LA

Saturday, May 24 2008: LA

Today is the last day of our trip. We have a productive day planned—mail our accumulated stuff home, navigate our way through LA to our airport hotel to leave our bags, drop off our rental car, navigate from the airport to the library, research about the early Russell years in LA…. It’s a full agenda.
There’s an academic conference happening at our Pasadena hotel, and at breakfast we are surrounded by literary conversations that make me ever-so-nervous (“don’t ask me!”). I’ve spent lots of time on the internet finding mailing places to send home gifts, but we ask the concierge who advices us that the package store I’d chosen is closed, and the interstates I’ve chosen are “always crowded.” We follow her advice and find a 24 hr. mailing place just down the road and relatively free sailing through downtown LA (Santa Monica Freeway) to our Holiday Inn airport hotel.
It feels wonderful to rid ourselves of the rental car and all that responsibility that the car represents. We take the National shuttle to LAX and pick up the “Flyaway” bus service to Union Station ($4.00 under the green sign). From Union Station we take the Red Line subway to 7th Avenue (three stops) and head north on Holly until we hit the library (a mere two blocks). We revel in navigating public transportation.
It’s 2:00 and we are late with lunch with few places open (sadly, Wolfgang Puck’s is on our way but closed). Settle for sandwiches at a café just across from the library (tuna on croissant—very satisfying in the shadow of the Biltmore hotel and just across from the Checkers Hilton while we watch homeless riffle through garbage cans. Pigeons take care of our crumbs.).
At the library we settle in the history/genealogy section (fourth floor underground). Kitty searches Carlotta King and I search Sydney King Russell. We busy ourselves saving newspaper PDF files and census documents (who else has one day in LA and spends it at the library?). Our two big finds are a divorce record (1942 with details of the settlement—on grounds of “cruelty” Carlotta gets 20% lifetime earnings etc. etc. Hard to imagine “cruelty” from my dissipated and passive alcoholic mess of a father).

The other big find is the address of the W. H. Russell (grandfather) mansion on South Lorraine Blvd. A librarian has taken interest in our cause, and finds out that the old Russell house is still standing (“it looks like it’s huge—you should check it out!”). We leave the library in a rush, and procure a taxi in front of the Checkers.
After a hair-raising drive via 3rd Ave. the taxi delivers us on the curb of 455 S. Lorraine Ave. It’s a preposterous house in a preposterous neighborhood—big pillars and a flight of steps and it’s under construction with nobody home (“maybe they’re in arrears,” I perversely imagine). It makes for a nice bookend, though, on par with the equally perversely rich family home in New Jersey.

Our taxi drive has cost us almost as much as our hotel, but in the end it all seems so worthwhile. We have done it, though I imagine it will take a while to absorb it all and to process the experiences. We share a plate of spaghetti at our hotel restaurant for the final meal, bypassing that opportunity for a gourmet LA dining experience, but enjoying ourselves immensely. It’s been a great ride.

Needles to Pasadena

We made it! We are in Pasadena California. Close enough to LA to count. We traveled through the Mojave Desert today to get here. I expected a desert landscape like “Lawrence of Arabia” but there were rolling hills and lots of scrub brush. I wanted to see a Roadrunner but no such luck.



The weather has been a real rollercoaster. Last week in the desert it was in the 100s and now it is in the 60’s. Then as we got closer to LA there was a huge downpour. It does rain in southern California. Visibility was limited, there were five/six lanes of heavy traffic, accidents every few miles. The speed limit is 75 and they didn’t seem to understand that you should slow down with the rain. But we were lucky compared to the other side – it was packed to a crawl with all the people leaving for the Memorial Day weekend. The hard driving has been on each end of our trip with Newark and LA.

Old Town Pasadena is charming and we have a nice room. There are lots of good restaurants and shopping. After a good Indian lunch and walking around, Lorena and I elect to nap and rest up for our exit ordeal the next two days.

Kevin called today with news of our kitchen renovation. The demolition phase is cranking along. I am feeling the tug of home and feel like we have been away for months. We made it to California!

