The One World Observatory, a highlight of my recent road trip …

 

Assiduous readers will notice I hadn’t done a blog-post since last June 20.  The reason:  I took a two-week-long road trip, to points north including Atlantic City and New York City.  (Also known as the Big Apple.)   As always, such a pilgrimage can be both instructive and enlightening – not to mention just plain fun.  There’s more on that below, but first:

Welcome again to “read the Bible – expand your mind:”

John Steinbeck’s 1960 book Travels with Charley is all about pilgrimages in general and driving pilgrimages especially.  (See also 12 miles offshore, in a companion blog.  That post also refers to a “journey or search of moral or spiritual significance.”)

So the theme of this post will be to treat my recent road trip as a kind of Reader’s Digest condensed version – slash microcosm – of Steinbeck’s book and/or his travels.  In doing so I’ll be trying to find some moral and/or spiritual significance.  Also in doing so, I’ll be noting some significant differences between road-trip travel in 1960 and 2015.

But before we get into that, I should note that all during the trip up I “religiously” kept up with my Daily Office Readings.  And they were pretty exciting.  Early on there were Old Testament readings about the ancient practice of gouging out your enemy’s right eye.  (See the OT readings for Monday, June 28, 1 Samuel 10:17-27, and Tuesday, June 29, 1 Samuel 11:1-15.  See also Gouging the Eyes – Holman Bible Dictionary.)  And they ended with the well-known story of David killing Goliath.  See 1st Samuel 17, verses 31-39.  That was on July 11, the day before I got back home.  (And in turn I figure there might be some kind of object Lesson there.)

There’ll be more on those below, but getting back to the drastic differences in highway travel from 1960 to 2015.  For one thing, for the price you pay to camp these days – as Steinbeck generally did – you can get a quite comfortable Motel 6.  (And that’s tent camping.  Then too, for the price you pay for an RV or travel trailer, you could have stayed at a lot of Motel 6’s.)

For another thing, I didn’t pack hunting or fishing gear for my travels, as Steinbeck did.

I did pack – in my spandy-new 2015 Ford Escape – an 8-foot kayak, along with a stair-stepping stand and a 22-pound weight vest.  (To earn my Cooper aerobic points along the way.)  In that kayak – for example – I paddled across the Delaware River just below Wilmington.  (As seen at right, from the New Jersey side.)

I also paddled – some – up the Shenandoah River in Virginia, and through some of the backwater “meadows” southwest of Atlantic City.  Last but not least, I paddled for two hours on a nice little hideaway, Carvins Cove Reservoir.  It’s also in Virginia, just outside Roanoke.

A third big difference:  I didn’t get lost as much or as easily as Steinbeck.  (Or as he said he did.)  That was thanks mostly to my finally figuring out how to use the “map app” on my cell phone.

And I didn’t have to stop at a payphone – remember those? – to have a three or four-minute conversation every third or fourth day, to re-establish contact with the family “back home,” as Steinbeck did.  There was no need to.  The three branches of the family converging at the Swedesboro (NJ) cemetery – one of the main reasons for the get-together in the first place – could maintain constant contact via cell phone, including “instant texting.”

I did need to stop from time to time at local libraries, to use their computers.  But that was only if I needed a secure connection, like to check my bank accounts or – with the Ford being so new – to make the first payment, a few days into the trip.  (At the Hoboken Library.  Hoboken – across the Hudson – was the family base for visiting Manhattan, seen above left.)

And I wonder what John would have thought of cruise control?  (In either sense of the term…)

So now to set the stage for the trip:  Earlier this year, my brother from Utah sent an email saying that he and his wife were visiting the Northeast in July, and would I like to join them?  Naturally I said yes, especially when another reason was added:  Laying our father’s ashes to rest in the family plot in Swedesboro, New Jersey, along with those of his first wife – our mother – and our maternal grandmother and grandfather, and other of their offspring.

