Trip Notes, America by Car,
Summer 1999

This is a really long "trip note" that takes in three months, thirty-four states,27,000 miles and sixteen National Parks. No one should be expected to wade through that, but we did it and it was more of a look at America for Misha than probably any other Czech has had. Most Americans as well. You might want to scroll it, see if there's a stopping point along our way that interests you.

Saturday, May 1st to Saturday, May 22nd

Nearly three weeks into the large-format American trip and time to catch up on some thoughts before they all fade into the haze of forgetfulness. Already that is happening. It seems as if we have been here a longer time than the days would indicate.

Touched down at Kennedy about 3PM on the 3rd of May and immediately found that America, quite the opposite of the Czech Republic, is not amenable to cash. Unable to rent a car without a credit card, no matter the offer of full cash up front. So, we caught a taxi to New York for $45 in order to catch an $18 bus to Philadelphia. Such are the economics of the first world.

Finally caught up with a landscape architectural client of mine by phone and arrangements were made to meet in Chicago prior to the opening of the play in Allentown. So now the focus was to buy a suitable car to get us to Chicago, back again and off on our national tour. We checked into a very cheap but clean hotel for the night and called on several car ads from the paper. The following afternoon was the earliest we could see an 89 Honda Accord and we checked our luggage at the bus station the following morning and spent the day visiting historic Philadelphia. At the appointed hour, a young black man showed up with what seemed a useful car---a white sedan, quite clean and well running but for the air conditioner, which was not operating. But we agreed to a $750 price and then the difficulties of the title began. Seemed he hoped to sell us a car not titled in his name and after much conversation at the Bureau of Titles, we declined the car and checked back in our more-than-modest hotel for yet another night.

Next morning we hit the streets to used car lots, somewhat dispirited yet determined to head out in the direction of Chicago before the day was done. Now time was becoming a factor with the play opening on the 14th and much to do, many miles to traveland some work to do for cash in the meanwhile. It was not a pretty sight from car lot to car lot looking at junkers, our spirits sagging further and the lost Honda looking better and better.

But we have luck, Misha and I and the luck follows us constantly like a faithful dog at our heels, always providing what is needed, sometimes in the most unlikely fashion. So it was that we came to our 4th car lot and found an '89 Chrysler New Yorker in absolutely perfect condition---all the goodies---power everything as well as air conditioning and 115,600 on the odometer. A dark blue cruisemobile available at $1,250 and we paid cash, hitting the road with the appropriate transfer plate. May 7th and free at last. We headed west, like generations of immigrants, albeit in better style.

The car runs beautifully on cruise-control, one of our tapes playing and we look and feel like rich folks, watching the sun set across the rolling hills west of Philadelphia. We stop for dinner at Pittsburgh, try unsuccessfully to get hold of old friend Noah Barnes and spend the night at Cleveland. We call friends in Lake Forest the following morning and they are expecting us. I introduce Misha to Chicago from the far south side along the lakefront, one of my favorite approaches to the city and we drive the entire shoreline all the way to Lake Forest. She is impressed by the beauty of the city and I am proud of the city that impresses her. It seems Chicago is cleaner and more well polished each time I visit. It's great to see my friends, who become her friends as well.

Next morning, Saturday the 8th we meet the client's architect at the house and a magnificent place it is, situated on the edge of Indian Hill Country Club. A 1914 mansion he's extensively updated. He's surprisingly young, perhaps early thirties and his skills as an architect are impressive. Very easy guy and we get along well. I spend the afternoon and most of the next day at his office, roughing out schemes for various aspects of the project in anticipation of meeting the client Sunday evening. Turns out to be a surprise as well---friendly, young, handsome and a very wealthy broker with no arrogance at all. We will get on well. He likes the schemes and we agree to meet the next day to tour nurseries and look at plant material. The friends we're staying with will have left early Monday for a horse show in Lexington, so Misha will spend the day relaxing at their home to which they have graciously left keys. Monday goes well, the client delighted and accepts a bill of $2,000 for expenses and $2,750 in hourly fees, so our trip is adequately financed. I will keep in touch from the road and there will no doubt be more work. I'm late getting back to Lake Forest---nearly 8PM and Misha waits at the window.

Tuesday, May 11th we wait until almost 3PM for Fed EX to deliver some stuff from L.L. Bean that includes self-inflating air mattresses for our camping comfort. We hit the road and once more make Cleveland on the way back to the play. Wednesday early evening on the 12th brings us to Allentown and we find that the Pennsylvania Playhouse is actually in Bethlehem. On the off-chance that the actors are rehearsing at night, we walk in the Playhouse at about seven and find Colors in rehearsal. We're greeted like visitors from the Moon, with hugs and much exclamation all around. This is a great amateur group with terrific energy between casts of the three plays. Roberta Moyer, the producer, gets us a reservation at Howard Johnson's and we watch my play as well as the two others in rehearsal. Mine and the second, a comedy, are very cool, but the third is a bit too experimental and abstract for my understanding. We meet everyone after rehearsal and gratefully fall into bed at the motel after a late dinner at Perkins.

Thursday, May 13th is spent for the most part at the Allentown Public Library catching up on e-mails and and phoning Anthony, Katie and Brad. After much cross-pollinated negotiation, Brad and Anthony decide to come up from New York on Saturday and spend the night. Katie will be busy with other stuff and unable to come, but we get hold of Noah and he will fly in Saturday with sometime girlfriend Mara. That should be interesting---Mara is last year's girlfriend who seemed so unstrung and difficult when he was with us in Prague. But it will be a great group to have together and allows us to suffer through the opening night alone. Thursday night is a dress-rehearsal, lighting and all that Roberta has taped and gives us a copy. Not European format, but we can probably have it converted or copied. All goes well and I am relaxed. It's amazing to see my written work played and the director, Vinnie Foti, hasn't changed a word so far as I can tell. The actor's thoughts are not pre-recorded as I had hoped, but spoken by other actors seated on stools above and behind the main characters. It works so well that if I had the choice I would do it this way---there's a wonderful secondary energy that takes place back there. Opening night on Friday the 14th is fun with an audience and I'm told for the first time that each playwright will get $100, with an additional $50 to the play that wins an audience vote over the three days. The second play is a very funny Jewish satire and I am sure it will be the favorite.

Saturday morning, May 15th we meet Anthony and Brad at the bus and kick around in the park all day, catching up on what's new in their lives. Brad's got a good job with an ad agency, producing music for TV advertising and Anthony starts a three year graduate program in creative writing at the University of Indiana. He and Julie have a house rented and it'll be good for him---time to write and networking to be done. Brad gets burned sleeping in the sun and worries about it endlessly until it becomes our mantra for the weekend. We pick up Noah and Mara at the airport and go immediately to the play. I'm growing weary of it by now and our seats are not the best, but everyone enjoys it and Anthony tells me he's proud of me, which means a lot. Writers are asked up for curtain calls with the cast and that's fun. There's a small reception afterward each night and people are generous with their comment and that's nice as well. We stay up until 3AM at the motel bullshitting and Mara proves us wrong about her influence on Noah---a thoughtful and very intelligent lady. The conversation, as often happens, gets touchy at times but it's great to have these good friends together and we hope to see them again on the back side of the trip. Sunday everyone is gone early and we take a drive through the countryside. The play has its last performance and Colors wins the audience popularity contest and the extra fifty bucks.

Monday we're off at last, the play and Chicago work behind us. A lovely drive through countryside and Amish country, stopping at our first KOA between Baltimore and Annapolis. We stay two nights and relax a bit, driving in to the waterfront development in Baltimore the first night. Baltimore is hardly the city I first saw 35 years ago---no longer a city on the downgrade, it's wonderfully alive and well, prosperous and beautiful. The harbor, the first Rouse development of its kind is exciting, romantic and dazzling. We catch a harbor water-taxi to Fell's Point, walk to Little Italy and have dinner. On the walk back there's a dicey few minutes with a young black panhandler but all works out and the evening's a pleasure start to finish.

Tuesday was our Washington day and once we found the Mall we opted for a get-on, get-off tour bus. That made the requisite acknowledgment and explanation of various government buildings easy and relatively painless. The Smithsonian complex was awesome, but would take a month merely to penetrate. A day too loaded to be pleasurable, but we tailed it off with the Roosevelt, Vietnam and Lincoln Memorials. First I'd seen the recently completed FDR Memorial and it's a magnificent piece of work, doing full justice to a man who should have been thus honored long ago. But we agreed that Washington, while on the 'must see' list was tiresome ad generally disagreeable. Not so Annapolis, which we might well have missed were it not for the KOA receptionist who pronounced it 'not even an option.' As it turned out she was right, Annapolis surely among the most charming of towns on the East Coast. Capitol of Maryland, the Statehouse served as national capitol between the time of Williamsburg and Washington. The setting of this beautiful building as well as the Governor's Mansion are both within the confines of a circular brick-paved street and are timeless in their presentation. General Washington resigned his commission in the Continental Army here. A very appropriate ending to the tiresome day in D.C.

