Travels With Oso con Migo
Odyssey In America
OAE On The Road Again — Migration to Conway
The End of May
Is MayNot next? A milestone today even tho I am not moving: I've
consumed the last of La Casa Blanca's ice cubes! Fortunately there is
yet some ten gallons of that same nice water tucked away in the
reserves but my poor freezer will have to work overtime to make
icecubes of it. I suppose I could always give up G&T, eh? Not
bloody likely. It would be easier to give up B&J than G&T.
Dump and fill this afternoon. Ready for the on road again. Heading
north to look for the Arkansas High Point.
North of Texarkana but Not Beyond Hope.
This is now June. Too early to tell where I will be for Field Day. Nice
night at this Flying-J caravanserai wherever I am between Tex... and
Hope. This is an old Flying-J and tho they have two RV islands they
have no designated RV parking. I started out on the truck side but it
was noisy and no grass where Sara(h) could play. After showering we
moved to the other side. Like a dog looking for a place to lay The Cat Drag'd Inn circled round
the carpark three times before finding the right space: Wifi, flat,
seven car slots long, next to grass, not too close under trees, headed
east is nice...
Met one of Bill's distant cousins today. Joe Pennington lives in
Murfreesboro ARkansas and has a twin brother named Bill. No relation?
Family came west, not by much, from West Virginia a couple generations
back. One of Joe's relations made it as far as Oregon but Joe stopped
in ARkansas and built his home and business in Murfreesboro in 1970 and
still lives in the same house. He goes by the handle Muffler Man and has a geocache
in his front yard. Good way to get to meet new friends.
Now in Danville picking up trash for my camp spot. Today's road had its
ups and downs; AR 27 is a narrow twisty two-lane-mostly-sans-shoulder
highway I followed from Nashville to here. Across the Ouachita
Mountains it is especially wriggly in three dimensions. Some hills
gained or lost three hundred feet in less than a mile—better than 6%
grade. After all the ups and downs the net change in altitude is about
zero. Still cloudy hot and humid.
Driving between Dierks and Pearcy on U.S.70, listening on Channel
19, I overheard some woman ask a trucker where there was a good
place to eat. The trucker told her she should look for a place with
lots and lots of trucks; either the food would be real good or the
scenery would be. The woman replied that he was sexist and had no taste.
Day two in Danville.
Bill writes to correct me about my date for Nude REC Week. Should be
July. The week following the 4th. Thanks for the correction Bill,
perhaps I'll go find a wRECking Bar instead. Or should that be a
To the High Point of the "Natural State" this morning but my state was
anything but natural. Cool and drippy weather after the rain last night
mitigated any daredevil behaviour. Would that Denali were in tow, she
would have led the Way and provided me some incentive. Among the
multitude of wildflowers hereabouts is one tall white plant that sort
of looks like a cross between Canada Mayflower and Labrador Tea as
found in the White Mountains of NH. This one is called Fly Poison
but I was unable to pick one for Michael as it is also poisonous to
states that colonists used the bulb mixed with sugar to kill flies.
What can I say? That’s the name of this place. A
of Engineers Dam campground on the ARkansas River west of Little
Rock. 13,000 acres of water (how many gallons is that?). Ozark
Mountains. Eagles and fish live here. And perhaps toads? Sucking toads.
What kind of toad are they that live under the tub at La Casa Blanca?
Wandering slowly to the east from the AridZona Desert: State High
Points, geocaches, one friends funeral, 2,000 miles so far. Mosquitoes
are beginning to show up. And tall trees. I have long missed the tall
trees; now, already, I am missing the desert. (Bill says that's because
I have become a Permanent AridZona Desert Rat. I wonder if that is
anything like becoming a "bony feed Sourdough" as Robert Service wrote
Percy Brown.) The cactus growing in the front window misses the
desert. Sara(h) La Gata Sinte Ikusheya misses being out not at the end
of her rope.
The dams along the river here are for flood control and navigation as
opposed to power generation so they are low dams with locks which
permit the passage of long barges.
Tonight perhaps I will see if I remember how to lay and light a fire
and cook outside.
