Kanab, UT and Grand Canyon, AZ - Days 163-171 ... and the rest of the story of the 178 trek

Diedre here: Sorry for the lag in time for this final post of the 2013 AB1 Trek, but as you read on you'll see that our final chapter didn't close quite as we had planned.  No worries though...all is wonderful.  After you finish your fine Thanksgiving meal you can grab a cup of tea or other fine beverage, put your feet up and read, "the rest of the story."  

Casey and Samantha looking out the bedroom window discussing the gorgeous view in Kanab.

On Sunday, October 13, we took off for our next destination: Kanab, Utah.  Our visit there had a twofold purpose: 1) to visit the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary on the outskirts of town; and 2) to visit Kanab itself, a historic western town also known as "Little Hollywood."  We were not disappointed with either.

     Best Friends is the largest animal sanctuary in the country.  They are situated on 4,000 acres of the prettiest mountain vistas this side of Sedona.  They're a no-kill animal sanctuary that at any one time has about 1,700 rescued animals living in shelter buildings that put our house to shame.  They have the prerequisite large number of dogs and cats, but also house over 100 pot-bellied pigs, pastures of horses, and flocks of parrots.  Their buildings are spread out over the scenic campus, and each building has a massive amount of space and amenities for every animal, so much so that I suspect a lot of the animals secretly hope they never get adopted.     We lucked out there on accommodations.  Best Friends has limited housing and only two RV spots, but Diedre managed to snag one for us.  It was on the edge of a cliff overlooking a massive valley with red rock mountains on the other side.  It was maybe the most scenic, and certainly the most secluded RV spot we had camped on all summer.
     We took their 1-and-a-half hour tour the first day, walking through the enormous "Dogtown" and the wonderful "Cat World."  "Horse Haven" "Piggy Paradise," and the "Bunny and Parrot Garden" were other stops on the tour.  The medical facilities are first rate; no animal, no matter how bad the condition s/he might be in, is turned down.
     BF has a wonderful volunteer program.  Even though they have about 300 employees, they still need volunteers to help out with the animals care and socializing.  DK and I were so impressed with their whole operation that we've decided to add BF to our 2014 RV trip.  Our plan is to go there in October after the Huntsman Games in St. George, Utah, and volunteer for a week.  I'll spend my time in Cat Heaven while DK, with cat fur allergies, will spend her week with the dogs.  Note: she has grown immune to the cat dander of our three kids, but immediately has nose problems when meeting up with other cats.
     It should be a great week next year.  If you're at all interested in joining us, let me know and I'll get you the BR info.  To check them out, go to their website at www.bestfriends.org  .
     

That afternoon, all animaled out, we did our own walking tour of Kanab.  Back in 1924, the locals pitched the great western scenery and mountains to producers in Hollywood as a natural place to film their westerns.  "Deadwood Coach" with cowboy star Tom Mix was soon filmed there followed by many more: "Drums Along the Mohawk," "Stagecoach" (with a very young John Wayne), the Rat Pack's "Sergeants 3," and "MacKenna's Gold" just to name a few.  Those oldies were followed by "Planet of the Apes" (both the 1968 and 2001 versions), "The Outlaw Josey Wales" (a particular favorite of mine ... best quote: "Dying ain't much a livin' "), and television shows "The Lone Ranger," "Have Gun, Will Travel," and "F-Troop" (got to love that Corporal Agarn).
     From the 30's through the 70's, nearly everyone in town was in the movie business.  The "Saturday Evening Post" even called Kanab "The Town That Learned to Act."  More than once the local high school was let out because additional "extras" were needed on the set for big cowboys-and-Indians fight scenes.
     

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking while we searched out their cowboy Walk of Fame plaques located like parking meters in the downtown area.  We found Clint Eastwood's as well as John Wayne's and Gregory Peck's, but the highlight was coming upon Peter Brown's plaque.  Peter was the star of the '50's "Lawman" and the 60's "Laredo," cowboy TV shows, and he is also the subject of a wonderful biography by yours truly coming soon to fine book stores near you.  It took us awhile, but eventually we found Peter's star.
     Monday night is "old movie" night in Kanab at the venerable Crescent Moon Theater downtown.  You could tell we were in small-ville; two movie tickets, a large popcorn, and a large soft drink ran us $6.50.  I'm not sure what that would have cost us at the Phoenix Harkins Theaters, but I'm sure we'd need to take out a home loan to finance it.
     The name of the movie was "Reap the Wild Wind."  It was an early John Wayne flick from the 40's.  The ushers had actually let us vote on which movie we wanted to see.  Being in the old west town of Kanab, I naturally wanted to see a John Wayne western, so I cast my vote thusly.  The rest of the sparse crowd voted instead for a naval adventure on the high seas.  Not quite what I was desirous of, but oh well.  You knew it was an old movie when Ray Milland got into a fight with John Wayne and kicked his ass.  I mean, what were the odds of that?