Wednesday, May 19th and we're off to Erskine Bedford's farm in Middleburg and then on to the Skyline Drive cresting the Blueridge Mountains of Virginia. Erskine was a long time friend recently killed in a fall during a foxhunt and the stop is as much to pay respects to that friendship as anything. A large part of my novel EVOKE is set in Middleburg, the color drawn from Ersky's life.

Route 50 west from Washington has changed from the old sleepy two-lane road to an endlessness of divided four-lane divided highway---each small town having exploded into upscale housing, car dealerships and shopping malls. It reverts to pretty much its old character ten miles east of Middleburg and the lovely rolling country I remember. We lunch at the Red Fox Inn and get general directions to Ersky's, not sure yet of whether we will visit his grave, but wanting to see the old place in its new splendor. The roads are confusing out there, winding and still groveled, but after another stop for direction we find it, not in splendor but the fine old state of disrepair and gracious dilapidation I remember. Improvement must have been mostly a matter of interiors. We drive in the long main entry and nose back into the stable area where several horses are in evidence and the stables have that mid day between-chores look. No one appears and we elect to be on our way rather than poke around further. It is enough to have been there once more where Ersky spent his happiest days. The car wears a heavy coat of road dust, the entry fee for back roads.

Catching the Skyline Drive at Front Royal, we wander down through these lovely mountains at a leisurely 35 mph, taking in scenic overview after scenic overview. Misha is delighted at every turn. We exit at Waynesboro and head east toward Charlottesville, checking out the Jefferson designed buildings at the University of Virginia and taking our dinner at Aunt Sarah's, a roadside joint specializing in southern cooking. The university is awesome. If I ever become famous as a writer and the possibility of teaching presents itself, Jefferson's spectacular university would be the place.

We head out for Williamsburg late, after another wonderful KOA campsite. KOA is an organization I wish existed in Europe, a standard of excellence one may depend upon for clean and friendly facilities, always with hot showers and laundry rooms.

Thursday, May 20th and we tour Williamsburg, which is as lovely as ever and gives Misha some idea of the history and lifestyle of the times. But it's very hot and we are glad to be back on the road by mid-afternoon. Looking at options and ahead, rather than behind schedule, we decide to backtrack to Monticello and see Jefferson's home. We pull in early to the Charlottesville KOA, head out to WalMart for some necessary supplies and once again dinner at Aunt Sarah's, where Misha is fed to a standstill on liver and onions, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits and salad. I have the scrapple and eggs, a southern specialty.

Friday, May 21st and we spend the early part of the day at Monticello, savoring the gardens, architecture and history of this remarkable man. Almost a shrine for me, I count Jefferson at the very pinnacle of human awareness, intellect and achievement. Back to Waynesboro, we drive the Blueridge Parkway to National Bridge, where we put up for the night.

Saturday, May 22nd and the battery is dead, an unexpected event as the car has shown no sign of weakness. From here on, we'll disconnect the refrigerator overnight. The Koolatron has proven indispensable for keeping food and drinks cold and contributes greatly to our budget, allowing us to buy in food stores instead of restaurants. We take off for Charleston, where we are booked in for three nights of camping, to catch our breath and spend some hammock time before the road to Florida. That evening we see Charleston by streetlamp and the whole gracious lifestyle of the Old South spreads itself before us. Grand homes with streetside doors that open onto two storied open verandahs---very elegant, very practical.

Sunday, May 23rd, a rest day of loafing about, swinging in the hammock and time spent poolside. Dinner and a stroll once again in Charleston.

Monday, May 24th. Another lazy day that filled itself with the necessary chore of laundry and a side trip to Magnolia Plantation. One of the most visited sites of its kind, in the constant ownership of the Drayton family since the 1600's. Burned by lightning in the early 1700's, destroyed by Sherman's troops in the Civil War and once since by earthquake, the plantation exists by the sheer determination of the owners. Drayton was something of a rebel among slave owners, teaching his slaves to read and write in spite of a law preventing such education and providing living quarters unknown at that time for their quality. When Sherman's troops came through, Drayton was away from the plantation and his black manager hid all the household valuables prior to the burning of the home and crops. With a rope around his neck, their location was demanded and he is said to have replied "they are neither yours nor mine and I will not tell you." Impressed by his loyalty, they let him live. When the troops left, he walked 250 miles to where Drayton was staying and told him the house was burned, but his valuables safe and his 300 slaves awaited his return. There are many sides to the slavery issue. Audubon spent months at a time for many years at Magnolia Plantation drawing various birds and animals.

Tuesday, May 25th and we are up reasonably late, to have a new fuel filter installed on Oscar and leave for St. Augustine, Florida. A beautiful day once again. St. Augustine proves to be well worth the visit, although the campground is our first disappointment, somewhat shabby but adequate. Just a bit old I guess, as is the city. Lovely, predominantly Spanish influenced architecture, the old fort and some buildings dating back to the 1500's. America's oldest city. A very quiet little town, but Florida generally is becoming pretty quiet, the tourist season well over.

Wednesday, May 26th and we are up and on the road early, having decided to drive entirely around the Florida peninsula instead of heading immediately toward New Orleans. We breakfast on the road, a habit we hope to sustain should the budget permit, as breakfast is a large and relatively cheap meal. We wander the coastal highway as typical look at this, look at that tourists. This part of northern Florida still has large stretches of undeveloped waterfront and we stop in the afternoon to walk an entirely deserted beach, watching pelicans dive, collecting shells and being chased by waves in a warm ocean. It's delightful. The Palm Beach KOA turns out to be directly next to Lion Country Safari and we're awakened before dawn by the roar of lions. Setting up camp last night was an adventure in the dark, lit by the headlights of the car and swarmed by mosquitoes. Dinner in Palm Beach, very elegant and attractive.

Thursday, May 27th on the road early again, breakfasting at a strip mall Dunkin Donuts, so typically Florida trashy and fascinating, then on to Interstate 95 for a change. Off at Miami Beach to see the restored Art Deco district. It's not quite as cool as I remembered, but nice enough, all pretty pastel shades of blues and pinks and greens. We have a lemonade poolside at one of the hotels, have a quick look at the beach and take off across palm lined Miami, connecting with Route 1 to Key West. It's a long drive and very hot. The air conditioner's working fine, but the sun is right in our laps and it's a blistering but lovely drive. 300 miles later we find the Sugarloaf Key KOA, get camps set up and drive into Key West for dinner.

The unspoiled sections of Key West are a wonder of simple American residential design, from clapboard cottage to elaborate Victorian. Porches are the order of the day, balustrades, pickets and columns surrounding these charming homes on both first and second level, all awash in tropical foliage and palms. For the second time (since seeing Charleston) it occurs to us that our hoped for home in the mountains must have an open porch.

Otherwise, Key West is everything I dislike in a tourist culture---too busy, too junky, loud and expensive. We watch the sun set at the waterfront, see Bo the Labrador walk his tightrope, watch a lovely old schooner cross in front of the island and a Princess cruise boat back away from the dock. There is a signpost marking the southernmost tip of America, 90 miles from Cuba. We find a lovely old mansion with a garden dining space and have dinner in lush warmth among palms and strung white lights---it's really quite charming. Then back to camp, where it's tough to sleep---very still and very hot.

Friday, May 28th and I can't locate my swimsuit, so we drive into Key West to buy one and end up suiting Misha instead. We stroll a bit, past Truman's Winter White House and I am reminded once again what a man of simple pleasure he was. Dear old Harry---I miss him, as many of us do in these more hectic times. Or do they merely seem more hectic---certainly Harry's days of the bomb and Korea were hectic enough. There's nothing reasonable available for breakfast, so we head back and stop by the side of the road at Baby's Coffee, a joint that proves a good value as well as friendly and pleasant. My swimsuit problem is solved right here at the KOA store for twelve bucks, so it was a $75 morning, but I guess when we run out of money we'll begin to economize.

Our trusty Chrysler is turning out to be an outrageous value, running like a wristwatch since I installed the fuel filter in Charleston. The day is spent poolside, a place I normally avoid, but it proves to be the restful day we both need. Tomorrow we vow more of the same and no more side trips.

