The Adventure North in Dora the Explorer

Wednesday Day 4

Big Sky Country

Up and out of the truck stop early in hopes of arriving in Seattle by Friday afternoon. We will have a weekend to rest at the halfway point and drink some wine with friends before beginning the finally leg of our journey north. The route seems a bit confusing - from South Dakota through a small portion of Wyoming and then on into the Big Sky country of Montana. Interesting, my GPS connects me to I-90 then takes me to Highway 212 for two hundred miles, and then connects me back to I-90 all the way to Seattle – apparently the shortest distance. I point Dora west and we are off. We are still 1,200 miles out, but with two good days of steady driving we might even make Seattle by late Thursday evening – in my dreams.

We take the exit off of I-90 west and find Belle Fourche, South Dakota and 212 North (the BearTooth Highway) toward Wyoming. I can’t help but wonder about this road. It has two-lanes, is remote and appears to cut through the Reservation. We are in and out of Wyoming in a flash and the sign reads: Welcome to Montana, speed limit 75 MPH. The good news is there is little traffic so we can exceed the limit and make good time through the curves. I am in awe of the snow-capped mountains and feel the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. I am West and once again feel as if this is where I belong. Gone are the flatlands of the Prairie and non-stop winds, replaced by the big sky country that Montana is appropriately referred to. We are cruising, we are happy, and we are smiling. But then, well. . . things change.

We are climbing a steep incline reaching 6,500 feet near the Continental Divide when Dora’s cruise control lurches us forward abruptly and stops. By that I mean, she is in Drive but we were no longer moving forward. The gas pedal is gunning the engine but nothing is happening. What the hell? OMG, no cell service on this road and not many towns either. I am twenty miles from the next little community according to the road sign. I tell myself to not panic, that it is just a little glitch along our way and things will be fine. I downshift to second gear and like magic the gears engage – thank goodness. Maybe the gears were stuck I reasoned. I turn off the cruise control deciding it will stay off until we reach flatter ground. As we move forward I put the gear back into Drive but once again it slips out. So be it, I will drive in second gear to the next town and hopefully see a mechanic. We adjust our speed to 40-45 MPG and creep forward at what seems like a snail’s pace after cruising at 80 all morning.

We finally come to a small-unnamed community with a few stores.  Obviously there is no gas station anywhere near let alone a garage, so I pull off the road in front of the local Hardware Store. A man saunters over and introduces himself as “Shane,” like the movie he said, and wonders if he might have a look. I told him I thought Dora might need some transmission fluid. He checks and said the dipstick indicates it is full. He put the end of the dipstick up to my nose and it smells burnt. I didn’t ask what that could mean because I really didn’t want to hear the answer. My intuition told me it might not be a good thing.  Shane proceeds to give me a lecture about finding someone honest to have a look at the van; he is concerned that as a woman I might get ripped off if not careful. He wonders if I could take him to the next town where we will maybe have cell service and he can call a buddy that is a mechanic for advice. Well okay, I thought. The guy seems genuine.

And so it were. . . on a back road route headed west from Wyoming with no cell service and few towns, I pick up a guy that turns out to be an ex-con that had found the Lord, but was currently searching for a ride to the post office to pick up his unemployment check in a town called Lame Deer. Apparently there would be cell service there and he could call his friend a mechanic, for advice.

On the road Shane continues to expound about his religious beliefs while I continue to appear interested all the time wondering: 20 miles at 40 MPH – how long will it take to reach Lame Deer? He casually mentions that he had “done it all, including serving time.” That got my attention. “Really, like how much time?” I didn’t ask what for because at this point why bother? He admitted about seven years including jail and penitentiary time, but I really wasn’t all that concerned.  This man did not activate my internal antenna so I had no reason to be fearful. Although, his admission was indeed a shock particularly since we were someplace in Montana on BearTooth Highway #212 where cell phones did not work and people were few and far between.

We finally arrive in the small town called Lame Deer and there are still no bars on my cell phone. He told me where to park the van, and how to do it. Satisfied he opened the door and said: “I’m going inside to see a friend and use his land line to call my mechanic buddy to get you some advice. Don’t leave,” were his instructions. While I waited I asked a guy in the parking lot what he thought about Dora’s symptoms just as Shane came out of the office and said: “don’t confuse the issue by asking him, I have the information you need” waving a piece of paper in the air.

We return to Dora and he asked me to take him to the Post Office and told me how to drive there – terrible backseat driver, constantly telling me how to drive and where to go. Oh well, I keep smiling and Zippy licks his face every chance she gets. We find the Post Office where he retrieves his unemployment check and then directs me to a bank so he can cash it. He gives me the piece of paper with a name and a phone number in Billings, another 108 miles away. Shane said Brown’s Transmission would take care of me, they were honest and his father used them back in the 60’s. We had already called them and explained my situation. We shook hands, he wished us luck and we were out of there – alive, safe and well. You just never know who you might meet if you're open to an adventure. 

At 2:30 PM a van called Dora filled with six dogs and a blonde continues to head northwest in search of Billings, Montana at 40 MPH. We will barely make it before 5:30 closing time at the garage. We are still hoping for a minor problem in the transmission. We make Billings at 5:15, find Brown’s Transmission and schedule an appointment for the following morning at 7:00 AM. I explain my problem saying it was probably something simple but the look on the mechanic’s face told me it probably wasn’t. He merely said they would hook Dora up to the machines for an evaluation in the morning.

