How long does it take?

   Shirley and I with a half dozen friends were having dinner and listening to the music of the Kurtz Brothers at Sandy Ridge Vineyards in Norwalk. Both the meal and the music were excellent. Our friends were curious about our travel plans. (Or said they were just to be polite.) When we confessed a desire to see Alaska yet again, it generated some curiosity about how long it takes to drive “all that way.”

   Though we have done it twice, the short answer is there is no way to tell how long it might take us. The question implies a destination reachable in a straight shot. You can say it takes about an hour to get from Toledo to Detroit or two hours to Cleveland. Most of us are accustomed to established departure and arrival times so we can grasp the magnitude of the undertaking. The question also implies that driving all that way must be rather daunting and that there is nothing worth seeing or doing between here and there. From our point of view, "driving all that way" really means we get to spend all summer doing it. We don't think of it as one long trip but as a series of short trips. Please don’t throw us in that briar patch!

   Though we are always eager to get started, we are in no particular hurry once underway. It is helpful to think of RVing the way you would a Caribbean cruise: you are buying the experience not just the destination. You don’t need Carnival to get to Aruba, Barbados, or Cartegena. You could fly there in a matter of hours but that’s not the point of a cruise. In the same way, you could fly to Alaska or take a ferry or cruise ship up the Inside Passage. If you chose to drive directly to Alaska from Toledo, Google Maps says it is about 3500 miles and will take you 57 hours. You might want to pack a couple sandwiches and some bottled water.   

   On our first trip, it took 15 days just to get to Mile 0, the beginning of the Alaska Highway at Dawson Creek in northern British Columbia. On our second trip, it took 22 days to Mile 0. We spent that time in the Tetons and Yellowstone before continuing up through Montana to Kootenay, Yoho, Banff and Jasper National Parks in Canada. This is not the most direct route but we think the Icefields Parkway between Banff and Jasper is absolutely magnificent. The Parkway is only about 150 miles long but we stop often to gawk at spectacular glaciers, alpine lakes and incredible waterfalls. Wildlife up the wazoo! Things just keep getting better and better the farther north you go. You could drive the Icefields Parkway in less than three hours but why would you? 

It is not hard to tell why Grand Teton is our favorite national park.

Except for Yellowstone, that is. 

And Glacier National Park sits right on the Canadian border.

But there is nothing worth seeing there...

...that would make it worth visiting.

In the Canadian Rockies, Lake Louise is just west of Banff.

Moraine Lake a few miles down the road.

If you get bored with the scenery, the wildlife might convince you to slow down a little. 

  From Mile 0 at Dawson Creek, it is only another 1,400 miles through British Columbia and Yukon on the Alaska Highway to its terminus at Delta Junction. From there the whole of Alaska beckons. Must visit Denali National Park to marvel at the biggest mountain in North America. See Matanuska and a few more glaciers, preferably at least one that is calving into the sea. Take a day cruise to view whales, sea lions and seals, sea otters and other marine wildlife. See so many eagles it is no longer a big deal to have them perch right over the campsite. Watch some salmon swimming upstream. Talk a grizzly bear into posing with us for selfies. Dodge a few moose, caribou, bison, bighorns and Stone sheep on the highways.

 

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At Anchor Point you have gone about as far as you can go.

The trouble with Alaska is that there is just so much of it. Are whales and mountains, even Denali, representative of all it has to offer? Not even close. There are other Alaska posts on this blog if you would care to see more.

   Here’s a 100%, total coincidence. As I was writing this, I received an email offering a 61-day guided RV tour to Alaska. This could be an option for those who prefer to have someone else do all the research and planning so they don’t risk missing anything on the ya-gotta-see list. Reviews by past participants say they appreciated the friends they made traveling in a caravan of RVs and that they didn’t have to worry about which route to take or where to spend each night. The tour leaves from Bellingham in the northwest corner of Washington and covers 5,165 miles roundtrip. The price was only $7,695 for one or $8,995 for two. 

   Those of you who know me as a parsimonious old curmudgeon are undoubtedly grinning at that reference to only $8,995. My valuable insight is included for free so here it is.