But the restful day turns into a nightmare that evening after a lovely drive along the northward Keys, watching the bridge fishermen. The camp is filling to the brink and well beyond the brink, every camper and trailoring car filled with noisy and determined partygoers, hell bent on filling every moment of the Memorial Day weekend with activity. On top of that, the night is deathly still (air, not noise wise) and the inside of the tent unbearably hot. The Camp Manager, in preparation for this busiest of weekends, has disappeared to his house, leaving a single beleaguered check-in girl at the gate. Radios and boom boxes blare, camps are constantly being set and instructions hollered from one to another. At 2 a.m., four hours past quiet hours, deputy sheriffs are called in to close the kiddie park. We are furious, helpless, miserably hot and sleepless as well. I think I slept from 3:15 to 5:15 and then woke in the near panic of suffocation, needing to get out of the tent at any cost. I wander, smoke, watch a religious channel that's been left on the TV in the bar and wait for the sun to come up. We'd have left long ago but for the prepaid night we need to get back and that means 8 a.m. when the office opens. Finally we break camp, have breakfast at a delightfully cool hotel dining room and come back for the money. They apologize and refund the current night as well.

Saturday, May 29th and we're headed north once again, the car air conditioning having quit and a holiday weekend underway. At Marathon, the Chevron station has a one bay garage, the lone mechanic sweating over a welding job. He is a sweetheart---wipes his brow, dives under the hood and comes up with a well fried and broken belt. He directs us a half mile down the highway to a parts store, we pick up the belt, return and he installs it for us. Our luck it seems is endless and we're air conditioned once more and headed north.

The southbound lanes of the Key bridges are an endless stream of weekenders and we can only speculate at the chaos of the camp we've left. It's blazingly hot and very humid. Back on the mainland, we head out Route 41 across the Everglades, stopping for a sandwich at the Micosukee Indian Tribal restaurant. Just down the road they offer 40 minute airboat rides back into the Everglades for $7 and we decide to go. It's an exhilarating experience, thrilling and exotic to skim across vast areas of water grass at great speed, bringing up herons and other water birds.

Camping at Naples, exhausted, we drive into and around this lovely old city, then walk the beach and watch the sun set from the fishing pier. A pelican gives us a great fishing show, the light is wonderful, the beach broad and long. Back at camp, it's cool and far less humid, a strong breeze blowing. We sleep luxuriously for ten hours.

Sunday, May 30th, refreshed and well rested, we get on I-75 to make some time up the long Florida west coast. Well above Tampa we angle over to the coast and by late afternoon pull into the Homosassa Springs State Wildlife Park, which promises manatees in their natural environment. The State and National parks do a wonderful and non-commercial job of such things and we're not disappointed. Homosassa offers an underwater viewing area to observe the beautiful sea cows, as well as abundant other forms of Florida wildlife in a well maintained and uncrowded park. Deciding to drive well into the night, we are on the road again until about 10:30 when we pull into the first motel we've allowed ourselves since Allentown.

Monday, Memorial Day, May 31st we're away early again and I-10 is crowded, as one would expect on this holiday weekend. I've been amazed at how observant Americans have become of the speed laws. Our own circumstance of driving an untitled and uninsured car, along with my several week expired driver's license makes us extra cautious in this regard, but others are usually very close to the limit as well and there are surprisingly few maniacs on the road. Traffic piles up at Mobile, Alabama due to roadwork, but once clear of that we complete a fairly uninteresting day on the road and arrive in New Orleans about seven.

The KOA here turns out to be the most pleasant and well run thus far in the trip and we book in for two nights. After setting up, we head for the French Quarter, driving in along the levee to St. Charles Avenue. Spectacularly beautiful mansions line the sides of St. Charles. We get a bit lost, but find our way in time for a Cajun style dinner at one of the less pricey joints and then saunter down Bourbon Street. Bourbon is nearly all that's left of the Quarter that's safe anymore at night and the character of the place has deteriorated severely. Rock Bop is nearly all that can be heard, blaring from one sleazy joint to another. It's too bad Herzbach has left town, as I'm sure with a proper guide we could have had a much more enjoyable time in the Quarter and New Orleans neighborhoods as well.

But it's great fun and spectacle anyway and we do come across a good New Orleans jazz presentation joint with a delightful quintet. We sit through several sets, buy a CD and feel some connection with the Quarter of other times.

Tuesday, June 1st Misha suggests a drive up one side of the Mississippi to Baton Rouge and down the other to take a recommended plantation tour of sorts. The river is leveed all the way, so we don't see much actual water, but I'm shocked at how clean and green the many refineries and chemical plants are, their loading structures bridging the road at various points in a fascinating architecture of elevated structure. Scattered among these industrial oases are the preserved remnants of truly grand plantation houses, all of them open to the public and a number available as bed-and-breakfasts as well.

The Randolph Plantation is certainly among the most grand in the old south, , some 135 rooms, 20 foot ceilings, grandly appointed rooms offering plaster detail to take the breath away. Built in the ten year period between 1849 and 1859, it was completed a mere three years before the outbreak of war. Somehow it was spared the utter and complete destruction awaiting so many of its neighbors and stands today in splendor, completely furnished with the family heirlooms and in a meticulous state of preservation. Unlike the castles of Europe, these grand mansions somehow maintained a delicacy of scale that makes them comfortably livable as residences. They are perhaps unique in American residential architecture.

We stop at the library in Baton Rouge to check our e-mails, then cruise down the western bank to New Orleans, take our picnic dinner at the campground and then drive in to wander St. Charles Street by night, enjoying the warmth of the evening.

Wednesday, June 2nd and we get away a bit behind schedule for our appointed lunch date with Marshall Mugnier in LaFayette, but find we have neglected to turn our watches back to the new time zone and are thereby accorded the additional hour we need. During our stay in New Orleans, we have been an hour ahead everywhere and not even noticed. I regret that we are unable to take the leisurely coastal route through the bayou back country of Cajun Louisiana, but I-10 gives us ample opportunity to see the swampland from long stretches of elevated parkway. Marshall's directions are accurate and we pull in to his garden center headquarters precisely at noon.

I haven't seen Marshall in fifteen years and although he sports a full gray beard, he's remarkably unchanged from the vibrant and interesting man I last knew. It turns out he has a daughter being married this weekend and our meeting must necessarily be brief. We catch up on old times, meet Sandy for lunch, chat a bit afterward back at the office and take off for Avery Island about four, having been promised a visit to Prague and more leisurely visit to our home. We are too late for the Tabasco plant tour at Avery and decide to camp in the area, making the tour the next morning prior to taking off for Austin.

Thursday, June 3rd and a month to the day since we have arrived. The month just past is certainly not a blur, but remembered in great detail. It's just that we have accomplished so much that it's hard to remember not being here---seems like a very long way back to our Prague departure. Avery Island is as I remember, except that the Tabasco plant tour is now behind glass instead of a full production-floor tour. We drive through the gardens and head towards Austin, making maximum time on the Interstate, catching Houston in the full bloom of rush hour and stopping to call Charles to tell him we'll be late.

Arrive Austin at 9 p.m. and Charles arranges to meet us at a marina to lead us home. We joke that we feel like drug dealers, parked in a secluded area of a parking lot, parking lights on, waiting for our connection. Charles arrives momentarily and it's great to see one another again. We sit on the back deck at his perfectly situated small home, catching up, bullshitting and then gratefully collapsing to bed.

Friday, June 4th, a day of alternately hanging out and brief excursions to the Austin environs. State Capitol, a jewel of a small city offering extensive cultural and recreational activity. We check out Gone With The Wind at the local rental outfit to give Misha a further overview of plantation life and the agony associated with the Civil War. Once again, we're late to bed.

Saturday, June 5th and breakfast tacos are the order of the morning, well smothered in salsa. Charles gives us an extensive tour of the lake network that surrounds and divides Austin. In the evening we drive downtown to see the Saturday night activity and find the 'college strip' awash in motorcycles. The Texas Motorcycle Association get together, 10,000 bikes gathered, predominantly Harleys and quite a sight, packed three deep on both sides of the blocked street for a quarter mile.

Sunday, June 6th and Jeanine and Nancy, a couple of Charles' close friends join us on the deck for lunch. Lovely, interesting, easy people, just as one might expect to be friends with this lovely, easy, interesting man. All afternoon we lay about the deck. Misha and I have gone food shopping for dinner and prepare a butterflied leg of lamb, marinated and cooked on the Weber grill accompanied by corn on the cob, giant ripe tomatoes and Vidalia onions. Huge ripe strawberries for dessert. For years I have described this to Misha as my favorite summer 'American' dinner and finally I have the chance to deliver it for her approval. She approves.

Monday, June 7th and Charles has chores to do preparatory to his current consulting job, so the entire day is spent lazing about the deck, playing with Mischa the cat and listening to the wind chimes. Charles has created a peaceful oasis and we are the happiest of temporary residents. We try to show the video of the play, but it's a disaster of poor sound and bad lighting so we decide to throw it out rather than expose it to our friends. That evening we chat, watch an Elmore Leonard movie and turn in fairly early to begin tomorrow the resumption of our journey. The laundry gets done as well in preparation.