Sedona AZ to Needles CA

Today was a day of weather contrasts, from fair in the 60's to snow in the low 30's to desert in the 80's. We left Sedona this morning, after sticking our heads in the film museum to confirm what we knew all along in our hearts--Johnny Guitar was filmed here. Can't wait to get home and watch it again with this scenery fresh in our minds. We enjoyed a beautiful drive up to Flagstaff. Highway 89A is lush and tree-lined, following Oak Creek and through a large canyon. and I enjoyed taking time to photograph a bit more of the amazing scenery.

Just west of Flagstaff we got onto I-40 and hit heavy snow and had some scary moments in our tiny PT Cruiser. Once we dropped down below 6,000 feet, though, the snow tapered off. We stopped for lunch and then drove for a couple of hours on Route 66. Our diner in Seligman was just what you’d expect with a caustic waitress, stuffed animals, and crowds of anxious travelers traumatized from the snow.

We pass lots of prairie dogs and one beautiful scene with cowboys herding horses, but the road is mostly deserted and undistinguished (at least compared to the stunning scenery we’ve enjoyed the past couple of days). There were some notable wildflowers, but I found them hard to photograph and the roadside was so filled with empty booze bottles it was hard to navigate. Tumbleweeds are caught in the fence on either side of the road.

We pass a tourist site called “Grand Canyon Caverns” and Kitty eagerly anticipates a transformative experience. It is quite bizarre and a disappointment, though we had no regrets. It’s about 2 miles off the main road, attached to a large restaurant and shoddy looking hotel. Like much on Route 66, it seems to be stuck in the 1960’s. As we come in, there’s a wedding party just getting ready for their reception in the tacky restaurant (tables set in mock-elegance with pre-poured champagne). Our tour guide for the caves is a wiry, wheezy smoker with thin, greasy, long grey hair. He leads the group of about 30 into an elevator where we descend about 22 floors into the earth.

The caves are decidedly unspectacular, although the tour goes on for about 45 minutes in a rote and hurried fashion. There is little color or variation, just some limestone formations and abandoned cases of survival rations in one large cave that were left over from the Cuban missile crisis. I can’t believe people would choose to get married here. We are relieved when the tour is done and we can get back on the road.

Needles is at the edge of the Mohave desert. The landscape still has beautiful mountains in the background, though the vegetation of the plains has been replaced by sand dunes. We will overnight here and then set out for LA in the morning. We plan to stay in Pasadena tomorrow. We have deviated from Sydney's itinerary, but are pleased to not be in San Diego tonight as they have bad flooding. It feels great to be in California and within such close reach of our destination.

Sedona AZ

Sydney says, “ I will not attempt to describe the Grand Canyon , as it is well-nigh impossible. The reader must see it to judge for himself.” They did take a train which we realize too late that we could have replicated. We drive and stop on the south rim. It is breathtaking and overwhelming. I am scared and do not like the heights. Lorena wants to take pictures but finds the vastness hard to capture. We are tired too having misjudged the distances.

Tons of non- English tourists. Lots of Japanese people. I am challenged by the crowds and the multiculturalism. I keep thinking that “one must do the Grand Canyon”, Lorena thinks of this as an expedition and we must return more organized.

Sedona is a find and we can’t help but compare it to Asheville. They have lots of beautiful scenery and emphasis on art etc. They tout the vortexes here and crystals are big. The wind, colors and feelings are hard to resist.

We have stumbled onto this restaurant in Sedona. Of all things, it is our hotel restaurant. Lorena described our meal last night and we went back tonight. I had to ask the bar tender about the chef- sure enough- from Atlanta- famous restaurant and he got a divorce and left the Atlanta restaurant to his wife. He has been in Sedona a year. I was amazed by the innovation and freshness of his approach. Light on the cheese, lots of vegetables but a strong burst of southern BBQ – this guy is combining south with west. It is so weird to have experienced this without seeking it out.

Lorena goes out after dinner and hikes above our hotel. She comes back breathless and excited.