The ashes had been left in the care of Dad’s second wife, who in turn had died just last November 2014.  So in the months leading up to the road trip, discussion was had via email concerning the interment, along with getting headstones honoring their service in World War II.  (He was a navigator in the Army Air Corps.  She was an Army nurse in Memphis, where they met.)  And the memorial lent a certain gravitas to the whole “joint venture.”

Which makes this as good a place as any to end the first installment of my mid-summer travelog.  Except to note that one of the places I wanted to visit – on the way home – was Reading PA, known in literary circles as “Brewer.”  This fictional Brewer is the setting of John Updike’s five books about Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, each constituting an homage to the full decades from 1960 to 2000.  (I’ve read all four novels and the final novella.)

In this way my trip emulated Steinbeck’s visit to Sauk Centre, Minnesota, “metaphoric setting of [Sinclair] Lewis’ satirical novel, Main Street,” seen at right.  (See also On Oscar Wilde and “gross indecencies”.)  There’ll be more about that aspect of the road trip – and more – in the next installment.

But getting back to that David-and-Goliath story, as told in the Old Testament reading for Saturday, July 11: 1st Samuel 17:31-49.  As noted in Goliath – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

Jewish traditions stressed Goliath’s status as the representative of paganism, in contrast to David, the champion of the God of Israel.  Christian tradition gave him a distinctively Christian perspective, seeing in David’s battle with Goliath the victory of God’s king…   The phrase “David and Goliath” has taken on a more secular meaning, denoting [any] underdog [] contest where a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger, stronger adversary.

The article further noted this is “arguably the most famous underdog story” of all time, and that the phrase is widely used in news media, to characterize “underdog situations in every conceivable context, without religious overtones.”  The article also cited the work of Professor Leonard Greenspoon.  See  David vs. Goliath in the Sports Pages:

While most writers use the story for its underdog overtones (the little guy wins), there are rich subtleties of the biblical narrative that writers of all stripes can mine.  For example, David leaves behind his armor when he fights the militantly attired Goliath.  Where Goliath is heavy and slow, David is light and agile.  David is modest, but Goliath brags about his might…

So I guess there is some kind of object Lesson there…

 

 

David and his big-headed enemy, Goliath…

 

Notes:

*  Not to be confused with A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the comedy by William Shakespeare.  Written between 1590 and 1597, it’s “one of Shakespeare’s most popular works for the stage and is widely performed across the world.” See Wikipedia, and also Travelogue | Definition … by Merriam-Webster.

The upper image is courtesy of  One World Observatory: Curbed NY.  It’s part of the article,  It’s Official: One World Observatory Will Open May 29.  On July 13, 2015, that was five articles down from Don’t Eat at One World Trade Center’s Sky-High Restaurants.  And it was true that the place was crowded, prices were high and seating was at a minimum.

Re:  Earning aerobic points along the way.  The term “aerobics” – along with the need for cardio-vascular exercise in general – didn’t enter into popular use until 1968, some eight years after Steinbeck’s road trip.  That was with the publication of his ground-breaking book Aerobics.  See also Kenneth H. Cooper – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

The Delaware Bridge image is courtesy of https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delaware_Memorial_Bridge, which is apparently the German-language edition.

The view-of-lower-Manhattan-and-Observatory is courtesy of oneworldobservatory.com/experience.

The bottom image is courtesy of Goliath – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.  The caption:  David with the Head of Goliath, circa 1635, by Andrea Vaccaro.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, who first said – in essence – “I pity the fool!“

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March 10, 2015 – That full quote would be (from Emerson),  “I pity the fool who doesn’t do pilgrimages and otherwise push the envelope, even at the advance stage of his life.” (Or “words to that effect.”)

Which is another way of saying that this follows up my review of Robert Louis Stevenson’s book Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes.  And that’s another way of saying that my brother reviewed the last post that I did on our eight-day canoe trip back in November. (See it at Part II of the post On achieving closure.)