Tuesday, June 8th and we say farewell to Charles and Austin on the day we had planned to arrive, so we're a few comfortable days ahead of schedule. On the road toward Santa Fe and we decide to overnight in Lubbock, Texas, some 450 miles along the way. The country is at first rolling and pleasant, then begins to flatten and rearrange itself as the desolate west Texas familiar in cowboy films. We roll into the Lubbock KOA in early evening and set up camp in a building wind, staking the corners carefully, the western sky showing the threat of a storm front approaching.

Getting directions to the local best west Texas barbecue joint, we find it to be a charming and derelict old ranch house, surrounded by adobe walled dining terraces, old Hank Williams tapes playing softly in the background. The evening is cool, the barbecue delicious, the waiter delightfully friendly and thoughtful. We are among the last customers of the evening and the locals as they leave are all smiling 'good night, y'alls' and tipped hats. The warmth is genuine and we take on a whole new impression of Lubbock. Dinner over, we can't help but take a few photos and play with the cat that follows us to the car. The wind is up again and we are treated to a spectacular lightning show across the endless horizon. A constancy of flashes behind a huge bank of dark cloud, mesmerizing in its size and scale.

Back at camp the wind is threatening to lift the tent with us inside and we batten down for a wild night. The air is fresh and cool, we are snug and when the rain hits, it's hard and fairly brief. We slide into sleep having experienced a near perfect evening.

Wednesday, June 9th and we're away early, packing a wet tent and stopping or breakfast burritos just down the road. Then it's away across the west Texas flatland, watching the horizon widen. I stop to show Misha what a cattle-guard is all about and we get the feel of the land by standing briefly in its endlessness. Lovely stark country that brings understanding of the term wide open spaces. Mesas and foothills begin to appear as we approach our campsite at Las Vegas, New Mexico where we book in for a couple of nights. We're in early enough to set up camp and head for Santa Fe about 50 miles away.

I am prejudiced against Santa Fe as the newest best place where the moneyed and beautiful people live, but it's charming in its way, although the number and elegance of galleries and shops is a bit off-putting. The Indian art, silver, ceramics and weaving is almost too much to take in and yet there is a huge resurgence of young native American artisans who hold their own against the superior craftsmen of the world. It's a pleasure to see them doing well---more than well, taking their place among the elite, their wealth and reputation based upon impressive skills. The old days of exploitation seem well behind them and there's pleasure in that. If our dream home is built, Santa Fe would be a place to furnish it, at least partially. But we are done with the town in an afternoon and look forward tomorrow to spending the day in the area of Taos.

Thursday, June 10th and we leisured our way up by back road to the area of Taos, stopping at an alpaca ranch to see the animals and it cost us a lovely $30 pullover for Misha that will take the chill off mountain mornings. Hand loomed and soft to the skin, very handsome in dark blue and green. Taos is minimally changed in the fifteen or so years since I have been there, a very livable and small scaled Santa Fe, with much better access to skiing and the mountains. We passed several high meadow ranches with superior grass and water---perfect cattle country. The entire trip was luxuriously beautiful. A side trip to the Taos pueblo, the oldest remaining in the land and dating to the 16th century gave us the key to the origins of adobe architecture. Somewhat refined today perhaps, but the design remains timeless and particularly appropriate to this part of the country. Dave Grundy (KOA cook, duckhunter) promises a visit to Prague.

Friday, June 11th we're away to Mesa Verde after a pancake breakfast. Life is made up of random chance and it's a suggestion of Misha's to stop again in Santa Fe to see the Korinsky shop that had such remarkable Tiffany style lighting and was closed two days ago. We park the car and on the way there are attracted into a gallery by what appears to be several decorated ceramic columns. What follows is an introduction to the work of George Alexander, a Santa Fe ceramicist. The columns are but a part of his genius work. Vases, mirrors, wall pieces all of the most delicately beautiful flower motifs---large pieces, elegant pieces, extravagantly eye-popping art that is beyond description and must be seen to be understood. Six to twenty-five thousand a pop and one salivates to own merely one example.

Excited by the wonder of his talent, we walk on down through the square to Korinsky's. His shop is beautiful, the work we admired that of a Danish artist. We plop down in a couple of comfortable chairs and soak it all in. Sidney Korinsky, the fortiesh owner, strides the room engaged in conversation on the phone and when he's done we ask if the name is Czech. Russian Jew he explains and we begin a conversation that introduces Misha as a Czech and develops into a discussion of Czech glass and his desire to expand the shop in that direction, or even open a second shop devoted specifically to glass. He is a delightful, dynamic businessman, deeply interested in the art behind the product and we talk seriously of becoming his Czech representative for the export of product. He is specific as are we and the information is exchanged so that we may be back in contact as soon as we arrive home.

The opportunity is huge for Misha, initially with my help and eventually to develop a business that would be attractive as well as profitable. We discuss the possibilities all day long as we drive and agree that life depends upon such accidental moments. If he had not been in the shop or been busy with customers, if Misha hadn't suggested stopping on a morning we were headed elsewhere, it would have never happened. We agree that immediate priority for this is necessary when we return, as he needs product for the Christmas season.

The balance of the day is just one magnificent vista after another, the country changing constantly all the way to Mesa Verde. We set camp for two nights, have dinner at a Cortez Chinese restaurant and then turn in to a chill and isolated Colorado night.

Saturday, June 12th and in the morning routine the wristband of my watch is somehow severed by the trunk lid closing. A trip to Garcia Jewelry in town finds it fixed in no time with a smile, no charge and a 'thank you for giving us the opportunity, have a nice trip.' Western friendship and hospitality. We spend a full day in the Mesa Verde Park with several excellent guided tours of the cliff dwellings and amazing canyon views of the area. I blush at the mention of 'a whole day,' as if that were extravagant. One could (and many do) spend months in any of these fabulous national parks.

Mesa Verde is a platform from which several states can be seen, a farming-hunting civilization of extreme complexity and sophistication at 8,500 feet that vanished some 600 years ago. The tour guides are native American (a recent innovation), the one with a deep sense of the religious culture, the other more a pragmatist---both easy going, sincere and knowledgeable. It is a day full of ancient spirits and by nightfall we are too exhausted to eat, slipping gratefully to bed.

Sunday, June 13th and we breakfast in the shopping center parking lot on fresh baked cinnamon rolls, then head to WalMart for windshield wiper inserts and another case of oil. Oscar runs like a well oiled machine---about a quart every tankful, but he's such a sweetheart. The inserts are mindlessly complicated with small metal stabilizers that are impossible to hold together and after much frustration, we get on the road wiperless. Misha comments that my hands are shaking. The drive to Arches National Park takes about four hours and at Moab we solve the wiper blade problem with entirely new blades---no more expensive than the inserts---thanks, WalMart. Insurance against rain.

The sun comes up, the sun goes down---just one damned thing after another.

Arches is spectacular (sorry, running out of adjectives here), but they all are, these national parks and this is for the most part a drive-through and look experience. We have a brief argument at an eight-mile walking loop. Misha wants to go 'touch' these ancient monuments and get the up close and personal experience, but I know what is ahead of us and how huge these parks are. A month in Yellowstone would give merely an impression and we don't have a month. The compromise is that we go partway, she acknowledges the impossibility and we return to our car oriented observation. It's fruitless to try to explain Arches, it must be seen and experienced.

The balance of the day is a hard, but incredibly beautiful drive to Bryce Canyon-Zion, Utah, some 450 miles by day's end. At a scenic overlook, Indians have spread blankets of handcrafts and we buy a lovely lapis pendant for Misha for $10. On a trip we had generously (we thought) predicted at 10,000 miles, we have just passed the 9,000 mile mark and are not yet at Grand Canyon. The car is a delight, eating the miles in comfort and the grand style of a typical big American cruising sedan.

Monday, June 14th and the toilet-shower area of the campground proves not to be up to standard. Unusual, and we will use the facilities in the RV area tomorrow. Most of those folks use their own units. Anyway, we're booked into Grand Canyon for Tuesday and Wednesday and the priority now is to get hold of Neil & Debz by e-mail, as we will probably be in LA by Friday.

After breakfast, it was a long pull up over a 10,000 foot pass and then down into Bryce Canyon National Park. Bryce is pretty much a drive through park with well defined viewpoints of the spectacular stalagmite-type rock formations. Red Canyon opens the way, a delicious appetizer for what is to come. What to say? It is all quite spectacular as are each of the parks (perhaps that's why they are parks) and one tires of superlatives. On and off showers provide an unusual backdrop.

On the way back, we pause at Navaho Lake to watch the fishermen, then are once again held up by one-way road repair. The halt is directly across from what looks to be a popular steakhouse and we say to hell with the budget and pull in. It has a lovely old timbered interior, the requisite mounted fish and animals, friendly service by candlelight and the nest (and only) prime rib I've had since leaving the states. We cruise back into Cedar City well fed and happy, pick up some groceries, wash the car and catch Life Is Beautiful at the local movie theatre. There is one other couple watching the $3 movie, which turns out to be Life Is Sheer Hell If You Are An Italian Jew At The Time Of The Holocaust. We both come out sobered at yet one more example of Nazis doing unspeakable things and I'm a long time talking Misha down from her tears to the ability to sleep. This must be a woman's movie. Susan recommended it, Misha was moved and I found it to be pretty much another cheap-shot tear jerker on an overplayed subject.

