Scorpions from National Parks Exhibit. The one in Annie’s bowl was a medium sized one.

The Texas Panhandle gets my Least Favorite Part of the Trip Award. I woke up overlooking Greenbelt Lake. That bit was lovely. Then I realized my phone was dead. No amount of plugging it in to various sockets and using different cords helped. Not a glint of life. There went my GPS, my phone, my Google, my camp-site-finding app (AllStays), and the photos for the previous three days (now posted, so you know this story had a happy ending).

I packed up and drove the 300 feet to the little Marina. The man running the general store/marina/license office/bait shop welcomed me with his friendly Texas drawl. After a brief conversation about the raccoon I scared from under my van when Annie and I opened the door to get out first thing that morning, I asked if he had Internet access. (Since my phone wasn’t working then, I can’t show you what he or the low-tech shop looked like.) The closest thing he had was a Yellow Pages book for Amarillo (closest city) from 2006. I was not surprised there were no listings for Apple or T-Mobile.

Good news, as I reached the outskirts of Amarillo, I found a visitor center that had enough Internet access to let me send emails to my kids not to worry that I was out of touch. But not enough access to allow me to use a search engine to find an Apple Store. The lady at the Tourist Desk found the T-Mobile office in Amarillo. Thankfully, the young woman at T-Mobile was able to jump-start my phone because the nearest Apple Store, my son informed me, was in Albuquerque.

Re-armed with my iPhone’s most valuable tools, I drove to the next National Monument on my map, Alibates Flint Quarry NM , which is right by a National Recreation Area, Lake Meredith (where, theoretically, I could have camped).

All my photos of these parks are on my Fuji camera because my iPhone was still charging. I’m glad the National Parks are preserving this quarry where the American natives have been mining a unique and high quality flint for arrows, scrapers, knives, and drills for 9,000-plus years. And they offer a short trail. But go there without a dog or children and when it isn’t 98 degrees out.

Sprinkled along the path are these horrible Sputnik-like stickers. Annie yelped in pain when a giant one (four times the size of this one from another park) punctured her paw and caused a lot of bleeding. I got one in my hand trying to get the dozens off her. The spikes are hard to pull out. Soon we were both bleeding and I hobbled back to the van and high-tailed it out of there.

We skipped looking at the lake.

I made it as far west as Santa Rosa, New Mexico, where I found a nice State Park overlooking Santa Rosa Lake, which is actually a reservoir.

It was a beautiful place, but the black flies and ants prevented us from sitting outside. There were rattle snake warnings everywhere. We ran into none of those, but somehow a scorpion found its way into my van. It drowned itself in Annie’s water bowl, which is where I found it. I didn’t think to take a photo before throwing the water and scorpion out the door of the van. Needless to say, I kept a sharp lookout when I walked anywhere from then on.

Good news is that the campground provided electricity needed for the air conditioner since it was still horribly hot. Bad news is that the shower was cold.

We are heading toward Pecos National Park near Sante Fe hoping the higher elevation will provide cooler air and fewer creepy animals.

When I last wrote, I was camped by the J. Percy Priest Lake in Tennessee. Not long after posting, the sky turned orange and I was able to capture this magnificent sunset on the lake. Some of you have already saw it on Facebook.

The following day I drove to Memphis to stay with my good friends Shelly and Kevin.

Besides letting me do my laundry and enjoy their very nice shower, they gave me a tour of Memphis and took me to their favorite barbecue place. Who woulda thunk that barbecue spaghetti is absolutely delicious. (I forgot to take my camera with me, but I grabbed these shots on my way out of town the next day.) I was able to see the tail end of one of the famous ducks at the Peabody Hotel as he was getting onto the elevator.

We walked around the Bass Pro Shop so I could see the four live alligators.

We also saw the studio where Elvis made his first million-copies record.

Heading to Little Rock, Arkansas, to visit Little Rock Central High School National Historic Site, I took the M bridge over the mighty Mississippi.

(“Mississippi” is as much fun to type out with my thumbs as it is to spell out loud.)

Little Rock is as much about celebrating the 42nd President (streets, parks and government centers are all named after Clinton) as it is about honoring the civil rights movement and desegregation. The exhibit transported me to my senior year at Pasadena High School.

Continuing through central Arkansas, I reached Hot Springs National Park early enough to obtain a campsite in their campground.

Once I had the ticket attached to the post, I was free to drive away and into the town of Hot Springs ten minutes away. The whole tourist street is one block long. I could walk up the “Row” with Annie in tow.

Neither of us were able to enjoy the baths, but strolling up the Magnolia tree-lined street was delightful.

The old bath houses that have been preserved as the National Park line the east side of the street. Commercial store fronts and restaurants line the west side.

This is the fountain where people can still fill up their water jugs with mineral water.