 The next morning we took a hike to Hidden Lake, but never found it ... at least we don't think we did ... maybe we did ... who knows.  After all, it was a "hidden" lake.  (OK, we did find it; here's a picture to prove how unhidden it was.)  In the afternoon, we went to the local library to catch up on some blog-typing.  I'm always hesitant to go into these small town libraries, because as  a published author ("The Fastest Gun in Hollywood"--you remember), I'm always afraid of being mobbed by the local populace.  But this afternoon must have been "Shush Day" at the library, since none of the locals even dared to ask me for an autograph.  My clever disguise (a pair of Groucho glasses) must have thrown them off.

     

We finished off the evening with a real cowboy movie, "Ramrod," at the theatre barn at the famous Parry Lodge, which for 80 years has been the heart of Utah's "Little Hollywood."  This resort has had famous guests stay there since back in the 30's.  Rooms are named after their various famous occupants: The Mae West Suite; The Frank Sinatra Guest House; and The Keanu Reeves Broom Closet.

     Wednesday, October 16, represented our penultimate trip with a short hop to the Grand Canyon.  Unfortunately, it would prove to be our final trip once I put the tire covers on at the campground.  It was only then that I saw the tread completely gone on the left front tire, a tire that had barely more than 10,000 miles on it.  As it turned out, it was the beginning of the end ... of our trip, I mean.  More on that later.
     That night we relaxed with a cocktail and some incredible scenery.  You know, when you're sitting there with good company and the incredible scenery of the Grand Canyon, it just made me stop and think:
     "This would be a great place for a 7-11."

     Thursday was our first full day at the Grand Canyon.  There is nothing like being at one of the most beautiful places on Earth.  We took advantage of our amazing environs by taking the day to comb the cats, beat the rugs, and work on one particularly vicious in-grown toenail of mine.  I also relaxed in my easy chair and partook of one of my favorite hobbies: paying bills.  It was especially fulfilling to be sitting there amid all this beautiful scenery and watch that idiotic interweb little blue circle go round and round and round ... ad infinitum.  Only cocktails at the majestic El Tovar hotel could bring my blood pressure back to something approaching normal.

   

 The next day we shook out the cobwebs and stormed the park.  Our first of the five hikes that would cover the entire south rim of the canyon went from Mather Point to the South Kaibab trail head (2.4 miles).  Once there, we actually took part of the South Kaibab trail down toward the bottom of the canyon.  It was a little tricky, of course, because, as you'll recall, we're both in our 60's now, but I was pretty proud of what we were able to accomplish that day.  We decided not to do the whole trail which was 7 miles down and would take at least 6 hours to get to the bottom, but instead we did, oh, ... what was it, Dear, three or four miles?  What's that?  Three or four FEET?  Really?  Well, I knew it was something like that.,
    

On a crowded Saturday, we picked up the trail once again, this time venturing from Monument Creek to Powell Point (3.1 miles) named after my aunt Sally Powell Alexander's great-great grandfather.  Here's a lovely photo of DK at the Grand Canyon rim after a slight misstep.  Dang ... I thought that life insurance policy was finally going to pay off.  Pretty good picture, huh?  We like to call it "Senior Daredevil Photography."

After a hard day on the trail, we dined at the 100+ year old El Tovar hotel, a place I had read about for years, but only now was eating there for the first time.  The place was packed as usual, but we had the foresight to make reservations for 8:45 that evening, so there wasn't much of a wait.  The meal was sublime.

Sunday was supposed to be a much more casual hiking day, so of course, we ventured 1.5 miles down the Bright Angel Trail, not remembering until it was too late that we would indeed have to venture 1.5 miles UP the trail as well.  Nevertheless, an inspired DK decided afterwards that in the future we needed to do the whole hike from the rim down to Phantom Ranch and back,  about a 16-mile, multi-day trek complete with pack mules, llamas, and Sherpa guides (We're requesting Tenzing Norgay Jr.)  You need to make reservations 13-months in advance, so a determined Diedre Kaye is planning for us to do it on her 65th birthday.  I just nod assuredly, hoping that the line will be busy or that DK will soon comes to her senses.

     We met an incredible couple from, of all places, Iceland, on our way down the trail.  Diedre and I raved to them about the wonderful fjords of Iceland.  It was sometime later we remembered that fjords are a Norway thing.
     After the hike, we went out to dinner with them.  We were all having a great time, but after a couple of courses, I suddenly realized they couldn't speak any English, and my Icelandic knowledge was limited to "La funcher daw verrie, sed ela bannochin e graemee," which loosely (very loosely) translates to "my uncle is sick, but the highway is green."
     I have no idea how we got as far as we did.  I'm sure alcohol was involved.  All we could figure out for sure was their true Icelandic names: her's was , "Elkavarkinaan" which means "blue ice" in their native tongue while his was "Larry," a very traditional Icelandic name which references the ancient Icelandic god of sulfur.
     OK, back to the true parts of this essay.
     