Show Low to Sedona, AZ

5/20/2008 (Tuesday)
We puzzled over the name “Show Low” until we passed the Chamber of Commerce with their motto of a 2-of-clubs and a 3-of-spades. We have somehow gained another hour (Pacific Time?), and chose to put that to use on the road, setting out about 7:30 after a surprisingly full breakfast at the Best Western. We spent our morning following the Russell’s path through the Apache reservation. The first part of the path took us through Pinetop-Lakeside. On our way to Show Low last night, we went through high plains—golden grasslands of rolling hills with few trees. But today we found ourselves in a cool topography of tall pines, with temperatures in the 70’s and establishments with names like “The Blue Ridge Motel.” The décor was familiar with log cabins and bears. The mountains were rolling and blue.
When we passed the casino and entered the reservation proper, things dried out and the trees faded. Horses and ponies grazed roadside. Trailers and small, modest houses in a couple of spots, but for the most part, it was endless plains. White River Indian Reservation was hardly noticeable, and we totally missed Fort Apache. SKR describes the Indian school and the military precision that the children followed. No comment, though, on the practice of taking children from their parents in an attempt to Anglicize them. We are in Geronimo territory and I’m strongly reminded of the criminality of US history, of how we still avoid talking about genocide in direct ways.
SKR describes scenery “beyond anything we had yet seen,” and K. and I puzzle over what might have inspired such praise as we continue along highway 73. When turn south on 60 towards Salt River Canyon, and our puzzlement is soon answered. We will see the Grand Canyon tomorrow, but for now Salt River Canyon is certainly one the grandest thing we’ve seen yet. A deep gorge and soaring mesas, with colors of red and gold and a pale yellow. A river roars below. The road is impressive, hugging the edge with sheer drops.
From Salt River Canyon we head towards the town of Globe, mentioned in an article clipping we found in a book of my father’s. It’s not very promising as we approach, but we decide to check out the historic district, and are drawn to a large corner building, so we park the car to check it out. A couple of women see us, and call to us to come up and explore the building, which was once a court room, but has been restored to an art gallery. The ladies take to us and our story (they are members of the art league board, and with the clerk are eager to show off their work to a pair of engaged outsiders). We get the book out of the car and share our story and look at the art, surprised at the quality of the works and the beautiful restoration of the building. The banister is copper (mined locally). They were quite enthusiastic about our trip and my father’s account, and urge us to stop by the historic museum on our way to Roosevelt Dam to share the Globe clipping we had scanned.

The museum is bizarre. It’s wonderfully done, and reminds us of a “museum of everyday life” we visited once in former East Germany (in Lutherstadt-Wittenburg). They have recreated 1950’s kitchens and living rooms and boast numerous historical photographs and artifacts. They have also done a thorough job documenting and filing old photographs, so we look through a batch on antique cars in hopes of finding one of the Russell’s. No luck, and then the control-hungry manager returns and the dynamic is so deadly between the two that we beg our way out of the place after promising to share our PDF file of the Globe article via email.
We head towards Roosevelt Dam and enter Tonto National Forest. Now Kitty had spoken of how she wanted to see those large cactuses (Senoma Cactus? We really have no idea of the names of flora and fauna out here, but these are the huge ones that look vaguely human with their arms). I had wondered if we would see any at all. Once we entered Tonto, though, they were suddenly everywhere, and we were in an archetypical desert environment, with beautiful mountains and these towering 20 ft. cacti. Some had beautiful white flowers on top, and they are much larger than I would have imagined. Birds have made small holes in the sides and live in there. The drive to the dam on highway 188 was amazing. It got hotter and hotter until it hit 103. Kitty says to me “102” and I say, “No, it’s only 12:15.” “No, we’re on highway 188.” I couldn’t get it was about the temperature, although I’d experienced kind of heat in South FL and in MD (Washington and Baltimore), as well as in the Triangle. The blessing here was the dry heat, so there’s no sweat and it is not nearly as fierce as in the east. “102.” “No, that’s 101.5 on your FM dial.”
We pass cliff dwellings as well as the lake stretching blue for miles. That is bizarre—seeing those huge cactus right up against blue water.
The road went up again through pine and the temperature dropped to a cool 82 before we descended into Sedona. We hadn’t planned on going here, but had found a magazine in the grocery store in Show Low and thought it looked beautiful. What a good call. The red cliffs are breathtaking. They are all about their vortexes, and I have to brag to a woman that we are from Asheville and we have vortexes as well.
We are at a hotel that is just perfect. “The King’s Ransom” is not fancy, but has a beautiful courtyard with a view of the red cliffs (the photo to the left was shot from our balcony), a swimming pool, hot tub and first-class restaurant. We experienced all of these pleasures since our arrival at 4:30. The meal was simply the best we have had yet on our journey. The pool was great—there was even a pair of ducks and Kitty loved it (“I’m swimming with the ducks!”). It’s odd as it’s dry and hot and windy, but once you’re wet it feels very cool as you dry so quickly with no humidity in the air.
The meal was the best we’ve had. They claim “Authentic Mexican.” We shared guacamole, jicama salad and duck empanadas. Finished with a lime brulee. Amazing, with this sunset that lasted for about an hour over the red cliffs. We will do the Grand Canyon tomorrow, but have pledged to return to our hotel restaurant tomorrow night so we can sample the chef’s signature lamb. Such an amazing, full day. We are pleased we have settled in Arizona for the last few days of the trip.