    Anyone leaving from NW Washington need not worry about which route to take because there really are not many options. (But first you have to drive all the way to Washington.) See your atlas for highways in British Columbia and the Yukon. I bet you could figure out a route in way less than 60 seconds. The same holds true for Alaska itself. Though it is our largest state, Shirley and I have already been everywhere the paved roads go. There is a lot to see but not many ways to go about seeing it, other than float planes, because most is still unpaved wilderness. Thus, we have been everywhere on the tour itinerary and we did it without a tour guide except for The Milepost. This 750-page publication, updated annually, describes literally everything you will want to see along the Alaska Highway as well as all the highways connecting directly to it. The Milepost also includes detailed descriptions of all the campgrounds, lodges, and motels so even those of the meanest comprehension might be able to choose where to stay.

   So, in our opinion, there is no need to spend $8,995 to determine your route, what to see and where to stay. But that’s us. We have friends who travel extensively and always take guided tours whether it is to the Caribbean, Europe or the Far East. They find it relieves the stress associated with planning. More importantly, it relieves them of the need to negotiate with each other every single day about what they are going to do. They are quite content to have someone else settle the issue. It works for them and for the millions of other travelers who choose guided tours.   

   We, on the other hand, value the freedom to add or delete things from our itinerary. Before we leave on any excursion, I have invested considerable time choosing the most desirable route based on our preferences. But we are always open to suggestions from other RVers we meet along the way. There is a lot to see in the US and Canada before you even get to Alaska. So we seldom take the shortest or most direct route. Our first Alaska trip put 11,820 miles on the odometer. The second, 12,120.

   No amount of planning, though, can account for all of the variables. On that second trip we detoured  a couple hundred miles because wildfires had blocked our primary homeward route through northern British Columbia. Weather is another significant consideration. Most of the time we deal with meteorological unpleasantness simply by moving on. One October, for example, we planned to visit Colonial Williamsburg, the Outer Banks, and Charleston on the way to our traditional anniversary celebration in Savannah. We were hoping for four or five days at Nags Head but the sky turned black and the wind, like the bully in old Charles Atlas advertising, kept kicking sand in our faces. The forecast called for more of the same so, after only one night, we continued to Charleston then Beaufort and Savannah.

   In winter we are eager to leave gray, dreary Northern Ohio for someplace warm and sunny. As we follow the last of the children and grandchildren out the driveway right after Christmas, Shirley is making one last check to see if there is ice at Jellico Pass. This helps determine whether we will be headed all the way to the end of I-75, where it is reliably warm and sunny, or making detours and layovers along the way? How are things looking for Pensacola, St. Augustine, or Alexander Springs near Ocala where we might spend several days or a week before continuing to the Everglades? Notice that options are built right into the plan. We start out with an itinerary but not necessarily a schedule. Our first objective, whether we are headed to Florida, Arizona or both, is to get as far south as quickly as possible. This generally turns out to be Chattanooga or Atlanta or Birmingham. We expect it to be a little cool on the first night but the RV furnace takes care of that. Besides, we count on it being quite nice (compared to Toledo anyway) by noon the second day.

   For years, our ultimate destination was Everglades National Park. In 2013 we spent January in Florida before following the Gulf Coast around to Texas and then on to Arizona and Death Valley and Joshua Tree National Parks in Southern California. Fellow RVers suggested a lay-over on the way back east at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, right on the Mexican border. Holy cow! Who knew the desert could be so gorgeous? (Of the four deserts in the US, the Sonoran is known as the green desert for all the flowering cacti and shrubs.) A one night lay-over turned into four before we continued on to Tucson. That was where Shirley declared she was homesick. For Organ Pipe. So we turned around and went back for another week. It is good to be king of the road. Especially if you are smart enough to listen to the queen.

   Until this year, Organ Pipe was our winter destination. You may have heard that the border has been overwhelmed by a couple million refugees. Blending in with them are MS-13 gang members, human traffickers, and drug runners who, according to the CDC, have made fentanyl the leading cause of death among Americans 18 to 45. Shirley and I like the quiet solitude of remote desert locations such as Las Cienegas, Buenos Aires, and Whitewater Draw where security is non-existent. Until last year, that was never an issue. But it is the reason we went to Florida in 2022.

   Forgive that digression. The question is, how long does it take to get to Organ Pipe. The answer is, it depends.