Not A Single Sucking Toad
Been here four nights and haven't seen a one. Lots of birds and
squirrels, a few urchins with elders and dogs with elders, but no
toads. Time to move on. My fire building test went well. A one match
light. The cooking test was less well done. My potato was seriously
overdone on the outside whilst quite underdone in the middle. A few
minutes in the microwave took care of the innards and the oft spoke
admonition of my venerable mother: "A little charcoal will never hurt
you" (no reflection on /her/ cooking of course) along with a clout of
butter made the spud quite tasty. The rest of the meal was passable but
I'm out of practice.
Finally got to see a barge through the lock. As with a freight train
made of cars this conveyance comprises several barges assembled by
cables looped around bollards. Three barges wide and four long. The
entire flotilla, including the tugboat, was close to nine hundred feet
in length. The lock is only 600 feet long and 110 feet wide. From the
looks of how the barge fit into the lock I'd say the three-wide part
must have been 100 feet across. Quite a process. I must have sat on the
bridge for more than an hour, maybe two.
After the tug pushes the assembly into the lock deckhands separate the
forward half and secure it to donkeys on the rim of the lock; then the
tug backs out with the second half and hydraulic rams with gears and
arms close the upper gates. It was hard to tell how far the water
drops, six to ten feet maybe (the specs describe 16 feet but perhaps
that is how much it /can/ lift, what I saw didn't look that much),
before the lower gate opens and the electric donkeys pull the barge
out. Then the lower gate closes, the water comes up, and the process
repeats for the second half of the flotilla.
In the 'photo doesn't do it justice' department there is a
cottonwood—estimated height 87 feet—in the campsite next to mine that
has a fresh lightning scar from near the top all the way to the ground.
The bark is open, bits of it lay scattered about, shreds hang from the
tree. Such an event would have been something to see but I'd not like
to be parked next to it.
I spelled that out just because I could. Still. Perhaps you can
consider this my Letter from the
Corinthians or if it turns out to be an upstanding missal it
could be a Corinthian Column. Parked in the back lot of someplace on
the west edge of Corinth. Looks a lot quieter and cooler than any paved
carpark I might find further in.
An hundred miles and one geocache today after a late start from the
Flying-J at Went Memphis. Much of the middle of the day, including nap
time, I spent at the National
Civil Rights Museum in Memphis 10asee. I did not realise that this is the place. The Lorraine Motel still looks
mostly like a motel until you get up close and then you are ushered
into one of the best museums I have seen.
You must be the change you wish to see in the world. —Ghandi
I'm doing a little better. Mostly I am remembering why migration
patterns typically follow north-south routes and why I've not been here
on this east-west road too often. At least not at this time of year.
In Belmont MS there's a company named Chism Wholesale.
East bound access to this park is kind of tricky. At the east end of
the causeway of the U.S.72 bridge over Wheeler Lake the exit to the
park is not marked; you can make the turn if you see it coming. Even
west bound, a big rig will have a tight turn but once inside the park
offers a few good pullouts and a loop road to the west. To the east a
big rig will have to unhook to turn around.
Thursday had a tiny shower to wet the road and a couple of easy caches.
One of them was at the Colbert County Welcome Center. Easy find;
however the attendent told me how she often watches from her office as
folks stand right over the cache and do not see it in the bushes.
Good visit to McKinney
RV Salvage Yard in Red Bay. A bit of a ways off the beaten path but
well worth your time and miles if you have some hours to spend looking
for hard to find appliance replacement parts. Across the street was
parked this hundred thousand dollar wreck. My first impression was that
someone had been smoking in bed from the looks of the pattern of the
fire. The coach had been parked on the verge in front of the warehouse
when the local DWI flunkie careened of it with his pickup. The
collision broke the fill valve off the propane tank and the rest, as
they say, is charcoal.
Summer Solstice - All Down Hill From
In the hills north of Hollywood ALabama, about midway along a line
between Huntsville and Chattanooga. The temperature has a lot of going
up yet to do, the humidity is right up there too. Five
to ten degrees above normal already here on the side of Scraper
Hill at the Velladrome. The bugs are loving it. Nasty bloodsucking
carnivorous insects. Sara(h) has been collecting ticks; harvesting
ticks from the forest, to feed to the wall clock I suppose except that
she leaves them lying around. Fortunately they are easy enough to spot
on bare skin. Chiggers are another problem. Worse. They very much
The roof vent in the head has been replaced with a another assembly,
including a fan, found at Red Hill, for considerably less cost
than buying one new. Together with the similar device already aft in
the bedroom quite a breeze is created now.
