Jim Poling Sr.'s Blog, page 49

Ozzie On The Road Again - 5

   Colorado! State of majestic mountains and broad fertile valleys. And, finally some coolness.
   We've ended up in Gunnison in a lovely valley in west-central Colorado. Population about 5,800, elevation 7,700 feet. Definitely cattle country.
   Gunnison's historical claim to fame is that no one here died of the flu during the great Spanish Flu Epidemic of 1918. The town closed itself off to the outside world during the outbreak.
   All highways leading into the town were barricaded. Train conductors warned passengers that anyone who got off in Gunnison would be arrested and quarantined.
   Naturally, when the Old Guy heard of this history he bugged me to include in my blog a mention of his book Killer Flu: The World on the Brink of an Epidemic. Geez!
   I might visit here in winter. The place gets an average 50 inches of snow and because it is in a low valley is considered one of the coldest winter places in the U.S. Colder than Alaska? No educated Malamute like me is going to believe that.

OZ
Arriving in Colorado!
John and Marcus Doing Water/Elect./Sewer Hookup
Goats Eating RV Park Shrubbery
 
 

Ozzie On The Road Again - 4

When you are an aristocrat Alaskan Malamute like me, you’ve got to hate these Great Plains. Reason One: It’s too damn hot. Temperatures ranged from 90 to 107 degrees in Nebraska today. Even the creeks and ponds were too warm to be cooling off spots. Any shady spots were occupied early in the day by the rattlesnakes.   Reason Two: History. There is much wonderful explorer and pioneer history here. However, for canines, past events are not a happy memory.   This is the territory famous for being the starting point for the Louis and Clark expedition just over 200 years ago. Those were the two lads that President Jefferson sent out to explore the unknown parts of the new America and to find an overland route to the Pacific Ocean.   In 1803, a year or so before setting out on the great exploration, Captain Merriweather Lewis bought himself a strange companion. It was a Newfoundland dog named Seaman. Lewis must have really wanted the dog because he paid $20 for it, a large sum back then. Chillin' In RV A/C   Seaman, until recent history had been known as Scanlon because of smeared ink on a document containing his name, endured the entire trip to the Oregon Coast and back. He suffered some hardships including being bit on the leg by a beaver.   His fared much better than the other 263 dogs who joined the exploration. They all were eaten when food ran low. Seaman was the only dog to return home, which shows the wisdom of choosing the right owner and sucking up to him and her.   You can read more about Seaman at www.lewisandclarktrail.com/seaman.htmand there have been books written about Seaman including Lewis and Clark and Me: A Dog’s Tale by Laurie Myers 2002.   Other highlights of knowledge acquired out on the Plains:

In Lemoyne, Nebraska (pop. 40) rattlesnakes took over a new church and churchyard in the early 1940s. Ninety rattlers were rounded up before services could be held in safety.TV dinners were invented by a Nebraskan in 1954. Gerry Thomas, a salesman for Omaha-based C.A. Swanson and Sons, is credited with yet another way for people to get indigestion.Back in the 1980s a gosling was born with no feet in Harvard, Nebraska. Someone who took ownership of the gosling made shoes for him and taught him to walk. Andy the Footless Goose was featured in a 1989 People magazine article and appeared on the Tonight Show. Sudden fame can be dangerous. Andy was kidnapped and murdered in 1991. His body was found with his shoes still on.
Marcus and Mom: Adopted Nebraskans 107 F and Looking for Shade

    

Ozzie on the Road Again - 3

   Things are cooking and jumping here in the Midwest. We rolled out of Chicago in a booming thunderstorm while listening to the radio news that 75 people were shot in the city during the four–day July 4 holiday period. Reports varied but it appears 12 people died of gunshot wounds in a variety of shooting incidents and more than 60 were wounded. Two of the critically wounded were little boys who were celebrating in city parks with their families and were hit in separate incidents of random gunfire.   We breathed easier after rolling out of the storm and big city traffic and into the undulating cornfields of Iowa. Not exactly quiet here, either. Talk radio everywhere, including one show devoted to the highlights of nudity so far in 2013. Been a good year, I gather, with a nice selection of celebrity women having posed nude for the cameras. This is Iowa?   We found the Midwest we expected when we pulled into a campground just southwest of Des Moines. Just down the road is the town of Winterset, birthplace of John Wayne. He was born there May 6, 1907 to Clyde and Mary Morrison who named him Marion Robert Morrison. His father was a pharmacist.   This is America, so the birthplace is much celebrated. They are raising money to build a new museum that will teach new generations “the character quality of John Wayne.” It costs $7 for adults to get into the current museum. Here you can buy a Duke Talking Pocket Watch, a Duke Calendar, a John Wayne Bobblehead and a Green Berets mug.   There’s another movie connection in this area. This is Madison County where the bridges were featured in the 1992 book and 1995 move The Bridges of Madison County.   Back in Canada it takes a canoe, compass, and machete to find the disputed burial place of Tom Thomson, the now famous Canadian painter, and subject of one of the country’s most enduring mysteries. (click the Old Guy’s website for details about his Tom Thomson book).   More cornfields tomorrow. Meanwhile, remember the Duke’s words:“Courage is being scared to death . . . and saddling up anyway.”
John Wayne Birthplace/Museum
Proposed New Museum:
     