   When we are heading there, which we hope to do when the border issues are settled, the first stop is for a week or so at Gulf Islands National Seashore, just offshore of Pensacola. The beach is powder sugary fine white sand. While there we monitor the long-term weather forecast--even though no forecast is reliable for even 24 hours--for the next stops on the itinerary: Padre Island near Corpus Christi, San Antonio, Big Bend National Park, Cave Creek Canyon, Whitewater Draw, and Tucson.

   Sometimes there are even more stops on an alternate route: the King Ranch, up the Rio Grande through Laredo, Eagle Pass and Del Rio to Judge Roy Bean's place in Langtry--now out of the question. Rt. 9 runs west from El Paso within sight of the border. Also out of the question. I do find it amusing, however, that Pancho Villa, the Mexican bandit pursued by Gen. Black Jack Pershing, now has a New Mexico state park named for him. If I were even a teensie bit cynical, I would suspect that our grandchildren will someday visit El Chapo State Park, named for Joaquin Guzman, head of the Sinaloa Cartel.

People who love peaceful solitude must learn to tolerate the crowds at

Gulf Islands National Seashore.

At least on Padre Island we can camp by ourselves right on the beach.

Just south of Padre is the King Ranch, about the size of New England.

We followed the Rio Grande north to Langtry, TX where Judge Roy Bean's place is not nearly as sexy as depicted in the movies or TV series.

Every visitor to San Antonio is obliged to remember the Alamo. It is also a good idea to visit another half dozen Spanish missions that are within a few miles. 

Cave Creek Canyon, though in Arizona, can be cool because of the elevation. This is an asset in the summer but in winter we check the forecast.

About 30,000 sandhill cranes spend the winter at Whitewater Draw in Arizona. Who could blame them?

The Earps and Clantons are still shooting each other in Tombstone.

At Tucson, we always go to San Xavier del Bac and then have Indian fry bread on the reservation.

In Big Bend National Park the Rio Grande cuts through Santa Elena Canyon. A trail on the American side dead ends at a boulder in the stream.

One of our favorite remote places to boondock is Las Cienegas. Remote and desolate have lost some of their appeal. But we look forward to the day when they will be secure and accessible again.

   So, how long does all that take? Round trip to Organ Pipe by way of the Everglades is more than 8,000 miles. Google Maps says the direct route from Toledo is a little over 2,000 miles with a driving time of 30 hours. But the direct route goes right through Blizzard Central. If you absolutely have to drive to Arizona in a hurry, you might just swallow a bottle of NoDoz, cross your fingers and go like crazy. If your objective is to have a good time, you would probably find the southern route via I-10 through Pensacola, Baton Rouge or New Orleans, Houston, Corpus Christi and San Antonio far more agreeable than I-40 through Amarillo way up in the Panhandle. 

   The "long way" doesn't seem long at all if you break it up with visits to the wonderful places worth seeing between here and there. Homeward bound, we stop at places like Chiricahua and White Sands National Monuments, Carlsbad Caverns, Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and a dozen places along the 444-mile Natchez Trace Parkway.

    Ah, but there is another fly in the ointment. Though I avoid commitments because they ruin travel flexibility, the huge increase in the number of visitors has caused more national and state parks to require campground reservations. This obviously makes sense in famous Yellowstone or Yosemite but these days you need them even in parks you never heard of. For example, in 2013 on our way from the Everglades to Arizona we stayed four nights at Fort Pickens in Gulf Islands National Seashore near Pensacola and returned there for another week on our way home. Just pulled in, picked a campsite, and registered. Can't do that any more because of the huge increase in the popularity of camping.

   At Organ Pipe, Twin Peaks Campground has never filled since 1937 when the park was established. So far, that is. Historically, a significant percentage of RVers stay there just a night or two on their way to the resort town of Puerto Penasco on the Sea of Cortez. Even so, in all its bureaucratic wisdom, the National Park Service decided that requiring reservations sounded like a great idea. After we arrived in 2021, a ranger came to tell us about the new policy and suggest we log on to recreation.gov to book the campsite we were already occupying. Too late! Somebody had already rented it right out from under us. There were still plenty of other options but we had to hop scotch around the campground every few days. Just picking a site and staying in it for the duration was impossible. 

