On the Road Again, Chapter 12

Cabinet Room at the Clinton Library: I'm in charge! (Photos by Bonnie J. Schupp)

 A visit to Clinton Country

in search of kneepads,

then Tenn. to visit friends

Clinton Library, aquarium adventures

Back home for close to three months, and I am reminded -- several times a week -- that Chapter 12 of our Great American Road Trip is way overdue. Maybe it's just hard to wrap up so wonderful (and exhausting) an adventure as a coast-to-coast drive.

 Some folks have asked what I considered the highlight. Beyond five days in Utah -- making new friends and experiencing a very different lifestyle -- and reacquainting with old friends in several other stops, that's tough to answer.

Several places I wish we'd had more time to explore, among them Little Rock, Arkansas. We had passed through the state on an earlier road trip years ago, when we drove to New Orleans and Dallas. I barely remembered it.

Clinton Library, Little Rock

Not so this time, thanks to our first experience of visiting a presidential library -- a complex overlooking the Arkansas River in the heart of Billary Clinton Country just minutes off Interstate 40. 

We had scoped the place online, and managed to arrive minutes before the 2 p.m. closing time for lunch at the William J. Clinton Presidential Library and Museum's very pleasant basement restaurant -- with tablecloth, cloth napkins, gracious service, excellent burgers and fries, and for Bonnie a generously poured and presidentially-designed-chilled-glass of white wine. The bill came to about 30 bucks.

Admission to the library and museum, covering three upper floors of exhibit areas, was $8 each (seniors rate -- younger adults pay $10). 

Towers of books with presidential papers

If there is a centerpiece, perhaps it is the display few visitors have time to explore -- the towering shelves of blue-bound books containing millions of documents from Bill Clinton's eight-year presidency, so many volumes that even the hundreds upon hundreds visible there represent but a large portion of the entirety.

And that left us wondering what an eventual Trump library might house... would the presidency of an ineloquent man who seems barely interested in the written word generate so large a mass of records? The joke, inevitably, is that it would likely contain a porn peep show featuring the collected works of Stephanie Clifford, and a magazine collection of Karen McDougal centerfolds.

A digression on morality

I know what you're thinking now: Bubba himself was not Mr. Morality before or during his presidency.

So let's address the Donkey in the Room: There are no kneepads evident under Bill's desk in the impressive, full-size recreation of the Oval Office. And in three hours of exploring the exhibits, we found no mention of Monica (though I have since been informed of an alcove on the second floor with material on the investigation by independent counsel Ken Starr) -- only the inclusion, on a Clinton timeline running across a wall the length of the building, of the House of Representatives vote to impeach him, the subsequent acquittal by the Senate, and the president's apology to the nation for his improper conduct.

The Capitol Hill drama played out 20 years ago,  in the post-election, lame duck days of the 105th Congress and early weeks of the 106th -- in a House and Senate that both remained Republican majority.  While it takes only a majority vote in the House for impeachment, removal of the president requires two-thirds in the Senate, and those numbers illustrate the difficulty of the removal process.

Just two of the four articles of impeachment before the House received majority votes, and both failed in the subsequent trial played out in the Senate -- the party line vote of 45-55 on perjury to a grand jury, and a 50-50 vote on obstruction of justice, both substantially failing to meet the required 67 for conviction and removal of the president.

Those votes echo forward in time, as we approach the 2018 midterm elections. In the event of Democrats taking control in the House, an impeachment proceeding against Donald Trump becomes a distinct possibility. But even if Republicans also lose the Senate, it will take overwhelming evidence of criminality to persuade enough of those remaining to join Democrats in giving Trump the bum's rush out of the White House. (This, even as a Pence presidency might be deemed more appealing to conservative tastes.)

So that's the thoughts generated just by a cursory look at the Clinton Library. But there was plenty more to see, including a replica of the Cabinet meeting room (top photo), cases upon cases of gifts received by the Clintons during the presidency, all manner of political bric-a-brac,  a loop of comical Bill-and-Hillary videos (unlike Trump, they showed a sense of humor even while under political attack), and a multi-floor temporary exhibition of presidential-era and campaign music across generations.

Unfortunately, the only photography allowed inside the Oval Office is done by a museum staffer -- so if you want your picture taken there, it will cost at least 15 bucks. But that seemed to be the only extra cost for visitors, other than a splurge in the souvenir and book shop where Bonnie bought an autographed copy of presidential daughter Chelsea Clinton's children's book, "She Persisted Around the World / 13 Women Who Changed History," and another titled "Photos That Changed the World."

Politics rocks!