But the prime rib was great and so also was Bryce.

Tuesday, June 15th and we stop at the public library in Cedar City but are unable to access our e-mail. On to Zion National Park about an hour away, a cliff environment quite different from Bryce with a lovely bottom-of-canyon drive that gives an impression of what must be seen at Grand Canyon if only one were at river level.

We decide to see the little visited north rim of Grand Canyon and take 89-A on a long journey whose route will have to be retraced. Up long grades from the 5,000 foot high desert, we enter into majestic old pine forests at the higher level and picnic among them in mid afternoon. Winding forested roads open into huge mountain meadows surrounded by woods and it seems the edge of the canyon will be wooded, which is a surprise to me. I had expected desert plateaus to the edge.

The canyon appears unexpectedly through the trees and all superlatives are useless. It merely inspires silence, awe and a taking of breath. One can only imagine what the original explorers felt, coming upon it by horseback with no foreknowledge. There are a half dozen view points and some excellent opportunities to stand at the very edge.

We leave about a quarter to six and find to our surprise that the town of Williams, Arizona and our campsite is still 200 miles away. The roads are winding two-lanes with mostly 55 and 65 mph limits and I'm tired as darkness comes on. But we make it into campsite about 11:30, after a number of coffee stops, set up camp by headlights and the sleeping is not only welcome, but cool and delightful.

Wednesday, June 16th and we laze about in the morning, I read my second newspaper of the trip and we do a laundry. UN troops are entering Kosovo unopposed, atrocities are being documented and the Grand Canyon remains unchanged. Heading for the south rim about two in the afternoon, it's a disaster of tourists by the busload and endless parking lot jam. That might be worth it if the canyon showed another face to us, but it's nearly identical to the fantastic presentation at the north rim, minus the timber and meadows.

We wander from site to site and on the way back decide to see the I-Max production of the film by National Geographic. Geo it seems just never drops the ball and Hidden Secrets Of The Canyon is no exception. Looking over the rim of the canyon is like looking at a pretty woman. Hidden Secrets is like making love to her. The canyon cannot be fully experienced without seeing this fine film.

Back at camp, we make calls to Neil, Stuart and Jeff, arranging our California visits. Then hamburgers (excellent) at the cookout, conversation with two locals (Bud & Lin) who retired to the high desert from Phoenix to live a very basic and isolated life near Williams. Fiddle, guitar and banjo music is provided in the old amateur local way. In bed late (for us) by eleven.

Thursday, June 17th and we're off for LA to see Neil & Debz for a couple hours before tomorrow's trip up the coast. For the first and only time, the desert drive is uninteresting, hot, long and incredibly drab. We get into smogbound LA by middle afternoon and thread our way by cluttered expressway to cluttered expressway, finally arriving at Pasadena to call and get directions.

Neil & Debz's little cottage in Echo Park is just what it should be---a bit tumbled down and artfully scattered with cool stuff. Porches front and back, a porch swing in the front, lemon tree, lots of birds and flowers. Debz's parents are there---we have met them before in Prague and they're great. Neil gets home late from work, Thai food is ordered and the general and political discussion takes us late into the night. Their lives are just as they should be, easy and creative. We camp out in the back room in sleeping bags on the floor and are persuaded to stay an extra day.

Friday, June 18th and we're away early to leave Debz and her parents time together. Exploring day in LA, which includes the Venice Library for e-mail access, a great open air market where we buy strawberries, Venice Beach, Hollywood Boulevard's star-studded excesses, the Observatory and a few upscale drives in the hills. Dinner back home is grilled salmon, strawberries, wine and more conversation into the late hours.

Saturday, June 19th and we coffee up, say our good-byes and hit the road for San Simeon. Stopping for late breakfast in Malibu, we get a look at the local glitizenry and are happy to be living in our beautifully isolated Czech Republic. A great day driving up the coast, but it's more winding and complicated than I remember and we don't get to San Simeon until nearly five, the last tours of Hearst Castle over for the day.

We see the National Geo I-Max version of the Castle story, find a state campground down the road, set up and then strike out for dinner. Serendipity takes over once again and we reject several restaurants as too ordinary and pricey, settling well upcoast for a place with excellent food and a view. It ain't cheap either, but seems worth it. Our waiter, David Hill, is a slice off the Prague expat loaf and sure enough, he was there in 92-93 laboring in the hinterlands and spending some precious time in Prague. We exchange cards and invite him to come stay with us. He probably will---getting ready for the next much needed trip away. He's a photographer and a hell of a nice young guy---we hope to see him.

Sunday, June 20th and we see the castle---fascinating place and just as it was when Hearst was there, entertaining the world. Our guide is excellent and brings the place easily to life. The balance of the day is devoted to the long and arduous, twisty drive up the coast through Big Sur, Carmel, Seventeen Mile Drive and Monterey. San Francisco appears about 7:30 and we are safely in the welcoming arms of Jeff Herzbach by eight. We catch up, laugh, compare notes and take off for dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant. It's great, too short and we are exhausted. Camp on his floor, bagel and cream cheese our way through breakfast and promise to get back together before we leave.

Monday, June 21st and we're at Stuart and Bonnie's by ten, then off for a day in wine country that Stuart has arranged. Beautiful baby Fifer is with us and we get the four star tours of several wineries. A great day in great country with great friends---late to dinner and late to bed. Promises are made for length of stay and the first stirrings of scheduling fever begin to creep around my collar. But it's all so cool, seeing these great friends doing so well. Stuart and Bonnie's place is a palace and we sleep in the bed of the King and Queen.

Tuesday, June 22nd and it's a layabout day, soaking up our friendship, taking naps, catching up on this journal. Misha and I meet daughter Char andson Patrick for dinner at a restaurant down in Mill Valley and it turns out to be a four hour super time with super kids and all the tensions of the recent e-mail flurry are not only behind us, but the beginnings of true friendship is evident. Patrick picks up the considerable check for the evening and we part with genuine affection and the promise of another visit, either here or in Europe. It's good---very, very good. I sit on my mouth all evening and enjoy the adults my children have become in their mid thirties. Misha glows her special glow across the table from me. They are both so cool and I look forward to the next time. I really think they do as well.

Wednesday, June 23rd and we take off with Stu to see San Francisco. A church, where God always seems not to be home, a steep walk down into Chinatown, a tour of the new post modern library, a good and not overly expensive Italian lunch and then back out by way of the Haight-Ashbury area and Golden Gate Park. Golden Gate Bridge shows nothing more than suspension cables disappearing into fog, no matter our direction or time. San Francisco is holding its reputation for cold, foggy summers. San Rafael on the other hand is brilliant in sunshine, but the city barely ten miles below it is uncomfortably chill.

Stu and I leave in his car, ahead of Bonnie, Fifer and Misha for the restaurant where he works. He wants to talk about the next two years, when he will be care-giver to Fifer, primary wage-earner and part time writer as Bonnie finishes her doctorate. I try to get him to see it not so much as a sacrifice, but more like an army tour of duty---accomplishable and with an end in sight. The restaurant is four-star and country elegant. He is treated with great affection and care by the staff---they really pull all the stops, far beyond the need and it's a tribute to their love of him. Bonnie and Misha arrive with Fifer, who has decided this is the time for pulling all the stops as well, wailing and red-faced. We are seated while Stu works his magic, walking her. They come back to join us and she is a perfect angel through dinner, having merely shown us her power, should she elect to use it. A lovely dinner with lovely friends.

Thursday, June 24th and we say good-bye for a few days to drive down to Yosemite. On the way out, a stop by the farmer's market, a brief look through the Frank Lloyd Wright Civic Center and then lunch with Bri Hurley. Good to see her---she is unchanged and expects to return to Czech in August. We stop on our way out at Jeff's and devour the strawberries we bought. Then onto 580 and intermittent stop and go traffic.

About eight, we decide it's a poor time to push through and hope for a campsite, so we pull into a motel in Oakdale in the central Joaquin Valley. Oscar decides to have an electrical breakdown and we have to get a jump-start to leave the grocery parking lot. Seems like it may be serious and I have fears for the alternator, further fears for the expense. Nothing to do but wait 'till morning and see if we can find a reliable garage. We disconnect everything electrical and cross our fingers.