Monday's hike went from Monument Creek to Hermits Rest (2.8 miles); during that trek, I'm pretty sure that of all the people we passed, we were the only ones who spoke English.  We the drove to Grand View for a wonderful picnic.  I swear, every time you think you've seen the best the canyon has to offer, you immediately stumble upon something even more beautiful.

   

 From there, we drove to The Watch Tower.  This photo is what I call "The Rapunzel Picture."  It was taken inside the massive Watch Tower.  My hair may be long, but it ain't THAT long.  Diedre had to take the stairs after all.

   

 On our last full day at the GC, we did the most fun hike, going from the wilderness of Powell Point all the way back to the civilization of El Tovar (2.2 miles), having the resort area perched on the mammoth canyon cliffs in view the entire way.
     The tire repairman showed up that afternoon after having driven all the way from Kingman, a good two hours away.  As he changed our tire, he happened to notice a large air bubble in one of the tubes leading to our leveler mechanism.  He said we should get that checked out in Kingman, and since it was on the way for us the next day, we agreed to do so ... and THAT was the beginning of the end.
     On Wednesday, October 23, we were supposed to travel to Lake Havasu, AZ, home of the original London Bridge.  I know that doesn't make much sense, but trust me on this one, will you?
     Now, a day spent at a tire and truck repair shop in Kingman, AZ, is not as glamorous as it sounds.  In essence, we had tire and axle problems of which we, Mr. & Mrs. Anti-Goodwrench, were not aware.  Here was the problem in a nutshell (a huge nutshell): the tires (frayed rubber) were connected to the axle (bent); the axle was connected to the leveler's hydraulic line (air bubble); the leveler's are connected to the slides (loss of use); the slides are connected to the ankle bones ... the ankle bones are connected to the shin bones ... You can see where this was all going.
     To make a long story not much shorter, we could see that our best option was to forgo going to lake Havasu and instead, get AB1 into the shop for some well-needed R&R.  And so with that, abruptly, our first big trip in our sparkling new RV was over, about 7 days less than we had originally projected.
     But still, we were thrilled with what we had accomplished, of the sites we had seen, and the people we had met.
     Our trip totals were as follows:
     177 days;
     7,897 miles;
     $6,009 in campsite fees,
     3 cats (at the start and at the end),
     Seven major league and two minor league baseball stadiums visited
     and 0 arguments (Are you buying this one?)
          For me, the highlights of the trip were, in chronological order:
-getting just my 2nd eagle in golf in 58 years in Lusk, Wyoming;
-visiting Wild Bill Hickok & Calamity Jane's graves in Deadwood, South Dakota;
-doing my first book-signing at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota;
-touring the pro-football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio;
-with my Over 60 softball team, the Rox, winning the golf medal at the senior Olympics in Cleveland, Ohio, followed by a tour of the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame;
-having a book signing party at my boyhood home in St. Louis Park, Minnesota;
-meeting with artistic director Steve Peterson  to set up him producing the first play I wrote, "Buzzard Ball," in St. Paul, Minnesota, in March;
-talking with the playwrights of both "Wicked" and "The Book of Mormon" in Chicago at the National Dramatists' Guild Convention;
-finding and being invited into my mother's girlhood home in Downers Grove, Illinois;
-touring the very court room where the 1842 Dred Scott trial took place in St. Louis;
-sitting on the sidewalk in front of Yogi Berra and Joe Garagiola's boyhood homes;
-seeing the electric city of Memphis including a visit to Graceland, standing on the balcony at the Lorraine Motel where Dr. King was shot, and standing in the studio and holding the same microphone Elvis used for his first recording at Sun Studio;
-exploring the grounds around and the museum on the 6th floor of the old Dallas School Book Depository;
-meeting for lunch with Billy Huckaby, owner of Wild Horse Press, and publisher of my first book, in Fort Worth, Texas;
-hiking the country's 2nd biggest canyon, Palo Duro, outside Amarillo, Texas;
-helping my Rox team win the Mesquite, Nevada, softball tourney;
-helping my Rox team take 2nd place in the huge Huntsman Games softball tourney in St. George, Utah, complete with a 25-run, last inning rally in one game;
-and, of course, Best Friends Animal Sanctuary and the Grand Canyon.
     OK, that's it for this year's trip.  Watch for us leaving April 1, 2014, on RV Trip 2 and writing more blog blither from Austin, Texas, to Miami, Florida, to Bar Harbor, Maine, and then back to Phoenix via Cooperstown, New York, Branson, Missouri, and all points between. (WHEW!  I'm exhausted just writing all that!)
     Stay tuned till then, and thanxx for following us this year.
     Alexx and Diedre ably assisted by Charlie, Casey, and Samantha