   The definition of “for the duration” has changed as well. When dealing directly with rangers at Everglades or Organ Pipe, we could stay as long as we wanted regardless of the official limit of 14 days. They knew we weren’t going to cause them any grief. (Well, Shirley wouldn’t so they made allowances for me.) And it was better for them to get $10 a night from us (with my geezer pass) than to get $0 for an empty site. Besides, they seemed to enjoy casually dropping by just at cocktail hour. But you can’t sweet talk the computer at recreation.gov if the algorithm insists you're out in 14 days. Fortunately, Shirley also has a senior pass so, between the two of us, we can still get a month. 

   So, how long does it take to drive all that way to Organ Pipe? Last time it was 46 days but we spent those 46 days in really nice places so it was still just a walk in the park. This winter we headed back to Florida and will continue to do so until the situation on the southern border is remedied. The question for us is not "how long does it take to get there?" but "how long will it take to fix the border?" Meanwhile, our first stop in Alexander Springs, FL is less than two days away.

     

   

   

Angels don't sing all the time

    A few days after we returned from Florida, Shirley and I went to dinner with our friends Pat and Bob. When Pat asked about our trip, I said that we have never taken a bad one. Really. We have traveled more than a half million miles together and all of the trips have been wonderful. Not all the miles necessarily. Nor every single day. But pretty close.

   Still, there have been what Shirley calls “little bumps in the road.” Sometimes there have been vehicular issues and weather issues or health issues. We have had tires with tread separation and a leak in the valve of our RV propane tank. Broken windshields when trucks threw up stones or their tires blew out so it seemed like we were caught in a meteorite shower. The RV refrigerator died. Also the on-board electric power generator. 

   There have been numerous opportunities for highway accidents. We were in the middle lane of I-75 in Covington, KY, for example, when a black sedan entered at warp speed heading directly across to the far left lane. But another car had dibs so he cut back sharply right in front of us, fishtailing wildly, tires squealing, barely avoiding a spin out. But he was undaunted. Tried again to force his way into the left lane. When that still didn’t work, he cut across two lanes to the right and then back left for yet another go at it. We watched him weaving through the traffic ahead on the Cincinnati bridge. It could have been one of those multi-car pileups with scores of victims littering the roadside and filling every ER within 20 miles. 

   A little smarter than this jackass are mules. The actual equine variety. We took one of those rides down into the Grand Canyon. They use mules because they are sure footed. Uh-huh. Our wrangler gave us an orientation for the trip and concluded with one simple, easy to remember rule: Whatever you do, don’t get off your mule--that first step down is a doozy. 

Shirley and Dagwood seemed to have gotten off on the right foot.

   

   So we headed into the canyon with Shirley on Dagwood with me bringing up the rear. I don't remember my mule's name because I have no reason to remember. Shirley, however, will never forget Dagwood. 

   We paused frequently to appreciate the grandeur unfolding before us. Then Dagwood stumbled. He apparently didn’t read the part in his contract that required him to be surefooted. Four legs splayed to the four corners of the compass. Went stumbling down the narrow trail, trying desperately to recover his balance, gathering momentum as he went. Shirley was pitched forward so that her chin came to rest between his ears. Her arms gripped so tightly around his neck that Dagwood‘s eyes bulged out. “Help me! Help me!” she gasped, barely audible. I could almost hear Dagwood wheezing, “Me too! Me too!”     So, what was I to do? Be a hero or just collect the life insurance? A little devil was giving advice on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil was making a pretty good case. Even so, I called out lustily for some help back here. The wrangler stopped the mule train, violated Rule Number One, and came running back to grab Dagwood’s bridle and get him under control just like they do in the movies. Shirley swore that next time we headed into the Grand Canyon, the only beast she would ride was shank’s mare. And she kept that vow. Next time we walked.

The next time we visited Grand Canyon we stopped at the corral to ask if Dagwood had been turned into dog food yet. "Nope. He's right over there." Shirley refused to climb aboard.

   Timing is another issue for travelers. Frankly, my biggest problem with winter travel is that we always come back a month too soon. Sure, it might be spring in Florida or Arizona. It definitely is not spring in Toledo even though the weather persons here are bragging that highs will be way up in the mid-40s. Woohoo! 

   Some years even the Deep South experiences cooler weather. One such year we spent the middle of March in Savannah on our way north from the Everglades. The azaleas and rhododendrons should have been in bloom with temperatures in the 70s to low 80s. They weren’t. One of the advantages of RVing is that if you don’t like the weather you can go somewhere else. But we had promised friends that we would meet them in nearby Hilton Head--where it was also cool, rainy, and windy. Walks on the beach were not nearly as pleasant as they promised. Still, at least it was Hilton Head and we had friends to share the misery.