There is also a drive to the top of a hill.

Crossing into Oklahoma, I made it to Chickasaw National Recreation Area. Plenty of camping spots were available near its Lake of the Arbuckles for the night.

It was actually better to be slightly away from the children screaming in the lake, but close enough for Annie and me to take a nice walk the next morning.

It took only a couple hours to drive through the park. The main point of interest is the Bromide Pavilion. (Forgot to take a photo using my iPhone.) Once upon a time, in the early 1900s, trains brought health seekers to enjoy these mineral-rich waters. According to the ranger, the park had more visitors during those days than Yellowstone.

There was also a great nature center.

While in the town of Sulphur, where the park is, I was able to find a mechanic to check Ramsey’s fluids before facing the deserty stretch ahead of me through New Mexico and Arizona. SHE found everything in order and told me where to fill up on propane, which I also needed to do.

Thank goodness, because the tiny towns I have been driving through today would not have had what I needed. I’ve crossed onto Texas, where I plan to visit the Alibates Flint Quarries National Monument near Amarillo.

Needing a place to stay on the way, I used my trusty app, AllStays, to find the only camping place around, Lake GreenBelt. It is another reservoir. It took me several dead end roads to find the Marina, where for $5, I purchased a license to park Ramsey “anywhere I liked.” So here I am perched atop a little mound overlooking the lake. I’ve had my cheese and tomato quesadilla and an ice cream that I also purchased at the marina store. I can’t post this blog entry until tomorrow because I only have one bar of cell service, which won’t download my photos.

Back to rambling.

Turns out for me that Florence wasn’t hard to outrun. However, I don’t think my cousins Robin and Marta, who live on the Outer Banks, are going to be so lucky.

Aiming for something between Maryland and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I was turned away from campgrounds near to water. Dixie Caverns had a spot. It was rainy and getting dark so I took it.

I forfeited my discounted ticket to see the stalactites and stalagmites the next morning so I could keep heading west. For most of my trip to Tennessee, the sun shone on gorgeous green countryside.

It did start to rain as I entered the park around 4:00. The good news is that I was able to have a campsite IN the National Park. That was a treat.

There was a lending library in the park office that had a Philippa Gregory book, the White Queen, so I was set for a good night of reading while the rain pitter-patted on Ramsey’s roof. Annie and I were very cozy. I’d bought some steel trout at Walmart. I hoped one of the many black bears in the park didn’t smell me cooking it.

Getting up bright and early, I drove to the top of Newfound Gap, the highest part of the ridge, the dividing line between Tennessee and North Carolina, and a crossing of the Appalachian Trail.

It is no trouble understanding why the Indians named the mountains after their blue smoke-like haze. The rangers said the park might have to close this weekend because of Florence. I was heading out through the Townsend Gate by 1:00pm.

Now on my way to Memphis, I’m in a terrific campsite by the J. Percy Priest Lake at Poole Knob Campground. It is managed by the Army Corps of Engineers. With my Sr. Pass discount, the fee for my POSH lakeside site is only $13.

I’m crossing my fingers for all those folks still on the Atlantic Coast.

My last day on The Trail was a very exciting one. I started with Monument No. 18 on Main Street (Route 20) across the street from the Northborough Library. Katrina Ireland (left above), the librarian, advertised a “Celebration” that brought 15 to 20 mommies and their children to hear me sing/tell my ballad about Henry and his Train of Artillery.

More exciting, as I was explaining who the hero of the tale was, in walked the man himself (right above). Don’t tell the children that sometimes this Henry Knox thinks he’s Archer O’Reilly III, Secretary of the Massachusetts Society of the Cincinnati.

So, after the children and I finished the last chorus and the children yelled “kaboom” as loudly as they could, Henry Knox talked about himself for awhile. He told the kids how his wife’s family were Tories and left Boston with the rest of the British, never to see their daughter again. He explained how some of the cannon had fallen into the ice-covered rivers and had to be fished out during the dead of winter.

Here is the Northborough monument in front of the Town Office and a Minuteman statue.

I wish all of my library visits could be so festive. I continued down the Old Boston Post Road (Route 20) to the next town, Marlborough. It is a POSH town and their large modernized library has none of the coziness of the smaller libraries.

The director accepted my book graciously but with no recognition of what it was about. I don’t think she knew about her town’s marker even though it has been very well kept.

Monument No.19 guards the entrance to the village three blocks farther down the road.

Southborough Library was much more enthusiastic.

I already had a soft spot for the town because it is home to St Mark’s Preparatory school, which my son Jon attended.

The cute library on Main Street is kitty-corner from Monument No.20.

Moving on in spite of it being 98 degrees out, I found Monument No.21 on Main Street by Framingham’s Town Common, not today’s Framingham center.