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Diedre here again:  Many dittos on what Alexx said about best places on the trip.  I also have to add the joy of spending time with family and friends even though it often was in places we'd been before.  Our time in Michigan was especially wonderful for me because I got to spend time and reconnect with dear friends from college and teaching days when I lived there.  I also loved the opportunity to see family members.  Especially memorable was the boat trip on Lake Walloon for a mini-family reunion highlighted with my dear Aunt Jane Smith.  And of course I loved our rainy day in Paw Paw and spending one last time with Mom's memorabilia before donating it to the library's historical collection and the Girl Scouts of America in Kalamazoo.  And when I look back on the six months, besides all the beauty we encountered in Kanab, Monument Valley, Santa Fe and the Grand Canyon, I also loved the serenity I found walking along the Mississippi River in Memphis and around the town of Grapevine, Texas.  I found as much joy in sitting at our breakfast table each morning, sipping my coffee and absorbing the company of Alexx and our cats as much as I did exploring new towns and visiting with friends and family.  Having six months of togetherness is scary for some people, but I adored it.  This trip was pretty much how our 22 years of marriage has been - always unpredictable and fortunately full of humor.

  I must say that we are clearly blessed to have had as little troubles as we did considering we are amazingly ignorant when it comes to the mechanics of a motorhome.  We are thankful for all the good mechanics we found along the trip and especially for the angels that watched over us.  AB1 is still in Tucson awaiting the final repairs that are covered by the warranty - so happy to have bought a new one so the costs are all covered - and we are already planning our 2014 adventure.

  Thank you all for following our 2013 trek and many of you joining us for a part of it...we look forward to bringing more friends and family into our adventure in 2014.  Tune in again in April when we head down the road again and Alexx's story of truth and lies continue (seriously, he had me going on the Icelandic couple - I thought I'd lost my mind when I couldn't remember meeting them!) and I add photos to complement those tales.  Until then, have a wonderful holiday season and God Bless you all!

Mesquite, Nevada and St. George, Utah - Days 152-161 of the 178 Trek

OK, this segment of "The Blog That'll Never End" is mostly about senior softball, so some of you may want to take this time to play "Words With Friends" on your I-Phones while I prattle on.  I was actually going to skip this part entirely, but wife Diedre demanded that I cover every pitch of all 12 games over a 6-day period.  After a brutal, knockdown-drag-out verbal joust, we compromised.  I'll just give you the highlights.
     Thursday, October 3, was our travel day.  Numerically, it was Day 152 of our Marco-Polo-inspired journey.  But unlike Marco and his quest to find silks and spices from China, we set our travel sights on Mesquite, Nevada, and a warm-up softball tournament.  You blog-groupies may remember the Rox Over-60 softball team hadn't played together since winning the Senior Olympic gold medals back in Cleveland in July.  I know, it seems like eons ago.
     

When I hit the freeway in Utah, all I could think was, "WOW!"  This reaction was due to my surprise at seeing the speed limit sign which read "80 MPH."
     Really?!
     I swear I haven't seen vehicles turned loose like that since I first started driving back in the 60's.  I was excited, even though AB1 has a suggested driving speed of 62 MPH.  And while I may well have been physically going 62, deep down in the dark crevices of my mind, I was blowing by all those Fords and Subaru's at 87 MPH.
     The Mesquite tourney started on Saturday with two games.  There were 6 teams in our pool, so we would play each of them over these two days and the team with the best record would be declared the champion.
     Our Saturday started out inauspiciously.  I attributed that to a lack of playing together and lumbago.  We won one and lost one.  Disappointing, yes, but we were still in the running.
     On Sunday, as symbolic of the lack of intelligence regarding the way they do things in Mesquite, we had 3 consecutive games scheduled at 8:00., 9:15, and 10:30 am.
     Hey, does anybody remember we're old guys with aching joints and questionable eyesight?
     Just askin'.
     Well, we sucked it up and commandeered the field.  The first game was a 23-17 win over some team from I don't know where ... Zanzibar, maybe.  We followed that up with a 25-19 victory over a strong Florida team.  The final game was tight, but we held on and prevailed 18-15 over the boys from Washington.  That made us 4-1, but it wasn't until we approached tourney headquarters that we learned that we were indeed the champions based on having the best record.  It was the 3rd year in a row we had taken the Mesquite tourney.  And the tourney hierarchy, in their usual penurious manner, awarded us not trophies, not championship T-shirts, not prize money ... can you guess what we did receive?

     Caps.
     That's right, caps.  And they were not championship caps, either.  Apparently, every team got the same caps.  Nice job, guys.
     With hardly any time to sit back, have a beer, and enjoy our "caps," we were all back on the road for the 50-mile trip to St. George, Utah, home of the legendary Huntsman Senior Games.  These World Senior Games have been around since 1987.  The event has grown steadily, enormously since the first year when it was just two old guys playing tiddlywinks.  It is now the world's largest annual multi-sport event for seniors (50+).  This year they were expecting over 10,000 athletes competing in 26 sports.  And, they don't award "caps."
     