Propane leaking from a regulator, DVD player not playing, and a serious
power failure in chassis wiring have kept me from spending too much
time out hunting for geocaches. The power failure is the worst part; it
won't stay broke long enough for me to fix it. But I did manage a day
trip south to find the ALabama HighPoint. That makes two.
I Came, I Saw, I Concurred
All of the above fixed or repaired and a couple of geocaches found;
several other caches not found. I've come to the conclusion that cache
hiders here in the verdant south must be immune to poison ivy and
poison oak. With those two noxious weeds and the fast-growing vine
kudzu the war of secession might yet be lost. Altogether tho the
fortnight at Velladrome was a good rest and fun time.
On the road again eventually, around the bend and over the hill to pass
through Chattanooga. My short visit with Nancy and Tab at the Tab Key
brought out the local constabulary; I think perhaps the neighbors were
concerned their purlieu was being invaded by gypsies. There was no
place to park the bus at Tab Key so we moved on to Resaca and the
Flying-J caravanserai. Good WiFi to spend a day catching up with all
the spam. On 146.52 I met a ham who was actually calling CQ. KJ4CFT was
delighted to have someone from far away to chat with and as he lived
over east a ways towards Nicklesville and right along my route to GAHP
we negotiated a visitation. John rescues abandoned dogs and cats so
Sara(h) had her claws full with swopping storeys of life at the end of
her rope for storeys of life inside a chain-link fence. Swopping my
storeys with John also gave me a chance to do a much appreciated
laundry and trade one of my Haiku Towels for one of his stained glass
Onward and upward towards the highpoint of Georgia. One of the aside
quests of this Summer Camp on The Road is to stand on a few more of
these geographic tourist traps. Once the domain of intrepid travellers,
now many highpoints have become uppercased as various agencies and
entrepreneurs come to recognise the income value. Organised, listed,
marked out on AAA roadmaps, paved to the top even in some cases,
HighPointing, with or without membership in the HighPointers, has become more than
just something to do. At Brasstown Bald one climbs a couple thousand
feet of elevation up a narrow twisty State Road 180 to a small sign
that proclaims "Steep Road Ahead - Leave Trailers Here" where there is
a gravel turnout at Jack's Gap. Tilted off into the poison ivyed
border, fraught with gullies and overhung with antenna grabbing trees,
this wide spot in the road offers little in the way of access from the
highway or protection from the traffic. But it was flat enough and
large enough to accommodate The Cat
Drag'd Inn under the trees. Double-digit grades up the three
miles of the Brasstown access road kept the Tiny Truck in first gear most of
the way. Just in beyond the gate is a sign "Fee Information Ahead" but
you have to climb all the three miles before the kiosk—honour system if
no ranger on duty. Then they want three dollars per person to get in
and you're not even at the top. That's another half-mile walk or you
can spend another three dollars for shuttle service. Fortunately I have
an "Elder of The Tribe" passport and
I can still walk half a mile. But even saving that six dollars did not
offset the consternation of finding postcards priced at 1$ EACH! Thirty cents
apiece seems to be the going rate elsewhere; they must be carrying
these up the hill one at a time on the backs of well paid sled-dogs
only in the Winter. At a dollar apiece you don't get any postcards from
Brasstown Bald, a picture of the postcard rack will have to suffice.
Sara(h) Hikes the AT
More over the hill and around the bend driving down from GAHP and up
again into North Carolina to where the Appalachian Trail crosses u.s.
64 at Winding Stair Gap. A break in the guardrail of this land of gaps
and knobs—Sheep Knob, Swinging Lick Gap, Milksick Knob, Panther and
Rattlesnake Gaps—a widespot to park is very inviting after all day
driving 134 miles from Resaca. Sara(h) went hiking on the AT for a
while until rain and thunder drove her back to the shelter AT The Cat Drag'd Inn.
July in Waynesville North Carolina
Nude REC Week starts any day. No
one to REC with here. Alone again, naturally.
Visiting Jan and Michael, who like me, are expatriates from New
Hampster, the Not-so Live Free or Die State. So far along this road of
the past few weeks, if I could combine the best features of Scottsboro
with the best features of Waynesville, this would be a very excellent
place to get stuck. We'll come back to that in a moment. Very excellent
sculpture garden in Waynesville. Behind the Walker [automotive] Service
Center is a jungle of metal trees, flowers, and spiders. Stop and say
hello to Grace Cathey and
look at the work inside her studio.