Friday, June 25th and the motel owner recommends the Oakdale Garage (simply and accurately enough named). The car starts, apparently willing enough to get itself to the hospital. Oakdale Garage is a delight, if car trouble can in any way be delightful. They perform a check, confirm the worst and chase down an alternator. The Service Manager takes us to lunch, promises a mid-afternoon completion and suggests local places to pass the time. Misha has her first Mexican meal and loves it. We drift into the Oakdale Cowboy Museum and take the Hershey Chocolate factory tour. The car is ready shortly after three, at a cost of $500, but the work has been done well, the car has served us excellently and if Oscar needs help, just like Fifer, he will have to have it.

We approach Yosemite about five and are recommended to a campground. Lovely place, heavily timbered and first class facilities. We set up, then head into the park to watch the sun set. Bridal Veil Falls is magnificent, the various rock domes are lit by the last light and all is as it should be. A brilliant moon shows itself. Stopping at the Lodge, we come upon a movie about to be shown, narrated by the rock-climber who helped his paraplegic friend accomplish a four day ascent of El Capitan. It's an amazing story. We drive back to camp and have a ten-thirty picnic, then turn in for a great night's sleep. I have meanwhile called Jeff, who agrees to lend us $1,000 until we get home.

Saturday, June 26th and we venture into Yosemite up to Tioga Pass and the surrounding high meadows take up the day. First, a $9 haircut takes precedent to get me back to my skinhead appearance. The next haircut will be done at home by Misha of Josefuv Dul, the local stylist. Our minds are turning inexorably towards home.

Sunday, June 27th and we're re-planning and re-routing the balance of the trip to accommodate extra time with Susan. Yosemite was a bit of a ho-hum for me so far and I put that up to excessive expectation and the incomparable photography of Ansel Adams. Today I changed that perception with a trip down to the sequoia grove, Misha's first look at the ancients and a truly memorable introduction. Then, in very late afternoon we drove back to Glacier Point. If there is a single more spectacular scene in this country, I have yet to see or hear of it. An overview of the valley, sheer cliffed and spreading before us a range of waterfalls and rock domes that changed appearance moment by moment in a lowering sun. The drive back to camp showed itself in the varying aspects of sunset and oncoming darkness, the magical time of silhouette.

Monday, June 28th and we retrace our route to Stuart and Bonnie's, arriving about five. Dinner (a Stuart spectacular) will be late, as Jeff's plane from Las Vegas arrives late and he's not expected until nine or so. With Jeff, Stuart, Bonnie and Misha finally settled at the table, my toast is to all the people I love most, gathered at one dinner. It's true---these are my dearest friends.

Tuesday, June 29th we begin the twisty ascent of Route 1 along the coast to Fort Bragg, where we catch 101 to Eureka ad the entry to Redwoods National Park. For the first time, curves get to Misha and we stop for Dramamine. It knocks her out and she sleeps through much of the beautiful road until I lose patience and finally give her the choice of waking or stopping for the night. A Coke does its work and she's glad not to have missed it all. But it's a hell of a demanding drive, no matter the scenery and we approach Eureka near ten at night and I can't face setting up in the middle of the night with the attendant mosquitoes, just to break it all down early in the morning. We find a $35 motel and drop, exhausted into a wonderful and healing ten hour sleep.

Wednesday, June 30th, refreshed and eager for more trees we drive into and through Redwoods National Park. The Information Center has the book Misha has been looking for that covers most all the national parks in one volume. We add that to our treasure, wander our way through this wonderful grove and head east over the mountains toward Route 5. It's another long day, as I consistently under evaluate just how long these twisty drives take. I'd done the same, five years before on a motorcycle. But the last 100 miles is on easy Interstate and just at sunset, Shasta Lake takes us by surprise, backgrounded by snow-capped mountains across the 100 mile horizon.

This country never tires of throwing us a visual rope just as we are wearying. None the less, I'm grumpy with these late into the night drives and not at my best as we make camp. The KOA office is closed as we nose into camp, but the owner is making last rounds in his golf cart, welcomes us, reopens to check us in, shows us our tent site and wishes us a good sleep. I improve---there are no mosquitoes---we set up easily by headlights, both of us knowing the drill by heart. I am positively recovered by the time we lie down and I thank Misha for putting up with my pettiness with her usual good humor. Tomorrow, Lassen Park, a volcanic range that we are planning to see more by its proximity than by our plan. Then off to Ely, Nevada which should be mostly easy driving.

Thursday, July 1st and Lassen is a surprise. Lovely road through it and lots of snow at the high elevations, glacial lakes and even a hot spring or steam vent thrown in occasionally. Long, long drive though down to Sacramento and across to Lake Tahoe, then out into the Nevada desert. Unbelievable how the structure of the land changes and we stop by the side of the road to watch the sun set across desert country. We almost hit three deer an hour out of Ely---two scattering one way, the third, a big doe, jumped another and missed the front fender by inches. A midnight motel in Ely---four hours sleep, bad coffee in the casino coffee shop and then off again.

Friday, July 2nd, we lose an hour headed east, so even with the short sleep it's a nine o'clock start. Driving hard all day, the desert fascinating and just before we enter Utah we stop for coffee and get cleaned of our six bucks in quarters at the slot machines. That's as it should be. Late afternoon, we leave old route 50 and catch I-70 to Vail. That part of Utah is a geological wonderland and it's Arches at one turn, Bryce at the next, Zion at the next. There are plenty of scenic turnoffs and each is well chosen for taking one's breath. From Utah into Colorado and Oscar is cruising.

The mountains begin to appear---Grand Junction and then Glenwood Springs and the remarkable stretch of Glen Canyon, combining great canyon walls and roaring water with the most sensitive length of Interstate highway I've ever seen. The engineering is complicated and extraordinary in its sculptural design.

We're close to Vail now, stop to wash Oscar so he arrives at his best and call Susan. We expect an 8pm arrival with 1,300 miles behind us in two days on four hours sleep. By the time we're at her road, after a couple wrong turns, she's standing there looking for us and it's huge hugs all around and a quiet home dinner of pasta. We chat, hug some more and then turn in, exhausted.

Saturday, July 3rd and Susan has our few days together well planned. We drive back into Glenwood Springs to get her motorcycle at the shop, breakfast up the road, sightsee a bit, check out Steve's animal hospital and then drive over to Steve and Patti's for dinner. Susan has prepared a butterflied leg of lamb for the barbecue, I give landscape advice and it's a wonderful evening with Susan and new found friends. Late night---good sleep.

Sunday, July 4th we get away early to hook up with Houston and Jim at Aspen for the noon parade. Aspen is such a much nicer town than Vail, it's old time life as a mining camp giving it a history and Victorian basis in architecture that makes it feel less a resort.

We wander the town and the parade begins spectacularly at noon with the most amazing parachute jump I've ever seen. We are standing directly across from the judge's stand, a balcony of the Hotel Jerome. A plane circles at 2,000 feet and a man jumps out, free falls about 500 feet, opens a paraglider and then a sixty foot American flag. He circles a half dozen times, the flag fully unfurled and wondrous to see. Judging the wind perfectly (as he must) he slides in down the length of the parade route and makes a perfect running landing, exactly in front of the judges. It's breathtaking and spectacularly high theatre.

The rest of the parade is small-town and perfect to show Misha how our country's birthday is celebrated. Cowboys, old cars, kids, political incumbents, animals, motorcycles and the whole silly and wonderful traditional display. We meet Houston and Jim afterward for lunch, then take the long way back over the pass and catch a nap.

Kathy Morrow comes by in the afternoon, then we split and meet her again at 8:30 to drive down to the Avon fireworks. There are probably 10,000 people by the lake and Avon put on a display that would be the envy of a much larger eastern city. Chicago used to do a pretty good job, but Avon was much more close up and spectacular. Misha had never seen anything like it and it capped a perfect presentation of our celebration of Independence.

Monday, July 5th and a rest day that finds us at Piney Lake Ranch, a long, climbing gravel-road drive above Vail. We canoe a bit, Misha's first time with a paddle in her hand and an introduction to tomorrow's planned river rafting trip down Glenwood Canyon. Misha loves the peace of paddling, is now eager for a trip to the Boundary Waters, but that will have to wait for another time, not on our schedule. In the evening, Susan takes us to dinner in Vail, after which we stroll the town and drop in on Kathy's gig to hear her play and sing. She's great---got a wonderful husky jazz voice and way with the crowd. Kathy is another new friend that promises to visit us in CZ and she plays in Europe enough to make it happen.

Tuesday, July 6th and Susan and I duck out early to get my driver's license renewed. Rather a comedy, as I promptly forget the details of address and she coaches me from across the room and then directly at the desk. But I get it and am legal until May of 2004.

We meet back up with Kathy for the rafting trip down Glen Canyon and it's a blast. Susan and Kathy take the just-opened upper gorge and we meet them for the more tame but still thrilling lower part of the river. This is the Colorado, and if we were patient enough to portage all the various dams and brave enough for the numerous rapids, it would eventually take us down the Grand Canyon. Exhilarated but dehydrated, we get milk shakes at Baskin Robbins and drive back for a rest before dinner at Kathy's with Warren and Maxine. That's another cooked-by-Susan event at Kathy's elegant condo. A cold curry soup, followed by Thai shrimp and rice, polished off with various sorbets and lots of wine. Warren and Maxine are very cool---good friends of Susan's and they must have liked us because we partied way past Warren's usual bedtime. They promise to visit as well.