The Memorial Library next to it is now the Framingham History Center. I gave them some of my bookmarks and they gave me a brochure on, would you believe, the Henry Knox Trail.

I learned something I didn’t know before. From Framingham on, Knox was told “to disappear.” The roads close to Boston were heavily guarded by British soldiers. That explains why Knox didn’t leave detailed records about his route through this part of Massachusetts. Historians have pieced together the puzzle by looking at such things as tavern records.

The route veers from Route 20 at Wayland, which is the one town with two monuments, sort of. The Old Post Road probably crossed the Sudbury River at what is now called the Old Stone Bridge.

You can see the decaying bridge from today’s bridge. Thank goodness I had tried to find it online back at home or I would never have known where to look. Heading east over today’s bridge on Potter Street at the town line, you see the old bridge to your left (north). Then you come to a street called Old Stone Bridge Rd. Turning left onto that road, you backtrack toward the old bridge, driving through homes. The old bridge is blocked with mounds of dirt, rubbish, and weeds, but you can see two stone pillars marking the entrance. On top of the right pillar is a stone sign that says, “Knox Trail Fort Ticonderoga to Cambridge.” That’s it! To the left is a granite stone that looks like the top of a monument, but it is buried.

The second monument, No.23, is your standard variety. It stands on the SW corner of Route 27 and Route 126. There was absolutely no where to park, so I had to be content with a photo from my car window. I couldn’t place my book on top of the monument to prove it was my photo.

Taking a left off Route 26 onto Route 126, you reach the charming Wayland Library.

Unfortunately, Pam McCuen, The Director of Youth Services, was out to lunch. We had previously had a great chat on the phone and I was looking forward to meeting her and telling her about the old bridge marker. But another librarian enthusiastically received the book so I could hurry back outside where I had left Annie tied to a tree. It was simply too hot to leave her in the van.

Back on Route 20, I drove to Weston’s town center. Monument No. 24 stands across from the fire station. The town takes good care of it. Their newish library is several blocks away.

Then I reached Waltham, home of Monument No.25, which stands with a monument to George Washington on a grungy corner across from a Walgreens. It looks like someone tried to rip off the brass plaque.

The library is a few blocks farther down Main Street (still Route 20), but it was closed. Their air conditioning system had broken down. A woman there said it was the hottest summer she remembered in the 40 years she lived in Waltham.

As I sat in Waltham’ McDonald’s parking lot eating a Quarter Pounder, it suddenly got windy and began to rain. The temperature dropped 20 degrees. I only had two more monuments to go, so I pushed on.

Watertown‘s beautiful main library, where I donated a book, is on Route 20. The stone is in front of another old library that was shut down about ten years ago. Monument No. 26 gets the Most Neglected Monument Award. It leans sadly to the side, is partially buried, and its library is all covered in vines.

Last but not least, I reached Cambridge. Massachusetts Monument No.27 stands on the edge of the Cambridge Commons facing toward the center of the green. When you pass it on Garden Street, you see a blank back of a stone, unlike all the other stones that face the street. It is in good shape. No flowers or flags, but upright and clean.

The library is three busy blocks and a tunnel away on Broadway. It’s huge and intimidating. I couldn’t find a place to park and it was getting late. Since I knew I was returning to Cambridge the next day to meet a friend for lunch, I decided to do my donating the following day when I was on foot. Ramsey, Annie, and I spent the night at my college friend Jill’s in Stoneham just north of Cambridge.

I took the subway into Cambridge the next day, a signed book in hand. I worried about approaching the Public Library. I feared rightly they wouldn’t accept a donation from just anyone. Sure enough, when I asked the man at the information desk if Julie Roache, the Youth Services Director, was available, he said, “We have a procedure for accepting donated books. You need to go online and download a form. Have you done that?” He said that in a not so nice way.

With a spunk I didn’t know I had, I replied, “Sir. I’ve driven here from California. I’ve been following the Henry Knox Trail speaking at many of the libraries along the way. I just want to give you a book. Isn’t there someone I can leave it with? You can throw it away for all I care if your library is too big and important.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to Admin,” he said, and gave me directions how to find the Administration Office on the second floor.

Melanie at Admin was delightful. “I’m here from California,” I repeated to her. “I want to donate this book about the Henry Knox Trail. Do you know what that is”

She smiled sheepishly and shook her head.

“That’s why I wrote the book.” I explained and showed her some of the photos I had taken. “You have the final monument here on your commons where Knox delivered the guns to Washington. I’ve visited 57 monuments [40 in New York and 27 in Massachusetts] and nearly as many libraries. I’m tired. I don’t want to be told I need to download a form.”

Melanie cheerfully said to leave the book with her. “We like books about local events. Have a safe trip back and thanks.”

Now, back to rambling.