Lakes and rivers all around this Haywood County Seat, the Appalachian
Trail not too far away, a most interesting Main Street, Asheville
closer than Phoenix is to Tonopah; but no hot spring water in the
ground, a considerable drawback to be sure. Oh Well, if I've learnt
anything during all this travelling over the past few years it is that
nowhere's perfect; I suppose that is why I am still travelling.
The last time I visited Jan and Michael was when that wench passing on
the right side-swiped
the bus and nearly tore off the front bumper. Perhaps it is some
bad karma leftover from one of my ancestor's relationships with the
Cherokees. This time, coming into town from the south, on u.s.23, there
began with no particular fanfare, an annoying tiny wriggle in the
indication of the turbo boost pressure gauge. Whilst unhitching the
little truck in front of the house where Jan and Michael live I noted a
strange new sound emanating from the air intake, a kind of chuffing,
chuff-chuff-chuff, in step with the other cyclic rotational sounds the
motor makes at idle. Not a good sound.
Mechanic Paul, at home port in Center Conway, says it could be just a
carboned or sticky valve. Or it could be a burned valve. Either way...
Who knows... WTF?
2009vii14 - Happy Bastille Day!
But so far this is only the 12th and The Cat [has] Drag'd [the] Inn 225
miles from Waynesville to just beyond Burlington NC and put in to a
truck stop for the night. It was a trying time getting started after 12
days of sitting still but I think I remembered everything. Just kept
saying my mantra: It really doesn't matter-It really doesn't matter...
The motor is worse than only a chuff-chuff-chuffing sound. Much worse.
Thomas Lynch said: "So the ridiculous and the sublime—they're
neighbors. If you're playing in the end of the pool where really bad
shit can happen, then really funny shit can happen, too." So... Ah...
When does the funny stuff start?
Happy Bastille Day Still
Ruther Glen at another Flying-J caravanserai. 200 and some dollar oil
change and 200 and some miles north of yesterday. Perhaps the most
interesting event was the finding that a zerk had gone
missing from from the right rear slack adjuster. How it unscrewed
itself remains a mystery but at least it was an easy fix in a day that
would test Job's patience. It really doesn't matter-It really doesn't
Whatever has gone wrong in the motor is manifest most worst by the fact
that fuel is getting into the crankcase and diluting the motor's
lubricating oil. Consequently, as the day and the miles wear on the oil
pressure drops. So who needs an odometer? (Did I tell you the odo broke
a couple of weeks back?) I just watch the oil pressure now and the
lower it goes the more miles I've gone. Ei8ht hundred or so miles to
home port garage in Center Conway NH. Every couple hundred miles or so
I drain off two gallons of fuel/oil mix and add a gallon of oil to the
motor. Then I put the fuel/oil mix back in the fuel tank for another
chance to burn.
2009vii16 Thursday in Halifax
Along the Susquehanna River—which a local ham radio operator tells me
means "sparkling waters"—is this little town which calls itself a
borough, founded in 1794; next to the Welcome to Halifax sign is "No
buses over 5 ton permitted on local streets" No matter; the local
streets leading to Denali's house are too twisty and hilly anyhow.
There are no sidewalks on the streets and no banister on the stairway
of her house. But there is a nice pizza place on the corner and the
post office is actually located in town where people live. The Cat is
Drag'd Inn behind a row of dumpsters in the local recycling transfer
and Park-N-Ride station, next to a playground with a sandbox. In the
river is an island named Lingle Island. On another little AT day hike
Denali said she'd hike the trail end to end with me when she is 13.
I've got three years to get in shape and find my Limmers.
LIMMERS ARE BOOTS
THAT ARE GETTING NO USE
My ass is wide from sitting flat upon the chair,
My lungs collapse from lack of cold clean mountain air,
Fingers worn unto the calloused bone typing
Words wheezed out through swollen bloodied lips.
My Limmers sit in corner by the door
Waxed ready for a walk or hike but
Tread uncut by cinders of Antarctic shore.
To the doctor I have been to see
If he has a serum that might cure this malady.
But, lo! a box of pens he gives to me,
Says take one of these each day and write
Until the ink runs out of sight
And if when all the pens are gone
You still are at no loss for words
Come back and I will give you one box more.