  Similar experience at Mt. Rainier in Washington--aptly named because it is rainy-er than any place you have ever been. We waited three days for it to clear. Finally, Shirley said, “Why don’t we go around to the other side of the mountain?” Much as it pains me to admit it, she was right. Even there, the ranger claimed he hadn’t seen the mountain in a week.

We spent three days at Mt. Rainier enjoying stunning views like this.

Shirley finally convinced me to go to the other side of the mountain where we had to put up with this.

After we passed Frozen Lake we had the trail to ourselves.

   We went to fly fish the blue ribbon trout streams of Colorado. Made the mistake of going during the “monsoon season.” (I thought monsoons were for the Indian Subcontinent.) Colorado streams were swollen and muddy. So, we went to Yellowstone, where the fishing was fantastic. 

   At Capt. Cook State Park, about 25 miles north of Kenai, Alaska the scenery was spectacular. We had a lovely campsite with the volcanic mountains of the Ring of Fire rising across Cook Inlet, named for the famous explorer who visited the area in 1778. Shirley said she would have spent a week there. Except for the mosquitoes. We had quality head nets but it is harder than you might think to eat your dinner through a head net--even if you have practiced with a Covid mask. So we headed off to where the mosquito population was somewhat less dense. Capt. Cook had the good sense to continue all the way to Hawaii. Good choice. Except for the inconvenience of being killed by the mostly friendly islanders.

   Whenever we travel, friends and family back home are sure to express concerns about wildfires, floods, mud slides, grizzly bears, alligators, rattlesnakes, Burmese pythons, drug cartels, and rednecks playing dueling banjos.  

Is that a rattlesnake?

No matter. I have a woman to walk ahead of me and kick them out of the way.

    There are wildfires in the West every summer. Typically, they are two hundred miles or more from where we happen to be when our friends see it on the TV news. Not always. We were at Chisos Basin in Big Bend NP. High winds snapped a utility pole, bringing down power lines. Within seconds, the creosote bushes were on fire. Rangers came to keep an eye on the fire. No worries. The wind seemed to be carrying the fire away from us, up over a nearby ridge. Then a ranger wondered, what would happen if the wind shifted. There is only one road into Chisos Basin. Which means there is only one road out of Chisos Basin. "Get out right now!" he said. "And don't stop for anybody on the road." (The drug cartels had been active in the area.) 

Note the utility pole in lower left. Downed lines started the wildfire in Chisos Basin.

   At the Tioga Pass entrance to Yosemite NP, a ranger asked where we were going and if we had campground reservations. (Lots of vehicles were turning around and going back.) I replied that we had reservations at Tuolumne Meadows for a week and then at Crane Flats for another week so we could visit the Valley. The ranger said we could continue as far as Tuolumne but the road beyond was closed by wildfire. Well, not “wild” exactly. It had been set deliberately by the park staff as a “controlled burn” to clear out undesirable dead undergrowth. (It’s “undesirable” because it might contribute to wildfires, you know.) They had not planned for it to go all uncontrolled on them. Even so, they expected the road to be open in a week.

   Which turned out to be literally true but of no practical value to us. The road opened. Crane Flats Campground, however, was toast. Go ahead and ask about the availability of campsites in Yosemite in August. Once the park staff stops laughing, they’ll advise you to try one of the commercial campgrounds outside the park. Not to worry, though, your camping fee has already been cheerfully refunded to your Visa account.

   We did not even bother making reservations when we traveled the 362 miles of Hwy 101 on the stunning Oregon coast. As a veteran trip planner, I had looked at the map. Along the coast there are 44 state parks with 3,993 campsites. That works out to one state park campground every 8.2 miles. What I had not considered is that Oregonians love their parks and there are 2.5 million campers who want to squeeze into those 3,993 sites. 

   

Lots of marine mammals all along the Oregon coast.

Shirley insisted on playing with the residents of yucky tide pools.

There are at least two sea stacks called Haystack Rock. 

Haystack II

   The good news is that there are national forest campgrounds with plenty of open sites just a few miles back in the mountains on the east side of Hwy 101. The fact that we spent some nights in the woods instead of on the sand was not a major disappointment. Driving the coast road, we still visited more lighthouses than one of us really cared to. And there was an astonishing number of sea stacks, sea lions, harbor seals, pelicans, shorebirds, and all those yucky things that live in tidal pools.