One conclusion was that I’d given undue credence to “the ‘pat-pat’ people of the world.” Which was another version of a quote that actually did come from Emerson, “Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist…”

Up to speed:  My brother and I did an 8-day canoe trip, starting west of the Rigolets between Lake Ponchartrain and the Gulf of Mexico.  We paddled 12 miles out into the Gulf and camped on places like Half-moon Island and Ship Island. (And an occasional salt marsh.)

We ended up in Biloxi under less-than-happy circumstances. (Picked up by a Biloxi Marine Patrol boat due to “inclement weather.”)  So, my Part II review was on me trying to “achieve closure” back in February.  (I wanted to bring the trip to a de jure happy ending, if not a de facto happy ending.) Back to my brother’s analysis:

Read your blog on the trip and I think there is one point where you give [undue] credence to the view of the “pat-pat” people of the world.  The issue is the idea that only people, “not in their right minds,” would go to places (or do things) that are unique experiences  –  ones that most others never have.  In my mind, this is exactly what people in their right mind should be doing.  I pity those who don’t.

I agreed with him about the “pat-pat” people, bu the exchange reminded me of Mr. T and his famous phrase. (Here, an imagined quote from Emerson, and below in the more familiar form.) To me the phrase “pity the fool” reflected my true feelings about stay-at-home milquetoasts who would ask, “Why would anyone want to do that?” (As in, “Why would anyone want to take an eight-day primitive-camping canoe trip 12 miles out into the Gulf of Mexico?“) For that matter, why would anyone kayak an hour out into the Gulf of Mexico, just to achieve closure?

I talked about that in Part II. “Last February 8, I drove down to Biloxi, where our eight-day canoe trip ended some three months before. I’d packed my 8-foot kayak in back of my Ford Escape. I got a motel on the beach, and next  morning set off in the pre-dawn darkness. (I wanted to close the gap between how we wanted the canoe-trip to end, and how it actually ended.)”

I described that dark morning of February 9,  with my “nagging feeling, setting out in the complete darkness, of either going off the edge of the world or being eaten by sharks.” Then came this:

Every once in a while I’d pause, turn off my stop-watch and just enjoy the feeling “of being somewhere, someplace that no one else in his right mind would ever be.” I imagine the explorers back in the olden days had something of the same feeling.

The truth is that I was very happy on that February 9 morning, paddling out from Biloxi Beach, even in the complete darkness. It was peaceful and the sunrise later on was “to die for.”  And – every once in a while, especially when I reached the turn-back point –  I’d stop paddling, enjoy the ambience and say to myself, “This is what it’s all about.”

Which brings up some things Robert Louis Stevenson – shown at right – said in his Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes.   (See also On donkey travel – and sluts.) My true feelings about such a strenuous pilgrimage – even at the advanced age of 63 – reflected pretty much was Stevenson said in Travels with a Donkey, and what John Steinbeck said in Travels with Charley.

Stevenson’s book recounted a “12-day, 120-mile solo hiking journey through the sparsely populated and impoverished areas of the Cévennes mountains in south-central France in 1878.” The book – “a pioneering classic of outdoor literature” – is said to be the basis for Travels with Charley.

So, at the end of my first review we left Stevenson at page 50 of the 197 pages of his Travels.  He’d just run across a “pair of impudent sly sluts, with not a thought but mischief.”  (Young girls about 12 from a village of people “but little disposed to counsel a wayfarer.”) Stevenson had to grope in the dark for a campsite; “the scene of my encampment was not only black as a pit, but admirably sheltered.”  He ate a crude dinner – a “tin of bologna” and some cake, washed down by brandy – then settled in for the night.  “The wind among the trees was my lullaby.”

But he woke in the morning “surprised to find how easy and pleasant it had been,” sleeping in the open, “even in this tempestuous weather.” He then waxed poetic:

I had been after an adventure all my life, a pure dispassionate adventure, such as befell early and heroic voyagers; and thus to be found by morning in a random nook in Gevaudan – not knowing north from south, as strange to my surroundings as the first man upon the earth, an inland castaway – was to find a fraction of my day-dreams realized.