Santa Fe, NM to Show Low AZ

Long day driving. We left Santa Fe early in the morning. The New Mexico / Arizona scenery is not to be believed. Long vistas, mountains, mesas, big rocks and lots of cactus.

We traveled some interstate but mostly old roads keeping up with Sydney’s journal. We spotted a “Harvey House” museum. The “Harvey Houses” are railroad hotels that Sydney and family frequented. There is a Harvey House Judy Garland movie. Young mid-west girls often got jobs as waitresses at “Harvey Houses”. Because it is MONDAY the museum was closed. We were disappointed till we found some workers in the back and convinced them to let us in. (“We’ve come all the way from North Carolina”) It was a real thrill to see the actual accommodations that Sydney would have had in the teens.

I really appreciate the amount of fortitude it must have taken to manage this trip in the teens. We pulled off in tiny towns and you can get a real feeling for the rural nature. No Kitty was not brave enough to go into Mary’s but we did go into a very local restaurant in on small town and the whole place got quiet and stared at us when we walked in. “They must be train riders”.

I am very tired. We had trouble fining a place to stay tonight. it is funny because Sydney's journal is full of finding a place to stay stories. We were in a small town and all the hotels were full because of a local construction project? Anyway we made our way to the next town and found a place. Looking forward to the Grand Canyon. Good Night.

Colorado Springs, CO to Santa Fe, NM

It’s 5:30, and we’ve just arrived in Santa Fe after a full day’s drive. The wine we bought Saturday is on ice, and we have a comfortable room at the Old Santa Fe Inn with a view of the town and mountains.

We left Colorado Springs at about 8:00 this morning, and got on the old road (highway 64—Santa Fe Trail) just south of Raton. The landscape was beautiful with the snow-capped San Cristo Mountains beyond the plains. The sight had moved my father to purple prose: “Out on the plain, the mountains, like giant castles of old, simmered golden and red in the slowly fading sunset. And still our machine, as if propelled by human hands, moved ever onward toward its destination.” Of course they were just heading into Trinidad, CO as he wrote this, and would then stay the night in Raton before finally making it into Santa Fe several days later. Our sturdy machine moved us ever onward all the way through to Santa Fe.

In Raton (just over the NM border), we took a few minutes to find the old town and have a look about. Not much left of the town, but we found one road across from the railway station that had numerous buildings dated from the early 20th century. We imagined that the Russell’s had stayed at the Prospect Hotel, a stone structure of faded grandeur on the corner. The town was dead, dead, dead. One unmarked storefront boasted candid, professional photos of Hollywood stars with little explanation (Lucy and Desi, Frank Sinatra & Lauren Bacall, Dean Martin, etc.). I imagined they had once visited the town in its brighter day.