Much of the material in the library and its exhibits are property of the National Archives. But the temporary show,  "Louder Than Words – Rock, Power, and Politics," which ended in early August was created by the Newseum in Washington.

And there are still opportunities to see it elsewhere: at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights in Winnipeg, March 12 to Sept. 4, 1919; at the Durham Museum in Omaha, Neb., Oct. 13, 2019, to Feb. 3, 2020; and at the George H.W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum in College Station, Texas, March 2, 2020, to Jan. 4, 2021.

A public affairs officer at the National Archives and Records Administration noted that presidential "libraries" may be different in the future -- starting with Barack Obama's, which will be a museum. Reference material will be available digitally.

She said such institutions can be an "uneasy" marriage of museum and library -- and  that Richard Nixon's in Yorba Linda, Calif., was at first just a museum, out of concern at  how the Watergate scandal would be presented. Notably, its collection now includes some 3,700 hours of recordings known as "the White House Tapes."

Homeward through Tennessee

Interstate 40 took us toward Nashville, and a turn south on I-24 to Chattanooga -- areas we had visited before, but this time intended for catching up with friends.

In 2012, we flew to the West Coast for three weeks of exploration and a wedding. The latter was Bonnie's first as an officiant, in her capacity as an ordained minister of the online Universal Life Church. The happy couple Tara and Christian, happy to say, still are.

The couple have since moved to a suburb of Chattanooga, where Christian -- after getting his bachelor's degree in the field and waiting several years for a job opening -- has become an air-traffic controller, and Tara is an entrepreneur in the field of online marketing.

Bonnie, Me, Christian and Tara (Expensive souvenir photo)

They had not yet seen a highlight of their new city -- the Tennessee Aquarium. So that became our main adventure there, exploring its two buildings on opposite corners of an open-air (and in early June, very hot) bustling center of tourism. The aquarium opened in 1992, with similarities to, and designed by the same company as, Baltimore's National Aquarium a decade earlier. Admission is 30 bucks -- cheaper than Baltimore's, but the Imax movie at an extra eight dollars makes up most of the difference.

We bought aquarium hats!

The overall layout seemed easier to navigate, and less congested, indicating its designers had rethought and improved upon the Baltimore project. And there is a focusing concept in its tracking of the path of water from Appalachian mountains to the sea.

Quirky art in Nashville

After two nights with Tara and Christian, we retraced our route up I-24 to the town of Columbia, 40 minutes from Nashville, where our photographer friend Brycia and her son Andrew had recently moved. We explored a little of the big city in search of quirky art we had missed on a shorter road trip months earlier, when we moved a carload of odds and ends to Brycia's new house. (On that trip, I left behind my new iPad -- which was subsequently found sitting plugged in on the floor, amusingly visible to an interior security camera.)

And then, in a final burst of stamina, we drove straight from Tennessee back home to Maryland -- the last 740 miles of the journey (stopping only for food, fuel and rest stops) in about 12 hours.

Andrew and Brycia, and a silvery bird

 From its beginning about 10 a.m. on May 8 to the ending of the journey late on June 6, our trusty 2012 Toyota Camry's trip-o-meter tally: 7,528 miles. We drove through portions of 20 states, including an odd corner of Georgia that cuts across about a mile of Interstate 24.

The next big trip we're planning is Hawaii, the only state we have not visited among the 50. Fortunately, perhaps, we won't drive to get there. The road just doesn't go that far.

Our route across America

On the Road Again, 2018 Edition

David and Bonnie set out anew

to explore a vast America,

this time going bi-coastal

 

A Newton pig, duckpin bowling where you’d least expect, horses and old friends… these are the ingredients from just the opening days of a road trip in search of the real America. We’ve been here before, on the highways and byways of the nation. But this time will be our first coast-to-coast haul, a month-long journey we expect could cover 8,000 miles of territory and the amazing sights and people along the way.

Our last such adventure four years ago was prompted by a nephew’s wedding in Colorado, and the odd idea of driving instead of flying. This time, it’s a rodeo in Utah, some 2,200 miles from our Maryland home. But why stop there? Utah is practically in the backyard of California. What? Another 700 or 800 miles? 

A winter-equipped mail truck  at the Iowa 80 Trucking Museum

Sunblock. Bug repellent. A couple of books. Tuesday morning’s newspaper. In the house, doublecheck the stove is turned off, toaster unplugged, water shut off, water heater on pilot, windows locked, air conditioning/heat off. 