(Pages 50-56, “Upper Gevaudan.”) Stevenson said pretty much the same thing I said in Part II: The dawn and sunrise was “to die for,” and that he too enjoyed the “ambience.” He experienced something that the less-adventurous – then and now – don’t know they’re missing. Something of the feelings explorers back in the olden days had. (Those “early and heroic voyagers…”) On page 64 Stevenson expanded on that thought:

Alas, as we get up in life, and are more preoccupied with our affairs, even a holiday is a thing that must be worked for.  To hold a pack upon a pack-saddle against a gale out of the freezing north is no high industry, but it is one that serves to occupy and compose the mind.  And when the present is so exacting, who can annoy himself about the future?

Indeed, “who can annoy himself about the future” when immersed in the exacting task of holding a pack atop a stubborn mule and facing a “gale out of the freezing north?”   (Or for that matter, “immersed” in paddling for hours on end, 12 miles offshore, at the mercy of the elements, with the day’s end promising nothing but a warm meal on a soggy beach, or salt marsh.  Which actually turned out to be quite rewarding…)

That’s the nature of pilgrimages. They give us a break from Real Life, from the rat race of so many today.  Which I noted in St. James the Greater. That post quoted a pilgrimage as “ritual on the move.” That through the raw experience of hunger, cold and lack of sleep, “we can quite often find a sense of our fragility as mere human beings, especially when compared with ‘the majesty and permanence of God.'”  In short, a pilgrimage can be “‘one of the most chastening, but also one of the most liberating’ of personal experiences.”

It’s hard to get that across to those who would ask, “Why would anyone want to do that?”   That’s where the “pity the fool” part comes in.  And that reminded of what Ralph Waldo Emerson said:  “Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist…” See Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and/or Ralph Waldo Emerson – Wikipedia.  Also Paragraphs 1-17 – CliffsNotes, a review of Emerson’s Self-Reliance:

Emerson begins his major work on individualism by asserting the importance of thinking for oneself rather than meekly accepting other people’s ideas…   The person who scorns personal intuition and, instead, chooses to rely on others’ opinions lacks the creative power necessary for robust, bold individualism.

John Steinbeck said it more diplomatically. He began Part Two of Travels by noting many men his age – told to slow down –  who “pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from their manhood.” (They “trade their violence for a small increase in life span.”)  That wasn’t his way:

I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage…  If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway.  I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage.  It’s bad theater as well as bad living.

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The upper image is courtesy of Ralph Waldo Emerson – Wikipedia.

The original post had a lower image is courtesy of www.jacobswell … pity-the-fool/: the “Jacob’s Well” blog, based in Memphis, Tennessee.  Jacob’s Well is “a place where people come together from different racial, economic, and cultural backgrounds to grow in the gospel and work together to overcome racism, addiction, and poverty.”  Further:

People who are hurting throughout our city have been turned off by religion and religious people.  Jacob’s Well is opening up the doors of a church, but offering a different experience.  Those living in poverty have received handouts for years, yet the conditions in our city have only grown worse.  At the same time, many enfranchised families desire to alleviate poverty in Memphis yet don’t know anyone personally who is poor.  Memphis is thirsty; the living water of Jacob’s Well is plentiful.  What better place than here?  What better time than now?

Emphasis added.  The upshot is that the blogger in Memphis seems to be a “kindred spirit.”  He’s trying to undo some of the same damage I am, by reaching out to those “turned off by religion and religious people.”  (Though I would add, “so-called religious people.”)  For further reading you can Google “faith in action,” with or without “definition” added.  See also James 2:14.  From there click on the blue “forward” icon to James 2:17.   (You just need to take care to avoid the temptation to think that you can “buy your way into heaven” or otherwise “grease the skids.”)