Once we got on the old road things got exciting. First we saw herds of antelope on the right side of the road just moments from exiting the interstate, and then a large herd of elk (just after the elk crossing warning sign). We were thrilled! Next we passed a herd of scrappy horses that might have been wild. Prairie dogs and an armadillo capped it off. As Kitty put it, if this were the only thing to happen to us on the trip, it would have been enough to make it worthwhile.

The road rose steadily up into Cimarron State Park, and the arid landscape of the plains was replaced by the more familiar one of mountain streams and soaring pines. The trees, of course, are different here, with Aspen, cottonwood, Piños, and spruce lining the hillsides. I was delighted with the smell as Richard and Jeffrey had bought us some Piños incense from their NM trip, and I recognized the scent in the air. There were lots of fly fishermen in the park as well some tourists at the pullovers, but the road was practically deserted. We passed one rock formation called “The Palisades.” I imagine that in 1913 the road followed the route of the current interstate, as this feature surely would have elicited some comment from SKR. We ascended to about 9,000 feet to a high valley lake, and then descended into Taos about 2:00.

Taos was smaller than I would have expected, but full of tourists perusing the small square of adobe buildings. We had a nice lunch of quesadillas and tacos, and bypassed the opportunity to view D. H. Lawrence’s pornographic drawings (showing at 4:00 PM, and we were anxious to get on the road to Santa Fe). We stopped and bought a bag of piños nuts (pine nuts) in the shell from an engaging Indian woman. In her enthusiasm, Kitty nearly bought a pound, but settled instead on a $10.00 bag of roasted nuts still in their shell. She is ecstatic (currently working her way slowly through the bag).

The drive from Taos to Santa Fe follows the Rio Grande River for most of the way. The landscape is varied with gorges, canyons, mesas and these amazing rock formations (one that looks just like a camel—“Camel Rock”). The colors continue to astound—lots of red in the rocks, and wildflowers are blooming yellow and orange. The sagebrush is a pale blue-green, the cedars dark green, and the aspen are just budding a new golden green with the mountains purple/blue in the background. I finally had to put my camera away so we could make some progress on the road.

Tonight we dine at the Blue Corn Cafe with a view of a sunset over Santa Fe. The full moon is lovely--hello Jane!

Colorado Springs

We are getting tired and a bit ragged at this point in the trip but we can’t resist the impulse to experience everything. For instance this am we had planned a quiet morning in the library and an afternoon pilgrimage to Pikes Peak. Sydney raves about the cog train to the top of Pikes Peak. “Truly magnificent panorama” “No Tourist should miss this wonderful journey…” But we saw a piece about “The Garden of the Gods” and we had to go before the Pikes peak excursion. Gods Garden was well worth the effort. It was stunning. First the colors- red, beige rocks, blue skies and green cedars. It is hard to absorb. And the size of the rocks cliffs are astounding. Next are the birds! There were tons of birds living in the rocks crevices with their songs and cries. We had never seen anything quite like it.

Next we headed to the 12 noon Cog train up Pikes Peak. We were so lucky- this is the first group this week to make it to the top. (Excellent weather) We saw the road from the train and could not believe how treacherous it looked. No guardrail, switchbacks and soft mud and snow. The road was closed today, we are early in May. Anyway, the cog wheel train and hikers made it to the top.

Well, Sydney talks about the cold and wind but he did not mention the inability to breath! There was lots of warning but the intensity of the altitude surprised me. You almost start to panic but then say, “calm down”. They had paramedics running around in bright red tee e shirts and bandage scissors hanging off their belts.

The views were “splendid” and I enjoyed our sandwiches while calling friends. “I’m at the top of Pikes Peak” On the way down I saw several Marmots frocking in the snow and rocks.

For dinner I was hot to go to this Creperie restaurant I had seen the night before. Well, it was hot and crowded and the waiters ignored us. The food was not that good. Oh well, that is how it goes. Tomorrow we push on.