Ever since I started playing senior softball in 1999, Diedre and I have made it a point to promote team camaraderie at out-of-town softball tournaments by hosting a margarita party.  We've probably helmed about 25 of them in the ensuing years.  The one we host in St. George is always a lot of fun.  It's kind of like old-home week as it's not only attended by the Rox and wives, but also the Rockies Over-65 team, and any other Arizona softball types who happen to be in the vicinity.  The managers of the two Rockies teams alway

s get a party room for us, complete with bar, big TV, ample seating areas, and restrooms.  It's the perfect place for "The Margarita Party."
     This year's was extra special for us since it gave us another captive audience to whom we could sell my book  (Have I mentioned my book before?  It's called "The Fastest Gun in Hollywood: The Life Story of Peter Brown" and is available at all fine bookstores and in my garage).  The book-signing party had a few interested parties, but the margaritas were loved by all.
     Now, time to sober up and play some ball.
   

 Monday, October 7, was a landmark day in my sporting life.  When I was at the University of Michigan in 1968 trying to play basketball, my roommate and I decided we need to decorate the drab dorm walls at East Quad Cooley.  Since he was also a basketball guy, we chose the "all sports" motif so rarely seen in male dorms in those years.  I paid for a subscription to "Sports Illustrated," and we then began using the magazine's covers as our decor.
     Within 3 months, my roomie had transferred to Xavier, but I continued on with the S.I. wallpapering of the room.  The roommates came and went as did my living arrangements over the next 45 years, but one thing stayed the same: every week the newest issue of "Sports Illustrated" made its way into my mailbox.
     At least it did until today.
     Since we're now going to be on the road in AB1 six months of the year for the next decade, I could tell that I wasn't going to be able to keep up with the reading of my favorite magazine.  So, I let the subscription expire, much to the wailing, begging, and crying of myriad S.I. telemarketers.  After 45 years and 2,340 issues (all of which are shelved neatly and chronologically in boxes in the rafters of my garage for God-only-knows-what reason), today would be the first day since my acne-period that I would no longer be a subscriber.  It was like a death in the family, although without the creepy mortician trying to up-sell you a more expensive casket.
     OK, back to softball.     

     Our first game was on Monday at 11:10 a.m.  Much to our team's surprise, the manager of our opponents from the Santa Rosa area of California came to the pre-game meeting with the umpire armed with a basket of wine, nuts, and winery promotional items as a gift for us.  It was ping-pong diplomacy on the softball field.  Our manager sadly lamented to his counterpart, "Gee.  I didn't get you anything."
     Team gifts quickly forgotten, we spared no mercy on the wine merchants from the coast.  We beat them easily 19-6.  But the gift was all anyone talked about after the game.  That's an example of the camaraderie the Huntsman games fosters between teams.  Looking back, I probably should have offered them a book.  Have I mentioned my book yet?
     At 12:30, we took on the Glacier Kings from Anchorage, Alaska.  We thought it would be an easy game ... and we obviously thought wrong.  We were actually losing 19-14 going into the top of the 7th (last) inning.  But we're a "never-say-die" kind of team.  We're also a "Can I have fries with that" kind of team, but that's neither here nor there.  We erupted for six runs to take a 1-run lead, then held on for all we were worth to hold them scoreless and take a hard fought 20-19 win over the best (and probably only) Alaskan team we had ever played.  Incidentally, our rally was the start of a pattern for us in this tourney about which you'll soon learn more.  Note: The Glacier Kings went on to win gold in the "A" division (4th flight) of the Huntsman Games.

     Huntsman Tuesday is always a light day as the games' staffers are involved setting up the gala opening ceremonies to be held that night.  As such, we always only play one game, usually somewhat early, on Opening Ceremonies Tuesday.

     Just as with the guys from Alaska, so too did we then think we might have an easy game today with Brantford Nissan from Ontario, Canada, just north of Toronto.  The question was, "Can those Canadians boys really play ball?"
     Soon enough, the answer was, "HELL, YES!!"
     After 6 innings, we were down again just as we had been to the Alaskans.  The score this time was 14-10.  My question to myself was "Can we catch lightning in a bottle two games in a row?"
     And my answer was, "Is a bear in the woods Catholic?"
     I think you can see where I'm going with this.
     Well, in a 7th inning that the likes of which had never happened before to any of the ancient ballplayers on my team, a group of 13 guys who on the average had played 100 games a year for 45 years, well, NONE of them had seen an inning like this one.  We batted around the order once ... then we did it again ... and started on our third time through the order.  Runs were streaming across home plate like water over a New Orleans dike.  By the end of the inning, we had plated no fewer than TWENTY-FIVE RUNS!  The Canadians were so upset, they were housebroken.
     Final score: Rox-35, North of the Border Whipping Dogs-14.
     Note: The fine Brantford Nissan team went on to win gold in the "AAA" division (2nd flight).
     As is our custom on Opening Ceremonies Tuesday, the team met for dinner at the wild game "Gun Barrel" restaurant and totally ignored the O.C.  Some year I will have to attend.  Afterwards, team general manager and spiritual leader Jim Erickson and wife Carol joined us at the mammoth Tuacahn outdoor amphitheater to see a wonderful performance of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," and she was ... thoroughly modern, I mean.  Tuacahn is a force of nature, situated immediately against the backdrop of the area's red rock mountains.  It's an incredible venue that you have to see at least once in your lifetime.