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Friday, February 13, 2015 – One prevailing theme in this web blog is the idea of a pilgrimage, and I’ve done a few of those myself.  This is a story from my latest pilgrimage:

In the spiritual literature of Christianity, the concept of pilgrim and pilgrimage may refer to the experience of life in the world (considered as a period of exile) or to the inner path of the spiritual aspirant from a state of wretchedness to a state of beatitude…

See “On St. James the Greater.”   (He’s the patron saint of pilgrims.)

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I just got back from a quick – hopefully last – trip to Biloxi.  The mission?  “Achieve closure.”

Just to be accurate, I “e-searched” closure and got this:  1) “the act or process of closing something, especially an institution, thoroughfare, or frontier, or of being closed,” and/or  2) a “sense of resolution or conclusion at the end of an artistic work.”  Yup, that’s it!

So I wanted to get to the pole, but I didn’t want to get there too soon.  I didn’t want to be seen “clinging to the pole,” like some decrepit old geezer who had no business being out there at that time o’ day.  Also, the waves were rolling pretty well.  That meant it would be quite an effort to either hang on to the pole by myself, or tie the canoe up to the pole, only to see it being tossed up and down, and likely to snap the connecting rope.

This saga is continued in On achieving closure – Part II.

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The original post had an upper image, a photo I took near dawn, the morning of November 10, 2014. I captioned it, “Here we are – 10 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico – at sunrise on November 10, 2014,” and noted that “those are clouds on the horizon, not land.” That day we got up and broke camp at 3:00 in the morning.  We hit the water at 5:00 a.m. and paddled 17 miles in 11 hours, not counting an hour break on Cat Island, before proceeding to Ship Island.  Not bad for a couple old geezers!

The full “mixed emotions” reference is Mixed Emotions – The Rolling Stones – YouTube.

The full “dry bag” reference is Dry bag – Wikipedia.

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The feeling I had – a bit – setting off into utter darkness on the morning of last November 8…

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Friday, February 13, 2015 – Back in “Part I” we left our intrepid travelers – or one of them – “drift-paddling toward a piling with a bright red flashing beacon-light at the top.”  He – I – waited for the sun to burn off the fog, but wasn’t in too much of a hurry, lest I be seen “clinging to the pole,” like a decrepit old geezer with no business being out there “at that time o’ day.“

In other words, I was in no hurry to actually get to the piling-beacon, on that misty, horizonless morning of November 12.  That’s why I was “drift-paddling.”

Besides, I was rather enjoying the sense of being somewhere, someplace that no one else in his right mind would ever be.  But my reverie ended when I saw a boat some distance away, near the edge of the limited-visibility horizon.  It was traveling fast at a right angle to me, and after a bit I noticed that it had some flashing blue lights.  Then – after another little bit of time passed – it swerved and made a beeline, straight toward me and my canoe…

Which brings us back to “achieving closure.”

My brother and I did eight days and 80 miles worth of canoe-paddling on our own.  We’d also camped in and on a salt marsh, and seen nature at her majestic best (and worst).  We’d seen dolphins capering, once just off our salt-marsh camp, and other times just off our bows.

I learned to live on a breakfast ration of one and a half granola bars and tepid instant coffee.  I learned to pitch a tent on a salt marsh, with water sloshing around my feet, only to find that the abundant bullrushes provided a most comfortable bed.  And I experienced that nagging feeling, in the back of my mind as we set off due south from Half Moon Island, noted above…

What “nagged me” was the feeling, as we set off into the utter darkness on the morning of November 8, that we would either fall off the edge of the earth, or “there be dragons.”

The high point of the trip was covering 17 miles in 11 hours in one long day of paddling.  (Not bad for a couple old geezers.)  But in that time I also learned that kayak-paddling is way different from canoe-paddling.  (I’d been practicing paddling a kayak in the year leading up to this particular pilgrimage.)   As I found out, canoe-paddling can be quite a bit more wearing on the abdominal muscles, especially when the paddling follows hour after hour and day after day.