Ozzie On the Road Again - 2

   The absurd discrimination against dogs prevents me from providing first-hand reporting on the trip to Wrigley Field, one of America’s holiest baseball shrines.
Dogs of course are not allowed on Chicago’s L (for elevated) transit system serving the stadium. Even if I got there, dogs are not allowed into the stadium. However, I can provide a report from various sources, none of whose reporting is as accurate or detailed as my own would be.   Wrigley Field is the second oldest major league ballpark, opened in 1914. The oldest is Boston’s Fenway Park which opened in 1912. The L stops right beside the stadium and pours out thousands of people into the lively neighbourhood surrounding the park. Many crowd into Murphy’s Bleachers, the famous sports bar where patrons grab a beer and spill out onto the street.   If you look up from the street you see an amazing example of American entrepreneurship. Bleachers have been built atop the stone and brick apartment buildings lining Sheffield and Waveland Streets. The bleachers look down in to the ballpark. You don’t need to buy a regular stadium ticket to see the game from there, but the people who own the outside bleachers charge a price for the novelty of watching the game from these perches.   Inside Wrigley there is real grass and the outfield wall is draped in ivy. You are back in a different time, expecting a legendary player such as Babe Ruth to trot onto the field.   There are hot dogs, pretzels and salted peanuts for sale. And, beer, of course.  You need to get a pink wrist band to buy beer. It’s proof that you are old enough to purchase alcohol. They even made the Old Guy go to the pink band desk to show his age ID. Obviously, it’s not just the umpire who is blind here.   Wrigley truly is a place of miracles. The lowly Chicago Cubs defeated the league-leading Pittsburgh Pirates 4-1.   That's it for now.OZ
Murphy's Bleachers
Apartment Bleachers The Venerable Ballpark
Steve, Marcus and John

Ozzie On The Road Again - 1

   
Ready for the 4thHey, I'm back blogging. This has been a swellerino week. Celebrated Canada Day July 1 with the folks in Canada. And July 4 Independence Day with the folks in the U.S. Cool cross-border stuff.
    For those of you just joining the ride, here's the background. My name is Ozzie and  I'm a pure bred Alaskan Malamute. Was born in the Sierra Nevada near Truckee, CA and loped down the mountains to keep a San Francisco-area family safe and happy.
   Me, Mom Marcella and the boys, John and Marcus, have been RVing across North America with the Old Guy who usually writes this blog and has a cottage up in Canada. Now we are headed back to California and Dad Steve is with us for part of the ride.
   Phew, this background stuff takes a lot of space and energy!
   At any rate, here we all are in Glencoe Village (just outside Chicago) visiting friends and celebrating July 4 ( which is the day after my birthday! Thanks for all the cards and calls).
   Americans are much more enthusiastic than Canadians about celebrating their heritage. There were Independence Day gatherings in parks, house parties, flags on almost every doorstep and enough fireworks displays to dazzle the most jaded observer.
   Driving into Chicago I must have seen three dozen huge billboard ads for Krazy Kaplans' Fireworks. Interestingly, 99 per cent of all fireworks set off in the U.S. come from China, according to the New York Times.
   Another interesting July 4 fact: three presidents died on  Independence Day - Thomas Jefferson, James Munro and  John Adams.
   Went down to the beach twice today. Once for a swim and once at dusk for the fireworks displays. Towns and villages lining the shores north of Chicago put on spectacular displays. Got a sore neck from turning my head to see them all.
   You read  all kinds of bad stuff about the U.S. in the Canadian papers. But July 4 is the real America. Lots of nice folks, and of course nice dogs too.