     After everybody plays three games the first two days at the Huntsman, the 53 teams are then seeded by ability into seven divisions (Major, AAA, AA, A, B, C, and You've-Got-to-Be-Kidding) and each division then plays a double-elimination tournament starting Wednesday to determine gold, silver, and bronze medal winners in each division.  We were placed in the major (top) division.  There is also a "Major-Plus" division, sort of a super-human-hybrid-of-seniors supposedly with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal seniors.  But as you'll see, the lone Major Plus team, Northern Express, had their problems with the lower rated teams.  That's why they play the games.
     To make up the four-team Major division, they took us, two other major teams, and Northern Express.  In the first winners' bracket semi-final game Wednesday, we took on the strong BRL team from Salt Lake City.  As was our style that week, we made it to the top of the 7th trailing 27-17.
     I bet you can see what's coming.
     Maybe not.
     Our first two batters made outs.  One out to go.  The fat lady may not be singing, but we could hear her warming up out back.

     And then another incredible Rox inning occurred.  Yes, the never-say-die Rox scored 11 times after two were out to take the lead 28-27.
     Deep breath!
     Unfortunately, we should have held serve for another 25 runs.  BRL came back and got the two runs they needed to hand us our first Huntsman loss in two years, 29-28.
     In the losers' bracket, we then took on Major Plus androids Northern Express from Antelope, California.  As a Major Plus team with no one to play, they were in our Major bracket just playing exhibition.  In their entire history at the Huntsman Games, they had never lost even one game ... until now, that is.  In this game, we actually led 22-20 in the top of the 7th, but we didn't let that bit of good fortune go to our heads.  We went for 13 more runs.  Northern gamely came back with 10, but it wasn't to be.
     Final score: Rox-35, Formerly Undefeateds-30.
     On Thursday, October 10, our final day at the Huntsman, we needed to beat Handiland Flooring in order to get back to the championship game.  This time we were the home team, so, of course, when we trailed in the last inning 24-19, we knew exactly what we needed to win.  

And sure enough, 7th inning lightning struck yet again, the winner being a walk-off base-hit to center by some ne'er-do-well author who shall remain nameless in this blog to win for the Rox, 25-24.

     

     Thus, the gold medal game arrived.  It would be our 3rd trip to the finals in the last three years (2011-silver medals; 2012-gold medals).  Once again we cut to the 7th inning.  Once again, we're down, this time 24-17.  And familiarly, once again we score a bunch, crossing home plate seven times.
     It would not be enough.
     The curse of being the visiting team was too much for us to overcome.  BRL quickly got the only run they needed in the bottom of the 7th to take the gold medal, 25-24.
     We were proud of our silver medals and were happy with our efforts at the plate.  In our last 5 games in St. George, we averaged 29.2 runs per game; we scored 62 runs in those five games IN THE LAST INNING ALONE!  Not bad for a bunch of old guys.

     So, the Huntsman Games are over for another year.  We'll need that time to recover.  On Friday, I went and watched two of our players, Robbie and Dan, play for an Over-65 team from Michigan as they won their division.  Those guys are real sadists: they played double the amount of games we did in the same amount of days ... AND they're 65 years old!
     OK, the last day in town was Saturday.  Time to rest up, battle our colds, and reflect on the 21st anniversary of flight 373.
   

 Flight 373?
     Yes, every year on October 12, Diedre and I celebrate our survival of flight 373 from Cincinnati to Minneapolis.  You see, on this date in 1992, we were keeping to ourselves while flying home from a business trip (Diedre's business; my general fooling around) when the pilot came back toward all of us passengers with a worried look on his face.  The head flight attendant then herded us all up to the front of the plane and gave us directions on how to survive a crash.
     SAY WHAT?!  SURVIVE A CRASH?!
     It seems they were getting a light flashing in the cockpit saying the landing gear was not operable.  They weren't sure if that was true, or if the light was just going all kitty-whompus.  So we were all going to find out which it was, walking down the terminal to do battle with baggage claim, or going head-first into the tarmac and eating a lot of gravel.
     As Diedre and I sat there hand in hand, the attendant came to me and asked me to perform her duties "in the event she became incapacitated."
     Again ... SAY WHAT?!
     Well, as you can tell, ghosts can't write blogs, at least not very well, so we must have made it home alive.  But on this date every year, we take the time to remember how lucky we were that day and to remember to love each other and enjoy life to the fullest, no matter what.