Wednesday, July 7th and Susan's plans for the day begin with a gondola ride up Vail Mountain. Great up there and it gives Misha a good view of what it's like (actually, only near) the top of the Vail ski area. The tickets are good for the Beaver Creek chair lift as well, so we visit some glass galleries to check the market for our planned venture with Sid Korinsky and then take the lift to the top of Beaver Creek ski area. Late afternoon we drive to Aspen for the rodeo and by now we're well acquainted with Glen Canyon on or 5th or 6th trip through. The skies are threatening thunderstorms as we approach Snowmass.

Rodeo begins with a barbecue under canvas---ribs, chicken, cold slaw, potato salad, cowboy beans and corn on the cob, accompanied by guitar and fiddle music. Very rustic---the fiddler is great. Then all the usuals---an opening horseback parade with the obligatory blonde bombshell riding in hell-bent with a stirruped American flag, bucking horses, roping, bull riding and barrel races. A hundred little kids are turned loose to pull ribbons from the tails of a half-dozen calves. It's bedlam and it's great. The evening ends with cowboy guitar and roasted marshmallows around a campfire. They're sticky and awful, every little kid's dream. Jim shows up for the evening's events and sits with us through a short storm that nearly clears the stands, but the events go on uninterrupted.

Thursday, July 8th, the morning of departure and I follow Susan to the sign shop to see where she works and we make our good-byes. The tears are mostly mine, but I've always been a crier and we promise not to let much time go by before seeing each other again.

Misha and I load up and take off on the winding road up past State Bridge and on toward the Wyoming border. Fifty miles north the skies darken, then turn absolutely black and we drive through a weather front coming fast from the west---lightning and intense rain. But it only lasts twenty miles and I watch it recede in the rear view mirror as we approach Steamboat Springs for groceries. By nightfall we're in Jackson Hole, having driven the moonscape of Wyoming desert. The Tetons lie before us.

Friday, July 9th is Misha's Dad's birthday, so before we drive through Grand Teton and head to Glacier, she calls him from a pay phone in Jackson. All is well in the Czech lands, Barkley is having a nice summer vacation and they're glad to have heard from her. Every day or two she's sent a post card, but hearing her voice makes it all real. We head toward Glacier and the small roads leading to I-15 are all under various stages of construction. The long and the short of it (mostly long) is that we finally arrive at a campsite, exhausted at 1am after twelve hours on the road.

Saturday, July 10th and the day is spent in the park, soaking up the wonders of Glacier Park and those wonders are many. A nice relaxing day for a change and one much needed for resting up. Even strung the hammock for a while, overlooking one of the lakes.

Sunday, July 11th finds us away early for Big Sky, Montana and a few days with Don Hart while looking over Yellowstone Park. I've injured my back somehow and can't for the life of me remember how, but I'm in a lot of left-leg pain while driving and have to stop frequently to walk it off. By the time we get to Bozeman, I'm in agony. Everyone else is in Bozeman, but I'm in Agony. We pull into Don's about seven and he barbecues some chicken, we chat a while over old times and turn in for the night.

Monday, July 12th we do the whole Yellowstone loop. I'd forgotten how devastated the park is from the 1989 fire, but fully 60% of it seems affected. But we see buffalo and elk, mountain goats and moose. As the sun sets we watch Old Faithful do her thing, then stroll the magnificent old log hotel and head back to Don's.

Tuesday, July 13th and we decide to get on the road to Chicago---I'm panicked a bit about money---only $200 in my pocket before I get hold of Brian Porter for the rest of my fee. So Minneapolis and Minocqua are out for the moment---Minneapolis for good and Minocqua postponed until after Chicago. My back is still a wreck and I'm in lots of driving pain. We say good-bye to Don and head to Bozeman where we pick up a lumbar support car seat and that seems to help. Then on to Livingston where we loop back south into Yellowstone to go out by way of Beartooth Pass. It's one of my favorite places and I must show Misha---11,000 feet and truly the Top Of The World. A hard driving day from there east and we make camp at a KOA 150 miles west of Devil's Tower. My god, we're seeing a lot of the country! Anticipating tomorrow's time change, we set our clocks ahead and plan an early start.

Wednesday, July 14th we're off early. Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore and the Badlands are all on the itinerary and Sioux Falls is the goal if we are to make Chicago Thursday, before the money runs out. My back is excruciating and makes me a grouchy companion on a day filled with wonderment. But Misha understands, has a great time anyway and eases me through the bad moments with her limitless patience. Sioux Falls at midnight and we collapse into our tent.

Are we having fun yet? Sure, but these are hard driving days across the wide part of the country and we've just reached the 17,000 mile mark.

Thursday, July 15th we cross Minnesota and angle down across Wisconsin, arriving at Lake Forest by 8:30. It's cool, comfortable and wonderful at their home, good to see Denny and Daphne again and we've made it with $16 to spare in my pocket. Bed is too great to describe.

Friday, July 16th and no one is home. Sixteen bucks and no one home. No client, no Chris, no Kathy, no Paul or Sibylla. So we do laundry, talk with Denny and relax. Denny loans me money temporarily (sweetheart).

Saturday, July 17th and Denny makes a morning call to his chiropractor and he's able to see me at ten. Nice young guy. Does a little heat treatment and then an adjustment that cracks all the bones of my lower back. Pressure on the fourth lumbar vertebrae from all that driving, but it's like a miracle when he finishes. Tells me to see how it goes and maybe come again before we leave. At a modest $35, I may just do that, for insurance if nothing else.

We drive into town for the day to the Museum of Science & Industry and the Chicago Aquarium. Misha is intrigued by the 'hands on' aspects of the museum. We dinner again with Daphne and Denny.

Sunday, July 18th and I finally get hold of my clientand we agree to meet Monday at the house. Later in the day we drive into Chicago to see Harvey and Pam Wigdor at their home. We take Daphne to Ravinia and unfortunately it's both packed with people and noisy. I had hoped to show it off to Misha under more favorable conditions, but at least she got a chance to see (and partially hear) it.

Monday, July 19th we meet the client, take him to see several jobs, get in another visit with Dr. Schultz and my back is much improved.

Misha and I set off for the Czech neighborhood in Chicago (which I insist must exist) and we get involved in the most amazing storm. Thunder, lightning and torrential rain just as the sun is setting and it's great fun. By the time we finally find the neighborhood and it's sole restaurant, the kitchen is closed. We settle for an ordinary diner in Northbrook.

Tuesday, July 20th and I've arranged to meet the client's landscape contractor, as well as his architect. The contractor meeting goes well, but the architect is way over his head in designing the back terrace and I'm discouraged by the same old ego trip that architects get themselves into, but at least I'm cashed up again. We meet up with Paul and Sibylla for dinner, decide on the Czech restaurant and have a good time. There's something tight going on with the two of them, maybe some relationship problem. Sibylla, who's Czech, seems down about life in America, even though she's been there before. We stop on the spur of the moment downtown, decide to have a drink at the top of the Hancock building and it's a clear night---devastatingly beautiful panoramas from the 96th floor. We break up late, but it's been a good visit, no matter the apparent strain.

Wednesday and Thursday, July 21st and 22nd are somehow lost from my notes, but one evening was spent at dinner with Kathy O'Malley and Tony Natale, the other probably with Dennehys. The client and I had a not so productive discussion about the architect's services for him, the necessity for careful construction and the like, but he's determined to go his own way and I can only be sorry for the probable result. There were also several attempts to get a meeting with another client of mine, but to no avail. Such is life.

Friday, July 23rd we get an early start for Kennedy's in Minocqua and it's a lovely drive north, but hot as a firecracker. The road through the Menomonee Indian Reservation is lovely and as we exit, we're pretty much in the piney woods and lakes of northern Wisconsin. We arrive about 4:30, Apryl serves us a delightful walleye dinner and Ray takes us for a boat tour of Tomahawk Lake. Lots of memories there of fishing trips over the years---Ray and I have fished together for over thirty years. We cruise the bays and inlets, watch mallards and loons, sneak up on an otter and watch the sun set. It's such a magical place in this world and Misha and Ray are instantly attracted (no surprise to me). Their new house is lovely---full of a lifetime of mounted game and fish, comfortable and large enough for an army. Ray and Apryl both look great for 74 years old and Ray's new spaniel Brandy is a sweetheart. We really miss Barkley. Good to be back in Minocqua.