We pull off the driveway at 10 a.m. on Tuesday, May 8, destined for our first important stop two days hence: Visiting old friend and Baltimore Sun newspaper colleague Lynn Anderson Davy, and meeting for the first time her husband Benoit and young children Alice and Gaston in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

It’s a long haul for opening the trip, close to 950 miles, arriving on Wednesday evening. But not too fast. In our 2014 trip, we earned a speed camera ticket along a stretch of Cedar Rapids interstate highway.

We spent the first night on the road in Ohio, at a Courtyard by Marriott, and the next day make a familiar stop soon after crossing the border: The Iowa 80 Trucking Museum, a short distance from an enterprise claiming to be the world's  biggest truck stop.

 We had been there four years ago, but the museum was closed. This time, we had better luck and spent nearly an hour exploring the free museum built by truck stop founder Bill Moon to house his fascinating collection of vehicles – the oldest on display dating to 1910.

An hour later, we arrived in Cedar Rapids.

A French-American Love Story

David, with Lynn Anderson Davy in Cedar Rapids

Lynn and Benoit are a story about the random nature of existence. We all have, or should have, stories about why we exist.  For Alice and Gaston, it’s about their mother Lynn’s years in Baltimore, buying a small house in the artsy Hampden neighborhood, renting out a spare bedroom, and having a French tenant who suggested she join him in checking out a meet-up group for people who speak or are learning the French language to socialize. And that’s where she met Benoit, a French engineer living in the Baltimore area working for a French-owned company engaged in manufacturing yeast.

She quit the newspaper, and the couple moved for a few years to France where the children were born—and Lynn earned a second master’s degree, in public relations. They moved back a couple of years ago when Benoit’s company sent him to a plant in Cedar Rapids. And Lynn was hired for a communications job at the University of Iowa in nearby Iowa City. 

Lynn and I have kept up with each other since her time in France, thanks to Facebook. I probably waste too much time online, keeping up with the lives of many dozens of newspaper friends who, caught up in the fast decline of print media, have become part of a global diaspora. 

Cedar Rapids was close enough to our route westward for a real hug.

Next chapter: Roadside Attractions

On the Road Again...

 Terry and Pam Dornburg lean on the fence, watching softball action in Grantsville. (Photo by Bonnie J. Schupp)

Getting away ain't easy these days

The hardest part of a road trip may be getting out of the house, into the car, down the street and around the corner. Then don’t look back

It’s been a long time since our last real road trip... 2008, really, when we set out for Appalachia in search of Democrats. We had other trips, shorter adventures, and airplane rides. But this is totally roadie, and it’s not political – not yet, anyway. After all, you never know what you might encounter on the highway to somewhere else. Serendipity, good luck, bad luck. It’s all out there, lying in wait.

One thing we won’t be having is hitchhikers. No room in the car. It’s packed with electronics, clothing, meds, snack food, bottled water, extra shoes, sweatshirts and jackets, our own pillows. We’re gone for more than a month this time, and we’re probably going to outlast summer.

The journey is really the fault of my nephew Ross, who chose the bicentennial anniversary of The Star-Spangled Banner to get married. The kid is from the Baltimore area, but fled – to Aspen, Colorado, where he owns a pet supply shop in the center of town. And that’s where the ceremony will  take place on Sept. 13 as he  weds a dog trainer.

Family is important, so missing the wedding was not an option.  But why fly when you can drive... to Colorado, and lots of places between here and there before we’re back again.

So we packed the car, and packed, and packed. Times like these I miss the 30-foot converted school bus camper I owned in the 1960s, two wives back. The damn thing could sleep eight people. Or a few years later, the 1945 Ford mini-bus with custom wood cabinetry, a brick fireplace and a stovepipe chimney. But the 2012 Toyota Camry will have to suffice.

We should have left in the morning on Monday, but a friend prevailed upon my wife Bonnie on short notice to shoot his family – photographically speaking. It was a rare occasion when his entire family was under one roof – some from New York, some from Israel, even his 98-year-old mother-in-law. Like I said, family is important, even when it may be someone else’s.

So when the road trip began, it was 4:45 p.m., just in time to head westward into the maw of rush hour traffic fleeing Baltimore and Washington. It wasn’t pretty or efficient, but Interstate 70 finally opened up and we made it to Frostburg in Western Maryland before sunset.  We might have stayed there, except I got tired of being on hold for a reservation agent at Days Inn’s 800-number. So we drove through town along Main Street and picked up old U.S. 40, once known as The National Road,  all the way to tiny Grantsville.

                   Me, sitting on the porch of the historic Casselman.