Hutchinson KS to Colorado City CO

My father describes the monotony of the Kansas landscape: "A noticeable fact here is that the land is open and flat, with almost no forest land. The unending panorama stretched out before us on both sides for miles and miles, growing fainter and fainter in the distance...." Not much has changed in this regard. Kitty and I had prepared ourselves for the plains, and were pleased to find ourselves content enough, having to allow that we are "easily amused." We are following the Santa Fe trail (50 W), and although it is two lane most of the way, the speed limit is a peppy 65.

We were clipping along when a cop pulled us over, catching Kitty going 74 mph. Our first response was that it gave us something to write about in the blog (other than a string of pro-life posters, there is little to note on this road). We had of course thought of ourselves as Thelma and Louise much of the time, but found instead that we grew very docile at this point (and the cop turned out to be quite nice as well, not at all cocky and no reflector glasses). As it was, he let us off with a warning, and we were careful to stay well within bounds for the rest of the day.

We were excited by the prospect of Dodge City, which has managed to recreate a small taste of its imagined past with "Boot Hill," a recreated western street at the site of the former cemetery. The recreation obviously owes a lot to Gunsmoke. The town, like much of western Kansas, smelled of beef: a musty bovine smell of sweat and hide. Upon arriving at Kansas City, SKR notes "the suggestive odor of slaughtered swine floted up to us as we crossed the bridge." This was cow, not swine, but equally suggestive. We seem to be in the west at last.

The landscape was enhanced by the beautiful day, and when we pulled off to check out traces of wagon tracks from the Santa Fe trail (signs proudly advertise "ruts"), we were struck with the wildflowers and the birds and that constant wind. It's stark, but strikingly lovely and full of life.


The landscape grew more dramatic as we moved into Colorado. A small town my father had noted as famed for it's cantaloupe (Rocky Ford) still boasted melon on its town sign, although the fields were just recently prepared for planting and the fruit stands were empty. As we approached Pueblo, the earth took on a beautiful golden color, and the snow capped mountains were clearly visible in the west.

We are staying two nights at the Antlers, the same hotel (though rebuilt) that the Russell's stayed in. This will be the only time we have managed this level of replication, and we have a large corner room with a view of Pike's Peak. The town is wonderful and much like Asheville--lots of energy and incredible scenery. After 8 hours of driving, it feels great to be off the road and settled for a couple of days. We are thoroughly enjoying ourselves and are very happy to be in Colorado.

Omaha to Hutchinson KS

I had the best time in the Omaha library looking at old 1913 newspapers. One short piece discussed the first ticket for speeding in a school zone- it was a brand new law. I found this piece written the week Sydney and his parents were in Omaha.

It discusses the amount of cars coming from the West and it mentions the first use of a automobile hearse with a body from San Francisco to NY!

Today we traveled the old Santa Fe Trail. Once again rolling hills dotted with farm houses. Stopped in Kansas city for ribs.

The weather was beautiful, blue skies with bright white clouds. Tried to confirm one story that Sydney tells in his book. Seems that he stopped at a big elm on a the banks of the Black Kettle Creek. This spot according to Sydney was the site of a battle between Kit Carson and some Indians. We found the town and the creek, it flowed through a park. We asked some people in the park , "That's a new one on me". We expected a sign etc. Oh well -It will be fun to research it later.

Hutchinson is much bigger than we though. Many old buildings but the old railway depot with the "Harvey Hotel" that Sydney stayed in is long gone. Tomorrow we continue with Kansas and make our way to Colorado Springs. We have a two night stay there and I am looking forward to it!

I think I saw a road runner today and I understand that prairie dogs exist out here. Guess we will have lots of time to look tomorrow.

Davenport IL to Omaha, Nebraska

My father describes how the scenery changes once they past Des Moines: "And here the scenery was unusually attractive. Like a long , winding snake, the road wound in and out between the extensive corn fields. The country was a mass of gentle slopes, rising and falling to meet each other in a an endless chain, dotted here and there with picturesque farmhouses." We were struck as well by the how the slightest bit of contour and elevation peaked our interest in the landscape. We breakfasted at "Grandma's Kitchen" where they sold John Deere playing cards. It's obvious why tractors rule--this is farmland as I've never experienced farmland.