Saturday, July 24th is a layabout day, playing with the dog and catching up on lives spent apart for the past seven years. We drive in with Ray to see a shop that specializes in beautiful things made from wood and horn. They carry some of Ray's handmade tables. We buy deer horn salt and pepper shakers. Later, we drive in with Apryl and stop at Bosacki's for their famous hot fudge sundaes. Pretty good stuff. That evening it's over to the Plantation for dinner. Prime rib---pretty good stuff as well.

Sunday, July 25th we're off early---Ray for Alaska and us on our way east. Apryl drives Ray down to Steven's Point to the airport, so we say our good-byes, then pack and lock our way out of their house. There have been promises to come again next summer to fish and stay a few days---I mean to keep that promise if at all possible, maybe combine it with a canoe trip for Misha into the Boundary Waters.

It's a long way off across northern Wisconsin and into Michigan's Upper Peninsula. We stop for a walk along a swimming beach at the very top of Lake Michigan. Then over the Traverse Bay Bridge and down the long road that cuts across lower Michigan to Toledo. We stop at an Applegate's Restaurant at the suggestion of the Dennehys and find it to be a really good chain restaurant. We'll look for them ahead. Pretty country. We get into Toledo late.

Monday, July 26th finds us crossing Ohio (for the third time), then Pennsylvania (ditto) and into upstate New York to Niagara Falls. The falls are pretty spectacular, but I could never see it as a honeymoon destination. We take a Maid Of The Mist ride down into the horseshoe area of the falls, the first time I've done that and it's quite a thrill. We are in the company of some very wet and smiley Japanese. They are everywhere---Japan must be empty. We leave through some depressing semi-industrial areas, then break to the country and get into Albany late at night. Always late at night. We're pushing now, with a plane to catch August 2nd and much to do, people and cities to see.

Tuesday, July 27th constitutes a leisurely drive across the Green Mountains and White Mountains (they both look green) of Vermont and New Hampshire. We stop sort of unexpectedly at the Hemming's Motor News Headquarters in Bennington, Vermont. Been subscribing for years and here it is, in the flesh. Very picturesque. Then on into Maine, arriving at Portland about seven. Nobody home again---Jeri not answering the phone, ditto for Joe and Noah is off somewhere in the boonies and unreachable. We're a little burned out.

We find a KOA and go out for my introductory and obligatory lobster dinner. We call Noah's number again and get the couple he's staying with in Portland, but he won't be back until Thursday. I get some very complicated directions to the Audubon Camp where he's teaching. "Take 295 north to Coastal Route 1 in the direction of Bath. Through Bath and Wiscassett to Damariscotta, where you exit on Business 1, past the shopping center to a McDonalds on the corner. Take a right toward the coast (about ten miles) out to the point. Take a left where the road ends (one or two miles) and right on the dirt road marked 'Audubon Camp.' Then take a rowboat you'll probably find tied up out to the island."

Great---directions that begin with Interstate and end by rowboat. So we plan a surprise visit for tomorrow

Wednesday, July 28th we break camp early to find the disappeared Noah. At the McDonalds we stop for breakfast, then head into the unknown. Actually the directions are pretty good and about ten we're walking down the dirt road toward rowboat land. There's a rowboat coming in and in it a bearded fellow with a winsome lass at the prow. We recognize Noah, but he doesn't really see us. As they disembark, I walk down the dock, Misha behind me and he looks up, gives us an obligatory "h'lo' and then does a double take, a broad grin lighting his face. There are hugs and exclamations, disbelief and wonder at our finding him way the hell out there. As it turns out, the girl is his sister's summer girl (a very lovely one) and they're headed in to Portland for the day. Ten minutes later and we'd have missed them both. We all pile into the Audubon van and careen our way into Portland. That evening we dinner on the terrace of a Greek restaurant, walk our way back to where Noah is staying and put sleeping bags on the rear deck. It's noisy, unbearably hot and and pretty much a flop flat as well. Morning finally comes.

Thursday, July 29th Noah is looking for a ping pong table for his sister, to drag back to their summer house as long as he has the van. The project takes on a life of its own, with Noah way too committed to something that's not easily done---no one has any cash, they won't take his sister's credit card, he can't access his own paycheck and we spend a good part of the morning, frustrated in a shopping mall. Sans ping pong table, we drive back about noon to the Audubon center and Noah introduces us to the staff on the island and we have a lovely lunch. He wants us to come back to Portland, but one night on that deck is enough and we beg off to go exploring upcoast Maine. Good-bye hugs and promises of future, but with Noah no one ever knows.

We take off up coastal route 1 through Rockland and Camden and at Northport are lured off the road by $22 cabins. No one at the office, so we wait and eventually the owner arrives, shows us a cute little cottage with a porch and we check in for the night. Before dinner we drive up (on his recommendation) to the Camden Hills State Park and overview the coast at sunset. Misha is in love with Maine. A quiet candlelit dinner and then bed.

Friday, July 30th we decide against staying another day exploring Maine and head for New York City, because we need to get rid of Oscar somewhere and there's only Saturday to do it. Our plane leaves Sunday night. No nonsense on this leg of the trip---reality has imposed itself and schedules are tight. We shoot on down I-95 through New Hampshire, Massachusetts and into New York. It's blistering hot. This whole trip across the United States has for the most part been unusually hot. Thank god for Oscar's air conditioning, it's been a life saver.

We get in to New York City in late afternoon, just in time for the heaviest part of rush hour and thread our way across this and that bridge, to this and that expressway and finally into the heart of Manhattan.

Finding an affordable hotel is the problem one might expect. Katie, our only possible overnight hope, has her answering machine on and the message leads us to believe she's out of town for the weekend. We try here and there, the best price $250 a night, then by suggestion from place to place find Hotel 31, a small place at 31st and Broadway that's quiet and affordable (by comparison) at a hundred bucks. The desk clerk suggests a local Indian restaurant down a couple blocks with the dubious name of Curry In A Hurry and we check it out. Affordable as promised and very good. I want to walk the streets---I always want to walk the streets of New York, but Misha's bushed and we head back to the hotel. It's cool in the room and we sleep like the dead.

Saturday, July 31st and we need to drive to New Jersey to get rid of Oscar at whatever price we can get. It's really quite sad---he's been such an intimate and supportive part of our entire journey that it's kind of like taking a much loved dog to the vet to be put down. But reality insists. We stop in at several used car lots and it looked for a moment like we had him sold for the original $1,250 investment, but the man the dealer had in mind wasn't interested and he was unwilling to put dear old Oscar on the lot for that much cash.

So we try another and, just as we pull up in front, Oscar blows his top---actually his radiator---steam all over the place. It's as if he finally said "hey guys, I've had enough of this---it's hot as a bitch and this is as far as I go." Who could blame him. There's a radiator shop down a half block and we drag the owner back, show him Oscar and he tells us it'll cost a hundred bucks and take three hours. The car lot owner comes out, we discuss Oscar and his finer points despite the present problem and he agrees to give us $500 cash and drive us to the train station.

Good-bye Oscar---it's been great and we'll remember the good times. At least we gave him a good look at the country toward the end of his life. I often wonder where he is now.

We catch the commuter train back into the city and hoof it up into Times Square. We're looking for tickets tonight to Phantom Of The Opera and at the box office they tell us they're sold out. I really want Misha to see a show before we leave and this is such a good one. I inquire about matinee tickets---they have two, front row center balcony at $80 a pop, the show beginning in two minutes. We're seated with the house lights already down, the show begun. The seats are the best in the house---the show is spectacular as I remembered---Misha is in heaven. All on the spur of the moment---our luck evidencing itself once more.

After the show, we walk up into Central Park and stroll---watch some unbelievable in-line skaters doing slalom courses of small cones laid out in a row. Walk over to the Tavern On The Green and reject it as too expensive and uptight, find a small waterfront cafe on the pond and have drinks, watching the sun set behind a wall of skyscrapers. Afterwards, attracted by music, we follow our ears and come upon a black drum band (or if not actually a band, then a couple dozen drummers) and watch for an hour or so. They're wonderful and part of why I love New York so well.

Sunday, August 1st and the desk clerk lets us stash our luggage until the afternoon cab to the airport. We cab down to the lower tip of Manhattan and stand in line for ferry tickets to the Statue Of Liberty. Tourists doing tourist things. I buy a cap to replace the one I left on the train yesterday. We debate a boat tour around Manhattan Island, decide not and walk up into Little Italy for lunch. We talk about either loving or hating New York---no one ever seems ambivalent. Misha hates the dirtiness, the crowds, the noise and expense.

Yet it's a perfect end to our venture across America.
We cab back to the hotel, have him wait to take us to the airport and head home.

Monday, August 2nd, Misha's brother in law Bob is supposed to meet us at the airport in Prague but isn't there. Tied up with a business emergency. We cab to Renata and Bob's flat and he arrives before long and drives us home to the mountains. I fall asleep in the back.

Home at last and the stairs have been finished, but not much else is done. It's so good to be here.