Which meant that when the ol’ BMP boat picked us up, I had Mixed Emotions.  On the one hand I was relieved to get back on the mainland, away from skeeters and salt marshes and the endless rolling that permeated my dreams. (Urp!)  Yet I still had that gnawing feeling of “abiding discontent.”  And so, ever since then I’ve been planning to do something about it.

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Last Monday morning, February 9, 2015, I did it.  The night before – after a seven-hour drive – I got a room at the Motel 6 on Beach Boulevard, four-tenths of a mile west of the Mississippi Coast Coliseum.  I woke up at 5:49 – 4:49 Central Time – and found a 24-hour IHOP right down the road, for a carb-heavy breakfast.  I then carried my kayak across Beach Boulevard, over and across the long beach itself, then set out to achieve closure.  It was still dark when I started paddling out, just like on that morning of November 12, 2014.

I set off paddling on a roughly south-southeast course, determined to make sure that the Coliseum stayed visible behind me.  (But then – too late – I realized that I’d left my cell phone back in the room.  That would have been a nice thing to have, “just in case…”)

In his Travels With Charley (“TWC”), John Steinbeck noted the map people, “whose joy is to lavish more attention on the sheets of colored paper than on the colored land rolling by.”  At one point, “knowing the passions of the mapifiers,” he threw in (as a sop) a detailed account of all his map-remembered travels from Houlton down to Millinocket, Maine.

And so – since a “Suggestion from the Master is a Command not unlike Holy Writ” – I too will give such a  brief sop.  After leaving the beach across the road from my motel, I shortly passed the Old Harbor jetty to my left, and close to the “Broadwater Harbor AR” (artificial reef).  Not to mention the Coliseum Pier (a citation that may or may not be redundant).

Incidentally, if you check the “Coliseum Pier” link, the Motel 6 is right at the intersection of Highway 90 (Beach Boulevard) and Briarfield Avenue.  And if you zoom out enough you can see the whole coast from Gulfport to Deer Island.  Deer Island is that long stretch of offshore land that ends right in front of the “Hard Rock” and the Beau Rivage.  That was the Plan B we had before setting off that morning:  If we get separated, head east to Deer Island, then hang a left.

(For purposes of completeness, we left that morning from East Ship Island, the one that isn’t all touristy.  To see the full scope, check Google Maps and type in “Ship Island MS.”)

But we digress…

I’m guessing I paddled two miles out in the first hour and six minutes of my mission to achieve closure.  (That November 11-hour stretch where we covered 17 miles actually amounted to roughly six hours of actual paddling, which was still plenty.  In turn that translated to a speed of 1.546 miles an hour, but much of that 11 hours of paddling happened when the sun was up and its heat roiled wind and tide.  But when I set out last Monday, the Gulf was smooth as a baby’s bottom, as it is wont to be at that time of day.)

At first I had that same nagging feeling, setting out in the complete darkness, of either going off the edge of the world or being eaten by sharks.  But after awhile I settled in quite nicely.  I watched the sun slowly come up, off to my left at about “10 o’clock.”  (See Clock position.)

And every once in a while I’d pause, turn off my stop-watch and just enjoy the feeling “of being somewhere, someplace that no one else in his right mind would ever be.”  I imagine the explorers back in the olden days had something of the same feeling.  (One good reason to take such a trip.)

So anyway, near the end of Travels With Charley, Steinbeck explored “the nature of journeys, how they are things in themselves, each one an individual and no two alike.”  One conclusion?  “People don’t take trips – trips take people.”  He’d known trips that were “over and dead before the traveler returns.”  Like in TWC, where his  trip ended long before he got home:

I know exactly where and when it was over.  Near Abingdon, in the dog-leg of Virginia, at four o’clock of a windy afternoon, without warning or good-by or kiss my foot, my journey went away and left me stranded far from home.