Since we left Cleveland, one of the action highlights of our trip has been the dueling red-winged blackbirds. How long will this last? At least we remain easily amused by the territorial escapades of these colorful birds. We have bought a book-on-tape by V. S. Naipal and every time we put it in whoever is not driving falls fast asleep. Today Kitty dozes as I listen to the melodious narrative and fight the soporific effect of the story.

I start to enjoy the landscape and its subtle beauty. "On the meadows and hillsides are found a great number of cattle and pigs, grazing in comfortable idleness." I anticipate supper (carnivore that I am).

We left Davenport at 8:00 and pull into Omaha at 2:00. I've been in contact with the librarian, and after checking in at the hotel, we walk the two blocks to the library and I at meet Joanne. She sets us out on our research quest, arming us with statistic and pointing us towards appropriate texts and newspapers. I leave Kitty at the microfiche and walk to the river (no, I'm not a brute--her feet prevent her from walking and she is totally fired up with the research potential. She ends up finding stories that would put any tabloid show to shame).

Omaha echoes Asheville in interesting ways. It's the major metropolitan center for a largely rural area, and boasts a multi-block area of restaurants and boutiques. We ask the doormen at our hotel where to go to get good beef (all that corn....) and they send us to a restaurant called "Passport." Excellent quality beef. A great Bordeaux. The rest is lacking and we are engaged trying to figure out the cultural differences (watching a heterosexual display of two men trying to seduce their women with a surprise beige stretch limo). I like the city, but have this nagging question: "Now where did Teena Brandon live?"

Anyway, it's a cool city and people have been very nice. I'm just aware I'm getting looks I normally don't get in Asheville, and it's certainly not about my weight and not about my race. Our friends Micki and Mary drove across county and took photos at all the universities that they were rejected (stand-out Duke graduates who couldn't get jobs for a couple of years). We could have done the same--Grinell U is not far from where we are tonight, and I was soundly rejected from at least two schools in Illinois and a few in Indiana. I imagine another life, parallel to our current one, only lived out in Omaha instead of Asheville. There's lots of charm here, but we are ever-so-grateful to be where we are. Tomorrow we take on Kansas. I've had weather anxiety about Kansas for weeks, but things look clear and sunny. I'm sure that if you were traveling in NC from the midwest you'd have anxieties about Deliverance. Du do du do du do du do do....

Cleveland Ohio to Davenport Iowa

We leave Cleveland early and drive a good part of the day, covering the rest of Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and stopping in Iowa. We decided not to drive into Chicago and instead skirt the southern edge. Sydney said in his book, “We passed through a large section of farming country, containing extensive fields of corn, wheat and cabbage, though principally corn.” It is the same today. Large farms with huge sweeping fields. This time of year they are starting with new tender green shoots.

The farm houses are plunked down in the middle of vast spaces with a few trees around them. It reminds me of “In Cold Blood”. The wind is fierce. There are tons of red wing black birds, one every 20 to 30 yards on the wire fence. They must be guarding their territory because we saw three or four fights, with the birds wrestling down to the ground together.
At one point in a small town both L and I smelled wonderful fresh baking bread. It was thick in the air and everywhere. Then Lorena saw a sign on a huge silo, “grain terminal”.

When Sydney went through this area, he said there had been a long drought and everything was covered with dust. For us it was the complete opposite. They had terrible flooding last week. The river was still very high and close to the edges of the bridges. Lots of sandbags and debris around and people were still stunned. I remember hearing about it on the news but it is so differant when you see it.

There is lots of German influence (or at least more than we are used to) Wurst, beer, pretzels and town names. More mid-west tomorrow.

Bedford Springs Resort, PA, Cleveland OH

We wake to a cold, rainy day (in the thirties with snow and sleet to the west). I had hoped to get out and take photos of the town, but it's just too messy. I watch CNN and try to wrap my head around the China earthquake until the alarm goes off at 7:00 and the day officially begins.