When we couldn't get a place on the beach, we settled for Blackberry Campground back in the woods. Freshest possible berries right at our site for Shirley's French toast.

When the tide is out you can walk to the island occupied by Battery Point Lighthouse.

   Now, I have heard that even in heaven the angels don’t sing all the time. When we were in Bryce Canyon National Park, I had an opportunity to visit them to find out if that is true. Shirley and I enjoyed a wonderful hike down into the canyon, along Wall Street, through the Fat Lady Squeeze, and out to see Queen Victoria. These rock formations, called hoodoos, are intricately carved by the wind and what little water they get in Southern Utah.

The trail into Bryce Canyon was quite easy.

Passed through the narrow cleft in rock called Wall Street.

Shirley objected to posing in Fat Lady Squeeze but I convinced her that, in her case, it was not much of a squeeze. 

Really looks like Queen Victoria, does it not?

  

   When it was time to climb back out of the canyon, I found that I was short of breath and needed to rest every hundred feet or so. No symptoms like pain in the chest or the left arm but there was a ferocious knot right between my shoulder blades. If we had newly arrived in the mountains, I would have attributed this to altitude sickness. There is less oxygen in air at higher elevations than at sea level. But we had been in the mountains for about two months and had acclimated long since.

   Shirley massaged that lump between my shoulder blades which brought dramatic relief. As editor of Healthy Living News, I learned a great deal by interviewing physicians. But most of my medical expertise is still based on “Doctor, Doctor, it hurts when I do this.” And the reply, “Then don’t do it!” As long as I didn’t do it, I felt just fine. 

   Back in Toledo, my physician looked at the EKG and raised his eyebrows. He said that if I had not been so healthy I would be dead. Just the kind of encouraging word everyone wants from their doctor. Fortunately, I was a candidate for minimally invasive robotic surgery by R2D2. OK, that’s not his real name. He insists on anonymity because he is still embarrassed to be associated with anyone stupid enough to drive all the way from Utah after a heart attack. But the robotic surgery required only a couple small incisions. It’s amazing how happy you can be when they promise to cut only a few little holes in you instead of ripping your chest wide open to tinker around in there for a couple hours. After robotic surgery, recovery and rehab were relatively easy. Especially if your physician says you might as well do it in Florida.

   One reason our guardian angels don’t sing all the time is they are fully occupied taking really good care of us--even if I have behaved foolishly and don’t deserve it. The angels are probably attentive for Shirley’s sake. When I’m behind the wheel, she spends a lot of time saying novenas. So, even on rare occasions when our travels are not practically perfect in every way, they remain just a walk in the park.

Monumental Achievements

When Shirley and I travel, we often visit cemeteries. It is not nearly as ghoulish as it sounds. For one thing, they used to be places of exceptional beauty before the convenience of the mowing crew became a higher priority than honoring the dead. Somes old churchyards have headstones that are just that--small rocks that now bear worn and illegible inscriptions that had been scratched in by hand. There are graves of historical significance because of what happened there or the deceased was deemed important for one reason or another. There is often a story attached to the monuments of people long forgotten. Many monuments are reminders of advances in medicine or technology. Young women died in childbirth. Along with their baby. Family plots often include the graves of children who did not survive diseases that since have been eradicated. There are people killed in steam boat explosions and railway accidents. There is  a story behind every monument. Sometimes there is a hint at the significance of the life once led. Sometimes what is left unsaid is a story in itself.

For example, Thomas Jefferson left explicit instructions, including a sketch, for his burial marker at Monticello. The inscription he composed says "Here was buried Thomas Jefferson Author of the Declaration of American Independence of the Statute for Virginia freedom of religion Father of the University of Virginia." Not a word about the presidency or the Louisiana Purchase that more than doubled the size of the country. He specified that it was to be made of "coarse stone that no one might be tempted hereafter to destroy it for the value of the materials." What he had not foreseen was that admirers would chip away pieces of the "coarse stone" as souvenirs. In 1882 Congress funded the replacement granite obelisk that stands today.