There is no cure for illness such as yours
For once the cap is off the muse is loose.
A kindly audience is now your quest;
A place with equal treatment for your worst
Whilst paying room and board for all your best.
Six miles upstream, where u.s.209 comes in from Kingston New York, is
located the oldest operating ferry—of its kind—in the United States.
Sternwheel paddles. Wooden deck about large enough for three small
pickups. The ferry was operating as early as 1825 and poled across the
mile wide river until 1873. In the 1920's a small gasoline motor
replaced the steam engine and the paddle wheels were moved from the
sides to the stern.
2009vii18, Another No Camping Town
Don't bother stopping at the Wal-Mart in Westfall PA, a township which
appears on none of my maps, as they don't allow overnight parking. No
Overnight Camping they call it on the big signs scattered about the
carpark, "by authority of township of Westfall". But just down the
street at the Lowe's there are no such signs. According to the Wal-Mart
manager it is another of those cases where the local campgrounds are
picking on the big bully Wal-Mart for permitting free camping and
stealing their business. Unfair competition! We can't have any of THAT!
So, where is this township called Westfall? What are Westfall's bounds?
Is the Lowe's where I spent a quiet night in a different town not so
easily controlled by whinging campground operators? Or, is it that
Wal-Mart, behind the scene, and dispite their generally welcoming
overnight parking, does not want campers at this particular store but
does not want to take responsibility for it. What's the rest of the
The old Village Diner, at the junction of u.s.6 and i84x11, the old
exit 11, between Milford and Matamoras, is still there and serving good
meals. Except that the rolls with my meatloaf were a bit stale. I've
stopped here on previous occasions and it is nice to see that they are
still in the business of feeding travellers along old u.s.6 dispite
most of the traffic being siphoned off by i84.
The Eagle Has Landed & The Cat Has
...at least as far as Franklin MA. Almost homeport garage, within
towing distance if necessary. Kind of strange hearing the Boston accent
and dialect on the Ham radio; I suppose it may take a few days to get
used to. When the Eagle landed on The Moon the Willshedoit was parked on The
Mall, Lester was lost—having an ice cream at the metro police station
and watching the affair on TV—whilst the rest of the Scouts in that
1969 Summer Camp Tour were hobnobbing with the press at the Smithsonian
Castle. We were just into the first week of the Roadrunner
Patrol's month-long road trip to Philmont Scout Ranch and other
places in the southwest.
Another case of not putting out my rain gauge at the first drop. Been
raining here all day yesterday and still, now, into this morning there
are waves of light rain/drizzle. Roads are wet, cat is wet, I am wet
from dragging in cat. I have the pilots on in furnace and heater just
for effect. Baked a pie this morning more to take the chill off than
anything to do with the availability of rhubarb in the backyard garden.
I am in Acton, West Acton more precisely, where the action is
quite dull for the most part. Or quite a strain depending upon one's
point of view. Every day is another Death in Venice. I am parked behind
the fire house in a muni-carpark which becomes a Lake Louise with any
serious rain. The day I arrived was the day after several inches fell
and a boy skated through on rollerblades; the water was up to the soles
of his boots, looked like he was walking on the water. Missed a good
picture there. Other good pictures not missed were in Worcester. For a
while now I have been casually studying the Zeus/Ganymede motif and
the way various artists have rendered the archetype of shepherd and
god. Zeus is usually represented as an eagle while the shepherd may be
anywhere between toddler and youth. Recently it has occurred to me that
Zeus may be represented by other animals: dolphin, frog, turtle, and
perhaps even man. In Worcester, for instance, there are two examples of
this variation on the theme. In Rockport there is another. In London
there is a copy of the Boy With Dolphin and
in Zuerich is a Boy With Eagle.
Saturday my genealogist friend Dennis led the way to Lowell for a Folk
Festival, one of that city's grasping-at-straws attempts to survive the
demise of its cloth mills economy. Spent way too much money on food and
beer but all in all it was a good diversion.
Sunday was to sit around and write letters in the rain. And fix the
truck. A severe clunk emanated from the left front wheel whenever a
small bump was encountered on the road. Bouncing on the front bumper
could produce the same result. The drive to Lowell and back yesterday
was undertaken with no small trepidation after my inspection determined
the wheel was not likely to fall off. What I found Sunday morning was a
nut missing from the top mounting bracket of the shock absorber. The
clunk was every time that stud smashed into the fixture. I've been able
to find a nut to hold it together but really should replace the shock.