Then there’s the other kind of trip.  That’s the journey that continues “long after movement in time and space have ceased.”   Steinbeck remembered the town of his birth – Salinas – where a neighbor once took a trip to Hawaii.  Ever after, the  neighbor could be seen, rocking on his porch, “his eyes squinted, half-closed, endlessly traveling to Honolulu.”

This last pilgrimage of mine had a kind of in-between ending.  It didn’t end in “Abingdon,” metaphorically or otherwise.  There was too much paddling to do, right up to the end of the eight days.  And after the BMP boat dropped us off at the Biloxi marina, there was too much packing-up to do.  Then the luxury of a long hot shower.  Then the luxury of a big steak dinner…

Even on the long drive home back in November, I had planning to do.  I knew somehow, some time, I’d get rid of the nagging feeling, that “abiding discontent and resentment.”

It had hung over me for over two months.  Then, last Monday, after an hour and six minutes paddling out from Biloxi Beach, I started getting a feeling of at least a bit of peace…

But naturally the long trip back to shore had to be a pain.  Somehow the god of headwinds always seemed to find us intrepid canoeists, whether back on the Missouri near Judith Landing, or on Lake Ponchartrain in 2013.  (We brothers have done this before.)

And so it was for me last Monday morning.

The wind and tide got more and more against me the closer I got to shore.  Finally I headed straight for the west side of the Coliseum Pier noted above, four-tenths of a mile short of my goal, but still “mainland at last.”  After hours on the water, I figured it’d be easier and less stressful to either walk the canoe through the shallows, or drag it up across the beach.

I ended doing a little of both, in an effort pretty much like what would have happened that morning of November 12.  (Assuming the horizon stayed visible, no storm came a-brewing, or that I’d remembered to take my cell phone out of the dry bag and turn it on.)

So as I carried my kayak west along Beach Boulevard, I felt like I’d done what I’d come to do. “And that’s how the traveler came home again…”

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I borrowed the upper image from The Blog, and in turn it is courtesy of tmrichmond3.net/2014/02/07/here-be-dragons.

Other full “Wiki” references: Half Moon Island (in St. Bernard Parish, LA), along with Houlton, Maine and Millinocket, Maine, from Wikipedia.  Also from Wikipedia, Mississippi Coast Coliseum, Deer Island (Mississippi) – Wikipedia, Ship Island (Mississippi), and Salinas, California.

See also smooth as a baby’s bottom – Wiktionary.

The “TWC” quotes are from Travels with Charley, Penguin Books (1980), at pages 70-71 and 272-73.  (For more on Steinbeck and TWC, see also On donkey travel – and sluts).  The “suggestion from the Master” quote is from pages 37-39, where Steinbeck spoke of Joseph Addison (1672-1719), the “English essayist, poet, playwright, and politician,” remembered as a founder of “The Spectator magazine.”  Steinbeck remembered Addison both for his use of capital letters for nouns and his observing that readers are often more interested in an author’s personal quirks and history than in the finished work itself;  “I have found many readers more interested in what I wear than in what I think.”  See Wikipedia.

I found the “Coliseum Pier” link at Biloxi piers provide great fishing opportunities.

The full citation for Judith landing is Judith Landing Recreation Area – Visit Montana.  See also Missouri River Fort Benton to Judith Landing | Trail Head.  The first pilgrimage taken by the “intrepid canoeist brothers” was also from Fort Benton to Judith Landing.

Travels with Charley ends with Steinbeck back in New York City.  (This was after his trip “left him” back in Virginia.)   He got stuck in a back street, collapsed in nervous laughter and was approached by an “old-fashioned cop with a fine red face” who thought he was drunk.  When Steinbeck explained that he’d gotten lost in his own home town, after driving “all over the country – mountains, plains, deserts,” the officer sympathized.  “Think nothing of it, Mac, I got lost in Brooklyn only Saturday.” Which brings up the last line of TWC, “And that’s how the traveler came home again.”

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