     I'm just sayin'.
     Now, back to the serious side of being funny.  We'll be leaving bright and early ... well, maybe just "early," tomorrow morning for Kanab, Utah, and the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary.  That place is incredible.
     See you there.

Montrose, Colorado and Torrey, Utah - Days 144-151 of 178 Day Trek

OK, gang, this one's going to be a short one ... You know, I don't really appreciate the sarcastic applause.
     Bygones.

     Wednesday, September 25, was a much more excruciating travel day than we had first supposed.  It wasn't that it was so far; it was the mountain climbs coupled with narrow two-lanes and roads under construction that made for some white-knuckle drive-time.  It took us nine hours to go 335 miles.  Keeping this big rig on the straight and narrow through these tight, uneven byways made for a bit of tension.  The only thing that made me smile on this particular road trip was passing a building with a sign out front that read, "The Feed Store Church."  I mean, was it a feed store or was it a church?  Or was it "TWO ... TWO ... TWO MINTS IN ONE!"?
     OK, maybe the drive was making me goofy ... goofier, perhaps.  Moving on.
     Montrose, Colorado,  has incredible scenery and natural wonders which include waterfalls, cliffs, forests, and majestic mountains.  We saw none of it.
     After 144 days on the road going full-speed almost every day seeing people, attractions, playing golf and softball, well, we were just plain exhausted ...
     There's that sarcastic applause again.
     We needed a stop just to do nothing.  So we did.  We worked very hard at it, and by 10 that night, were completely exhausted from doing nothing at 90 mph.
     WHEWW!
     The next two days went as follows:
-Thursday, September 26-Catch-up days, work on blogs, do nothing
-Friday, September 27-(See yesterday)

     All right, time to wake up and start doing some world-traveler type stuff.  With Old Mother Diedre's cupboard practically bare, we took off for the local Farmers' Market on Saturday followed by a town walk.  We love these small town walks; you always find some interesting stuff, and the walk is never much more than 3 blocks.

     Once at the Farmers' Market, I reflected back on the nutritional portion of this trip  (I know, what an odd thing for a virile hunk such as myself to be doing.  Stay with me.)  We've gotten a lot of great, natural foods, and not always from farmers' markets.  We've actually done quite well sponging off the largesse of ... surprise, surprise! ... our softball friends.  We got eggs right from the chicken coop at Bruce and Chris's in Brighton, Colorado; blackberries from Jim and Carol in Mount Pleasant, Michigan; blueberries from Lud and Lydia in Black River Falls, Wisconsin; and of course, from the massive farm of Jerry and Shiela in Frankfort, South Dakota, we got the essential element that sustains life on this planet ... Culver's Frozen Custard?!  You can probably see me right now smiling at you right through your computer screen.
     A town walk is easy entertainment for a mind as small as mine.  I smiled at shops with names such as "Tools, Sports, & Pawn", "Rod Rental," and "Discount Cigarettes" which, incidentally, included a drive-up window (well, of course smokers would be too lung-tired to walk up).  I was infuriated, however, by "Selig Avenue," named after one of the city's founders.  I, of course, related it immediately to baseball, more specifically Bud "Sleazebag" Selig, commissioner of baseball who is soon retiring before he ruins baseball altogether.  I mean, no World Series in 1994?!  Come on!  (Never say I'm not one to hold a grudge.)
     

718 E. Main, Montrose, CO

The city also had some great house architecture.  The home at 718 E. Main is on the historic registry list.  It was built in 1902, and is now one of my new favorite houses after the blue house in Ouray, CO, and the Lake of the Isles house in Minneapolis. (Refer to previous blogs from Ouray, CO and Minneapolis, MN for photos.) I've dreamed of owning that Minneapolis home since 1980.
     Montrose also sports a variety of incredibly large statues downtown on many of the main street corners.  Here's one of a bear and her cubs fending off attacking eagles; gee, the Bears versus the Eagles ... where have I heard that before?
     When we finally made our way back to home-sweet-RV, I flipped on the tube and what did we get?  Lucy and Ricky in "The Long, Long Trailer."  It cracked us up.  They just reminded us so much of ourselves.  Strangely, Diedre tended to act more like Ricky while I assumed many of Lucy's idiosyncrasies.  Can you say, "VITAMEATAVEGAMIN"?