It was a stroke of luck, really, stopping there at the historic Casselman  Inn, a registered historic site  which dates to 1840 and once catered to the stagecoach crowd. There's also a 40-room Casselman motel section in back. But the old building is still in use, with a few rooms and a quaint restaurant, run along with the motel by Mennonite folks who constitute a fair measure of the population in remote Garrett County. Most of the staff seemed to be Mennonite, but I noticed one dark-complexion there... a man repainting one of the sitting rooms, who turned out to be an Iraqi. He spoke a little English, and I got across that I was sorry his country was such a mess and hoped it would be mended some day. I was told the Iraqi chap is attending the local Mennonite church.

A longtime resident of the hotel (he checked in more than 40 years ago, and apparently never checked out) was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, watching not much happen. Cars were few, as has been the case since Interstate 68 opened to traffic and bypassed the old two-lane stretch of highway in front of the Casselman. I asked if much was going on for local entertainment, and he pointed up the road where, a short distance away, you could see the ballfield lights in the town park.

So after a picnic dinner in our very clean, but somewhat austere, room (about $62 a night, including taxes), Bonnie and I strolled up to the park, caught the last inning of a church league slowpitch softball game between  Mennonites from Grantsville and Mennonites from Bittinger, a few miles away.The oldest players were the ministers -- Grantsville's at third base, Bittinger's pitching.

A middle aged Mennonite couple leaned at the fence, and I nudged Bonnie pointing them out as a charming image, and she walked over to ask permission to take their picture. Terry and Pam Dornburg were happy to say yes, and inquired about us strangers... so we explained how we’d just driven about 170 miles from the Baltimore area on our first leg of the long road trip.

                                                                         Pam Dornburg

Pam gave Bonnie a warm hug, quick proof of the friendliness of little Grantsville. Her husband, Terry, is a dentist. And they were watching one of their sons play outfield, while a younger son, a few days short of the minimum age of 15 to play in the league, was among about two dozen other spectators.

When the game ended, with Granstville on the losing end of a slightly lopsided score, Pam gave Bonnie another hug and we all shook hands. Then we walked back to the Casselman for a little sleep time.

You’d think we’d know better, embarking on Day 2, to get an early start since our goal was to reach Indiana – some 400 miles. But after an excellent breakfast of eggs, bacon and home fries, we backtracked no more than half a mile to see the historic stone arch bridge over the Casselman River, built some 200 years ago to accommodate traffic across what was then the National Trail. The bridge was in use until 1933, and remains as a remarkable specimen of early 19^th century engineering – the centerpiece of a small state park

We walked across the bridge and found ourselves in the tiny Spruce Forest Artisan Village, where arts and crafts folks – a weaver, potter, blacksmith, photographer, among others – work and sell in restored and transplanted homes from the area in the early days of America. That, and the beautiful flower gardens outside several of the buildings, were a grand excuse to delay our departure.

And then, a little past 11 a.m., after half an hour talking with weaver Ann Jones (we had met her a year or two ago in Baltimore when she took part in the annual Maryland Traditions Folklife Festival) and a guest artist photographer, we were back in the car – 400 miles to go before nightfall.

Other than a roadside piece of whimsical humanoid sculpture made from metal scrap – including the springs of an old mattress as its torso – the drive was relatively unremarkable. We managed to avoid bad weather until shortly after crossing the Indiana border, where an extraordinarily high cross looms to the north side of Interstate 70. If there is a god, as many Indianans would insist, it was not a happy one. We had to navigate through a deluge of rain and fierce lightning. We saw what looked to be a tornado funnel, but it turned out to be an immense amount of rain pouring out of the edge of the dark bank of clouds.

It was time to search for a hotel, so we used the cell phone to see what might be available nearby in the way of a Holiday Inn Express – a chain that has upgraded very nicely in recent years, and proven consistently good. Besides, I hold a credit card from the hotel parent corporation, IHG, that has accrued some 92,000 points redeemable for discounts or better.

We did much better. The room we wanted in the town of Greenfield would have run about $125 with our AAA discount. I asked the reservation agent if I could lower the price by using some of my points -- like what would it cost with 10,000 points? Answer: Nothing. The room, with the standard two queen beds, was free. 

Twenty minutes later, reservation number in hand, I bantered happily with the motel room clerk. She  noted that I was a "platinum" IHG Rewards member (a status you get by paying for the $49-a-year credit card), and gave us an upgrade to a king suite. It was an incredibly nice room, with extra furniture, a fridge, desks and chairs,  and a king bed with soft pillows that felt so darn good. So thanks, IHG Rewards -- and a shout out to the folks who staff the motel in Greenfield. You do a great job, and the company owes you a big raise.