydney Dance Company at the Opera House just before we returned to the States.

Michael, Rita & Gus

Michael wanted to be an actor like Gus, who belittled him constantly.  We spent a lot of time smiling at one another, but we never found any time alone in a house full of people who gathered around an upright piano to sing for their own entertainment. Sadly, Michael committed suicide in 2000.  The walk we took with our fathers in an abandoned gold mine still lives on in my erotic imagination.

By the time we reached the Grampians,  the Kombi had a name:  the Hummer, because it had been running so smoothly, not always the case with Hon VWs.

Victoria had waterfalls, too.  Look for me in the turquoise tee near the bottom, left.

McKenzie Falls, Victoria

More Australia:

Sydney

Aussie Road Trip

Uluru

More Travels With Ken:

FLASHBACK:  Baja Peninsula (1987)

FLASHBACK:  Alaska With Ken (1980)