Sometimes the monuments are overshadowed both by what was done there and what was said there. The battle at Gettysburg decided the outcome of the Civil War. The battle was the highwater mark of the Confederacy and the Copse of Trees on Cemetery Ridge was the highwater mark of the battle. Three days in July,1863 cost the lives of 3,155 Union and 3,903 Confederates. On Nov, 19 Lincoln delivered his Address at the dedication of the National Cemetery in which he declared "The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they did here." If you have not yet been to Gettysburg, you might want to visit before the people who do not remember what was done or said there manage to destroy the monuments--some of which actually commemorate the evil people on the Other Side.

There is another reason July 4,1863 was called The Most Glorious Fourth. While Lee was retreating from Gettysburg, Grant was accepting the surrender of Vicksburg, effectively cutting the South in two and controlling the Mississippi River. The National Military Park in Vicksburg rivals Gettysburg in the number and quality of its monuments. Many of these monuments were paid for by the veterans, on both sides, who were proud of their service. 

A great hero at the Battle of Fredericksburg is honored for his "sublime compassion" in coming to the aid of wounded opponents.

Some of the most monumental achievements are a matter of persevering when the going gets tough. At Valley Forge, for example, the remains of Washington's army succeeded by surviving the winter of 1777-78 while freezing, starving, and ill equipped. 

Before he came to NW Ohio to fight at Fallen Timbers, Gen. Anthony Wayne was with Washington at Valley Forge.

Washington and his staff shared the farm house owned by Isaac Potts.

Others achieved immortality through foolishness and failure. George Custer led 263 troopers of the 7th Cavalry against several thousand Sioux and Cheyenne. Things did not work out well for them at Little Bighorn.

The tablet marks where he died; his body was interred at West Point.

In the family plot of poet and essayist Conrad Aiken is the double tombstone of his parents both of whom coincidentally died on the same day in 1901. The trauma of losing both contributed to the tortured nature of his soul. Perfectly understandable when you learn that his father killed his mother and then committed suicide. The Aikens rest in Bonaventure Cemetery, our favorite because of the sheer number of magnificent monuments and the natural setting among live oaks, camellias, and azaleas. Here is a sampler. There are more in the post for October, 2019,

There are always pennies on songwriter Johnny Mercer's tomb in recognition of his "Pennies from Heaven." The inscription, of course, is a more direct reference to another of his songs. But, wait, there's more.

Ginger's tomb bears a reference to another of his songs. 

Ernest Hemingway wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls while living rent free at the Sun Valley Lodge in Idaho. The free rent was part of a campaign to attract tourists by publicizing the celebrities who stayed there to ski in winter or fly fish in summer. The hallways are still lined with photos of stars such as Clark Gable, Errol Flynn, and Gary Cooper. (You may recall that Cooper starred in the film version of the novel.) Hemingway's grave is close to the lodge so he is still attracting tourists even though, or because, his suicide by shotgun was a rather messy affair. Pennies and flowers are common but he would probably appreciate the brown beverage in the Old Fashioned glass even more. 

Meriwether Lewis (yes, the explorer) is buried along the Natchez Trace where he died under mysterious circumstances. Murder? Suicide?

President Johnson is buried in the family cemetery at his ranch in Texas. Nothing fancy but, unlike Jefferson's monument, it does mention the office he held.

At the cathedral cemetery there is a monument "In Honor of the Original Settlers of Santa Fe Buried 

Here." That goes quite a ways back. Santa Fe was founded in 1610.

Next to Reid Falls in Skagway, Alaska is this monument erected to honor Frank H. Reid. The inscription says he "Died July 20, 1898 Aged 54 years He gave his life for the honor of Skagway."

Reid was killed in a shootout with notorious gangster and con man Jefferson (Soapy) Smith. But, wait, there's more. Soapy Smith himself was killed by Frank Reid in that same shootout. And what's with "the honor of Skagway"?

Soapy's monument doesn't tell the story but here's a condensed version. He was called Soapy because of his favorite con game. Smith would publicly insert paper currency, up to $100, beneath the wrappers of some bars of soap and then raffle off his stock. His accomplices would always "win" and loudly celebrate to motivate others to purchase. Before the Alaska Gold Rush, Soapy had worked the scam in Denver and used the ploy to corrupt politicians by guaranteeing that they would win. In Skagway, he had already bought the town marshal and several others when Frank Reid put an end to that, thus saving the "honor" of the town.