Oz
Fireworks in Every Direction
Wading in Lake Michigan
 

Road Tripping with Ozzie - 10

   Wow, the scents here are all new and terrific! What a place. It’s a zoo of scents.    We arrived at St. Nora Lake just before dark and I got my nose to the ground immediately. Raccoons, bunnies, deer, moose and yes, my ancestors, those brave and bold timber wolves. The Old Guy said he sat out here and listened to the wolves and coyotes howling three weeks ago. I can hardly wait to join that chorus.   The final leg of our 3,000-mile journey to this fabulous place was uneventful with not too many exciting sights. A bit of a letdown after all the excitement of meeting relatives in Sault Ste. Marie. All of them of course loved me immediately.   Checked out the water but it’s odd. No salt like our water in San Francisco Bay. But when you look out over the water you see an entire shoreline of wild and unpeopled forest. That’s where they say the wolves live but the Old Guy took photos of wolf tracks on his property here this spring. They were as big or bigger than mine.   I think I’m going to like it here. Nana is at this place and she gives me lots of attention and has food all over the place. So far all I’ve done is look and drool. Part of my extensive education in California was learning not to snatch food when no one is looking. But you know even Malamutes have weak moments . . . .   That’s it. Hope you enjoyed being along for the trip.
Ozzie(P.S. What's with the photographer? The latest pictures are sepia. Hard to find good help anymore).
Check out Mom's blog at: http://goodtogojewelry.blogspot.ca/
Arriving at St. Nora Lake
Hmmm . . No Salt

Road Tripping with Ozzie - 9

   Disappointment is inevitable on a 5,000-kilometre cross-continent road trip. Ours came after crossing into Canada and arriving at Thunder Bay. Fog banks that followed a huge thunderstorm shrouded Nanabijou, the famous and mysterious Sleeping Giant.    The Giant is a mammoth rocky peninsula that juts into Lake Superior and fills a good part of the eastern horizon when you look out to the lake from almost anywhere in Thunder Bay. It is a sight not to be missed but we did despite waiting and hoping for the fog to lift.   Nanabijou looks like an Indian chief in full head dress who has lain down on the water to sleep. Legend has it that the thunder and lightning that sometimes lashes the lake is the chief stirring in his sleep.   The Old Guy was born and grew up in the shadow of the Sleeping Giant and always raves about it. I must say I was impressed and had a yearning to get out there and explore.   Farther down the shore we visited Rossport to explore some more local history. The tiny village, tucked into a bay protected by pretty islands, used to host one of the world’s most famous fishing derbies.   The Old Guy’s memoir Waking Nanabijou: Uncovering a Secret Past gives this description of the Derby in the 1940s and 1950s:   “Rossport at derby time was a gold rush town. People walked shoulder to shoulder on the town footpaths and few tiny streets. Boats floated gunwale to gunwale at the docks and at anchor in the harbour, one of the prettiest along the north shore. People cooked on open fires and on portable barbecues. They slept in boats and in tents in yards rented out. The excitement tingled in your nostrils as you pushed through the crowds. Any one of us thousands of fishermen could be the winner. No matter who you were or what friends or money you had, if you knew how to work a lure at the end of a rod, you could win the Rossport Fish Derby. The tiniest boat could be the biggest winner . . . .”   First prize was a brand new car, a big deal in a time when many people could not afford to buy a car.   We also visited a historical site which goes mostly unnoticed beside the old Rossport Inn. There stands the mast of the Gunilda, a New York millionaire's yacht that struck a reef August 30, 1911 and sank in two hundred metres of water. Legend is that the yacht carried the millionaire's treasure.    Tacked to the mast is a small plate remembering Charles ‘King’ Hague, who drowned August 8, 1970 while trying to explore the wreck. Hague was a childhood friend of the Old Guy and they lived on the same street.   Interesting stuff along an interesting and picturesque highway that follows the north shore of Lake Superior between Thunder Bay and Sault Ste. Marie.
   We made it into the Soo before dark and were treated to Chinese food by Auntie Barbara and Anthea, who is the Old Guy’s sister and niece. I got to clean up the leftovers, a swell treat for a Malamute on a diet of dry kibble.
Me and Unk Gerry Poling in Thunder Bay
We Travellers at the Gunilda/King Hague Memorial