We are staying in Oralee's Golden Eagle Inn, a beautifully restored inn. We have breakfast at 8:00 on the porch. It ranks as one of the best I'd ever had. Fresh juice and coffee and then beautifully prepared scrambled eggs with potato pancakes, bacon, watermelon, muffin, spice cake (pumpkin bread?) and fresh jam. The weather didn't matter any more.

Our next stop was the resort where my father stayed in 1913, The Bedford Spring Resort. It was just a few minutes south of town on 220, a massive (1800 acre) resort that was founded as a curative place where the ailing could "take the waters" and now making its name as an elite enclave where the wealthy can golf and be rejuvinated at a spa. For Kitty it is reminscent of her family's vacation spot at Capon Springs and a teenage visit to the Greenbriar. For me it summons memories of Palm Beach privilege, throwing me into a state of class identity crisis.

The class presumptions piss me off as usual. I get stirred up on the one hand because I resent all the privilege this represents. I’m enough of a Marxist to know what kind of reciprocal misery all of this comfort implies. On the other hand, I resent the distain I feel from the personnel. They see me as a fat dyke in jeans and sweatshirt and naturally read me as socially inferior and out of place, and project that disregard and contempt in their interactions. Now even though I am clearly making choices with my attire and deliberately downplaying whatever class privilege my birthright might confer, I still resent their disrespect. It’s a terrible double bind, as their dismissal makes me want to rise up and claim my status, a status that on the other hand I am desperate to deny. This happens when I visit Palm Beach. I look like a working class woman and therefore present as an outsider, but when people dismiss me, I often paradoxically claim my place like a defiant child. I generally avoid ritzy places as it brings out the worst in me.

Surprisingly, it all turns out well. I get a couple of good photos, which perks my mood. The tour is interesting enough. And when the previously dismissive concierge gets to the part about the Russell family, I cannot resist saying, “Yes, “Che, Sera, Sera is my family motto” (proudly claimed by the resort’s tacky “Che Sera Sera Café”). She gets it and goes bottom: “I didn’t realize…now I understand…Russell…Wait until I tell Mr. Dietenbaugh I had a relative of the Duke’s on my tour….” Almost embarrassing, but I am totally avenged. She’s goes out of her way to flatter me those last few minutes of the tour, and ends up by getting my card in order to put me in touch with the historian Mr. Dietenbaugh. I tip her appropriately and feel somehow sullied but victorious.

We leave the resort and head on to Cleveland. The drive is unremarkable. The rain has stopped, and we go from the Pennsylvania Turnpike to the Ohio Turnpike. Pennsylvania is especially lovely. There's a mountainous area (Laurel Highlands?) of the Alleghannie Ridge with some amazing views and immaculate farms--green, green pastures with limestone outcroppings that remind me of Ireland. When we pass Pittsburgh I regret we have no time to linger. I worked with a student (Cory) who wrote a great story about her family's history in the town, and feel a sense of connection from that.

We get to Cleveland after a 4 hour drive and are dependent on our GPS "TomTom" as I have not beeen able to spot our hotel on any map. It's an hellish drive into the city due to construction on our approach. The TomTom tells us to go straight ahead, but it's a one-lane construction zone and there's a city bus coming right at us. We are both traumatized by the time we arrive at the hotel, but there's this amazing doorman who calms us down and reassures us and makes us feel everything is just fine.

The Glidden House is more than fine. It's on the university (Case Western) campus, just around the corner from the botanical gardens. This is one of most comfortable rooms I've ever stayed in, overlooking the leafy green campus, plenty of room, and a 42" TV. We walk around the campus for a bit and then stop for a beer in a tavern with an actual beer garden and have a wonderful dinner (local cheese plate and pork chop) in a Tapas bar adjacent to the hotel. I wish we were spending more time here, but now I know where to stay if I ever come back to Cleveland. Something about the privilege of a university that I can be comfortable with, unlike the pretention of a place like Bedford Springs Resort. We will try to make it past Chicago tomorrow. It's a lovely sunset outside and the campus is quite and still.