And if I do that then I really have to replace the other front one too.
And if I am going to dig in that far I really should pull the wheels
and check the bearings...
Perhaps it will all hold together enough to get to the garage in
Conway; only a few more miles.
August Rushing Inn
Still. Well, I have no reason to believe anything has changed since the
last driving a week ago. Great time with my sister Ann-Marie and her
family. I've been sitting still with them at Nashua for a week. One
sunny day between two rainy ones was just perfect for a yard sale—I
took in three dollars for some old CDs—and someone else
did all the arranging for that weather so I was not so tired I could
not have fun. Ann-Marie's b'day BBQ, she's 49 now, still about twenty
years younger than me, and another BBQ with her daughter Jessica and
family—I'm really sorry I didn't get to know her kids better a couple
of years ago but we had a great time playing Cat's Cradle, wading in
the river, climbing trees, and telling storeys about everything to new
Taking a Dump
And a good morning it is here. Half the way through NH and everything
came out ok at the Concord Dump Station. (Why do we "take a dump"
but not, usually, "give a shit"?) Now visiting another of my old
scoutmaster friends. This guy is recently 75 and can run circles around
his grandsons. We went out after lunch yesterday and did four geocaches
within a mile or so of his house here in the woods of Bradford. Nice
walk. This morning after breky I will move along north and get to home
port garage in Conway this afternoon.
Red Hat Day - Concord to Conway
Jim went off in a great flurry of hugs to deliver his MealsOnWheels and
I moved The Cat Drag'd Inn
out of his lawn, onto the road, and connected the truck for this last
leg of our sojourn On The Road.
Arriving in Conway was like coming home. All the familiar old places
interspersed with gaudy new things brought on waves of nostalgia
intermingled with fits of revulsion. Jim and I had spent hours telling
each other storeys of crazy things we'd done in the old days; some of
these storeys I've heard and told before; I guess that's the way it is
when old timers get together.
At the Conway Truck garage some of the leveling dunnage and one old
carpet are still where I left them beside the parts room chimney, the
pile of firewood has gone down a bit but the pile of old tyres has
grown, yellow and blue paint spots on the tarmac delineate The Cat Drag'd Inn's berth; the
garage looks mostly like I'd only left yesterday and here I am back
again except that Paul's kids are all three years older.
I suppose it is now time to get this letter posted. The furnace turned
itself on this morning as if to mark the change of season—driving to
setting. We will no doubt be here for a while.
Statistics for this Summer Camp on The Road: No Campers! In some
respects just as well; I got all the license plates my self: All the
states but for DelewarE and HawAii. Initial estimate of miles from the
navigator = 4026; measured miles = 4232; fuel used = 502.2 @ 2$50 +/-;
average mpg = 8.4 (despite the problem with the motor during the last
1400 miles). On the road for 89 days, from 5/8/9 to 8/5/9 (and I really
did NOT plan that) which in Julian format is 2009128 to 2009217. Any
numerologists want to comment? Added three state HighPoints to my Life
List for a total now of 21.
My thanks to all my friends along the Way who helped make this
migration a fun adventure. I hope you will all be home for a return
engagement. For now we slip into mundane mode whilst it will be my turn
to entertain travellers.
And lastly, this just in from our correspondent on the other side of
the pond: This Scottish soldier was standing guard outside the castle
in Edinburgh and this American lady tourist came up to him and asked
him what he wore under his kilt. "Gi me yer han and I'll shew yeh", he
said, and before she could back away took her hand and pulled it under
his kilt. Pulling away, she said "Oh, it's gruesome." to which he
replied "Stick aroon lady, it'll grew some more."
Oops! One more thing before I gotta go... See RunPee! Nothing at all like See
Spot run... Be sure to watch the animation in the top of the page. Give
it a minute to ah... fill up.
Be Well, Do Good, and Please Write.
p.s. Anyone looking for adventure: Please Write.
I do not know what I may
appear to the world; but
myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and
diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a
shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all
—Sir Isaac Newton
Back to Oso
Back to ajo
Copyright © 2009, A.J.Oxton, The
Cat Drag'd Inn , Tonopah AridZona 85354-0313.