     That night we took in two breweries, the Horsefly and Two Rascals.  The latter was housed in a 100-year old building that was formerly a children's clothing store and was now being run by Brandon, a 30's-ish retired fireman with an English girlfriend.  For dinner that night, I felt like having Italian, but Diedre said she was just starving for some Tibetan or Nepalese fare.  That's not all that strange for her ... she's known for strange likes in both food and men.

"Two Rascal" - Great brewery that we hope survives.

     We found "Guru's," a Himalayan diner.  I wasn't sure at first, but I eventually came around and actually liked the "Breast of Yak Bisque"; Diedre tried their "Yeti Souffle," but it was too wild for her taste.  And so it goes.
     Sunday, September 29, was yet another travel day.  We were on our way to Torrey, Utah, a place so scenic and lovely, in fact, that two friends of ours traveling with us, Dante Bichette and Betty Boop, decided to get married once we arrived.  They did, so she's now "Betty Boop Bichette."  Note that the Better Business Bureau won't let her use her new initials.  Anyway, they've taken up housekeeping on our dashboard (photo) where they keep an eye on the road for us.

I was concerned about how we were spending our time, so I made up a pie-chart of an average 24-hour RV day for Diedre and me.  It goes something like this:
     -sleeping:        7:30
     -eating:             :42
     -drinking:         1:06
     -sightseeing:    2:11
     -WAITING FOR THE &(@-#%&*  LITTLE BLUE COMPUTER CIRCLE TO STOP SPINNING AROUND AND AROUND WHILE I WAIT TO GET ON-LINE AT THESE CAMP-SITES: 12 FRICKIN' HOURS AND 31 MINUTES!!!
     Just a moment while I compose myself ... thinking of hot fudge sundaes, grand-slam home runs, fairies ... ahhhh ... there, all better now.

Diedre's legs covered with Afghan and Cats as she lay sick in bed.

     Monday, I dragged my suddenly near-death wife out of the comfort of her cat-infested bed and made her take the 1-mile walk to town for some sustenance, the term "sustenance" giving the locals all the best of it.  Too weak to protest, Diedre faithfully followed me to my choice of cuisine for the evening:  "Slackers' Burgers."  The less said about them, the better.
     On the morrow, Tuesday, October 1st, after we had been resting up for far too long, we finally got out of the campground and all its amenities (including their battery-operated sock warmers) for that eagerly awaited drive for a hike in a park ... a "National" park.  We were especially excited because it would be the first time we would be using our senior passes good for free admittance to all national parks, museums, and memorials ...
     only ...

     yes, you're way ahead of me on this one ... THE IDIOT FEDERAL GOVERNMENT SHUT DOWN!!!???
     Really?!
     Weren't the soupheads in Washington at all aware that they could have put my 3-mile walking streak in jeopardy of being broken?  Fortunately, I was able to find the Torrey, UT, cemetery, thus completing my days walk for the 3rd time on this trip in a cemetery (See Emerald Grove, WI and Taos, NM).
     The government shutdown really affected us that day.  We were going to go to Capitol Reef National Park specifically to hike to the Hickman Natural Bridge.  With the shutdown, we were reduced to purchasing a postcard of this amazing act of nature.  We also had plans to tour a local national museum, but when we got there, literally tons of people (referencing the 35% obesity rate from a survey in that morning's paper) were milling about in the parking lot sobbing, gnashing their teeth, and tearing out their hair.  And it was no wonder!  We, too, were equally crushed by the first-time ever closing of the National Silly Putty Museum.  My Sunday funnies will never be the same.
    


 So our national park/museum outing had been reduced to stopping at roadside rests and parking lots and taking photographs as all the entrances were sealed off and blocked by armed guards who were, incidentally, being paid overtime.     I don't get that.  Somehow, this is still George W. Bush's fault.
     Here I am doing my best Mary Tyler Moore-on-the- Nicollet-Mall imitation at a cliff formation called "The Fluted Wall."  We have other pictures of Diedre imitating Ted Baxter, but they're no where near as haunting as me imitating Mary Richards.

     Unfortunately, the heartbreak of no national parks had other residual negatives attached to it the next day.  And all the rest and relaxation in the worlds was not going to stave off the coming plague.  For the first time on our trip, disease struck.  Diedre developed a cold.
     I'm bravely battling its effects, but just like the U.S. in Viet Nam, I fear the fall of Saigon (metaphor for my health ... I know, it's pretty sad to see an accomplished writer revert to his grade school mentality ... crayons not included) is near.  I mean, Diedre and I share everything, right down to my "Marmaduke" boxer shorts.  I'm keeping up my extra walking, taking massive quantities of Vitamin C and Flintstone Vitamins.  I feel as if the cold wants to attack.  I'll keep you updated with news from the front ... or at least, the back of the front.
     OK, today is Thursday, October 3.  We're pulling ourselves together and heading off for Mesquite, Nevada.  My time may be limited on this plane of existence, but duty, also known as "softball," calls.  Talk to you again next week.
     HI-OHH!