Road Tripping with Ozzie - 8

   The cold fog obscures it, but I know it is there. I can taste it in the northern breeze and feel it in my nostrils. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s Gitche Gumee, the Big Lake. Lake Superior, the world’s largest freshwater lake by surface area.   The Old Guy senses it too. This is the countryside of his family and the lake has been part of their history for almost 100 years.   We had overnighted in a small campground at Pipestone, Southern Minnesota, a sacred Indian site of special stone for making ceremonial pipes, then headed northeast for Duluth. The flat farmlands, dotted with large steel silos for storing ethanol corn for gasoline, gradually turn to wooded parkland. The pines, so dominant out west, now are a minority among the birch, popular and other deciduous trees and bushes.   We pass Cloquet, where the Old Guy’s branch of the family began. His father was born there three years before the Great Cloquet Fire of 1918. The fire killed 453 people, and another 52,000 were injured or displaced. The Old Guy’s family moved north to International Falls and eventually into Canada, but always on the Big Lake.   The land and the weather have changed dramatically in the seven hours it took to drive from the southwest corner of the state to Duluth on the far tip of the lake. It was in 80s in the morning but on the lake we peered through lake mist created by temperatures in the 50s, much appreciated when you are carrying a coat like mine.   The others here are shivering and running for their jackets (except for Marcus who no matter what the weather always is in shorts and T-shirt). But if this is what the north is like, I’m loving it! So much so that I romp along the shoreline then wade into the waves for a refreshing dip.   I expect to sleep soundly, lulled by the waves breaking against the stony shore and without my constant panting that comes with the heat.    Lake Superior can be unwelcoming, however, and during the night throws one of its famous tantrums. Monsoon rains leave little lakes around the RV. Flashes of lightning illuminate us inside and the thunder is deafening. Later gale force winds rock the RV and start tearing the rain covers off tents across the way.
   This a very unhappy lake and the Old Guy reminds us that it is the same unhappy lake that took down the mighty Edmund Fitzgerald, immortalized in song by Gordon Lightfoot.   Mom's blog at:http://goodtogojewelry.blogspot.com/
Staying Cool Beside the Big Lake
Dictating my Latest Post to the Old Guy Lake Superior Getting Hostile

Road Trippin' with Ozzie - 7

'Put Ozzie on Mount Rushmore!'
   We made some progress yesterday on the ‘Ozzie on Mount Rushmore!’ campaign. Not as much as I would have liked because of those silly dog restrictions in U.S. National Parks.   I was allowed up only to the lowest Mount Rushmore viewing level for a photo op. They wouldn’t let me onto the long mall right below the mountain on which the faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln are carved into the rock. That mall is packed with hundreds of people, most of whom, after giving me a glance, would have supported my campaign.    Really what is the government worried about with these restrictions? Do they think I would scramble up the mountain and pee on Washington’s chin? Geez. No educated and sophisticated dog would ever do that. I mean I’ve got American Kennel Club papers, eh.   At any rate I’m looking for more support. If you think you’d like to see my chiselled great looks carved into Rushmore, just make a comment on this blog.   As mentioned the other day, it seems unfair to have four presidents and no dogs carved into the mountain. I mean look at our contributions to society. And, most people agree I have the most adorable face they’ve ever seen.   I should mention that Rushmore is in South Dakota’s Black Hills, a name which leaves a wrong impression. These mountains were named Black Hills because they are heavily forested with dark, green pines and from a distance appear black. They are rugged and very beautiful.   We wanted to stay longer but had to make up some time so headed out for the real barren part of South Dakota – the Badlands. We have a good routine going; Marcus is chief engineer looking after electrical/sewer hookups etc. while John is the chief of campfires. Mom does the planning and driving and cooking. The Old Guy just sort of hangs out looking confused and telling stories.   We camped in the Badlands. Beautiful white/grey jagged land forms that look like small unvegetated mountains.
   Join the chant: ‘Ozzie on Mount Rushmore!’

(Mom has more on our trip at: http://goodtogojewelry.blogspot.com/)
Note open space to left where Ozzie's mug could be carved
The Badlands of South Dakota

Road Trippin with Ozzie - 6

   We left Cody, Wyoming thinking the best of the mountain scenery was behind us. Boy, were we ever wrong.
   We had expected to head east into the rolling high plains and prairie that stretch hundreds of miles to the Dakotas. However, Mom found a scenic route through Bighorn National Forest. Spectacular!
   We corkscrewed our way up to 9600 feet above sea level, getting stunning views of the Bighorn Basin Country below us. Up top we passed through broad green, and sometimes snowy, alpine meadows which graced us with little streams that gurgled a welcome to wade in and lap your fill.
   The Old Guy said this is an ace route compared with the more southerly Wyoming highways where it is more flat and bland. I knew that, but sometimes you just have to let him talk.
   The descent of the east side of the mountains was nerve-wracking but we were rewarded with panoramic views.
   Later we detoured to Devil's Tower National Monument. That's the towering chunk of rock you saw in the movie Close Encounters of a Third Kind. The sky closed in with dark clouds and I heard eerie sounds, the kind that only dogs hear. I figured they were coming to take the Old Guy because some of the things he says make me believe that he communicates with space people.
   I'll be glad when we finally reach Mount Rushmore so I can start sweet talking those stone carvers into getting my gorgeous mug carved into that mountain. The people we met today all agreed I would be a terrific  addition to Rushmore.

Ozzie

Devil's Tower, spooky, eh?

Sniffing Around Bighorn Leaving Yellowstone