Motel 6

We find an incredibly busy truck stop in the middle of town and it is chaos, noisy and crowded. Since we’ve had a long day it is time to get out of Dora for while so we opt for Motel 6, where dogs are welcome. Checking in I tell the desk guy that we have a minor transmission problem and another guy in the lobby interjected something like: there is no such thing as a minor transmission problem, ANY transmission problem will cost big bucks. Comforting. . .

I need some wine.

Room #114

We are safe in Room #114 at Motel 6 on the outskirts of Billings, Montana where five dogs and I share a bed and DoDog has a bed of her own. It’s Wednesday, it’s late and we only covered about three hundred miles today, which means Seattle is still another 900 miles northwest and Dora is sick and we are hoping for a miracle at this point. 

Shit, shit double shit! MERDE as the French would shout! When will be on the road again?

To be continued. . . .

A Bed of My Own?

The Adventure North in Dora the Explorer

Tuesday Day 3

Anne Banane

The dogs are fed, the coffee is made, Dora has a tank full of gas and we are on the road by 8:30 AM. Incidentally, the gas prices are getting lower at $3.30/gallon here in Iowa. The wind is cold but the sun is shining. We pass through Sioux City and head for the South Dakota border. The wind is blowing tumbleweeds into our path. Resembling small bushes, they are frightening when they come out of nowhere and fly across the road! Dora continues to run strong on cruise control as six dogs enjoy a morning nap. After a walk outside and breakfast they are satisfied to go back to sleep for hours. They are the most amazing travelers, content just to be in this moment of non-stop driving west.

We cross into South Dakota where the billboard reads: “Help Manage Your Wildlife, Wear Fur.” Really? We are near the foothills of the Black Hills so the landscape has changed somewhat. The hills are rolling and I can no longer see a 360-degree horizon around me. But the land is dry and the burrs are sharp so the dogs are careful where they step. At one rest stop we see a sign that reads: “Beware of Poisonous Snakes.” Yikes! Our walk was cut short after reading that. We are used to watching out for the big critters like moose and bear that can be seen from far away. Definitely, not used to slithering reptiles that inconspicuously inhabit this land. Not sure how the dogs would react seeing a snake but I would literally run screaming from the scene or faint on the spot. The mere thought of one scares the crap out of me!

The prairie is how I can describe the landscape. Miles and miles of open land that is extremely dry because of the draught. And the wind is always blowing. I remember that from my short stint of living in North Dakota as an Air Force wife back in the day. We were once stranded in our house for five days because the snowdrifts were so high we couldn’t open the backdoor. In my continual search for places to spend time I can certainly eliminate the Plaines and the Midwest, along with the East - not only for the terrain and howling winds, but also for ideologies so foreign and contradictory to my own way of thinking.

We reach Rapid City at 7PM and once again stop Dora for the night after covering approximately 630 miles, a little less than Day 2. Oh well, we are camped at another truck stop and will relax for the night. Tomorrow will be another long day as we enter Montana, a big-ass state to cross. We will attempt to make Seattle by Friday in time for the 50^th birthday dinner of my best friend.

DoDog & BunBun

Life is good in a van called Dora where sacked-out, snoring dogs are cruising at 75 MPH due west! Woof! Woof!

Stay tuned . . 

The Adventure North in Dora the Explorer

Day 2

After a beautiful Easter Sunday we are up early on Monday leaving Krodel Park around 8:30 AM crossing the bridge into Ohio for our first gas stop - $90 dollars to fill the tank that will move us 400 miles closer to our 5,000 mile total. It was about $75 on the Adventure South just five short months ago! I can only imagine the prices in Canada, but we won’t go there yet.

Bunny stands guard

The sun is out as we travel to Cincinnati, passing into Indiana farmland and on to Indianapolis where there is a large Jeff Gordon Boulevard exit sign. NASCAR is huge in the Midwest. We resist the urge to get off the freeway to check it out, and continue our trek west.  I can’t help but think of my good friend Amy Z, from Gary, Indiana now living and working in London - a far cry from this flatland. More farm country across southern Illinois where exit #197 reads Homer. However, if there is any doubt about where I am the next billboard reads: “Guns Save Lives.” There is no follow up sign that reads: “Guns Kill People,” because well I am in NRA land. On the side of my brother-in-law’s barn he has painted: “If you want to buy hay, call this number. Thieves will be prosecuted and SHOT.” Yikes! Signage is big in the Midwest and they are serious about their right to bear arms. I can’t help but think of all the children recently murdered with assault weapons at Sandy Point Elementary, and wonder why anyone would need such a gun unless of course it was to kill someone. Maybe this liberal mind is what really doesn’t fit in the east.

While I’m preoccupied driving apparently Annie Banane gets bored in the back and decides to rummage around eventually finding the banana bag stashed behind several heavy boxes. The girl’s nose is amazing, she can search out a crumb among chaos. The scent of food teases her and she doesn’t stop until it is located and consumed – and she does it quietly. Finding the sweet fruit she helps herself to three ripe Chiquitas, leaving only three for the other five dogs. I notice right away because well, she peeled them. The peelings are in various creative places in the back of Dora including under the bed covers, in an open dog crate, and who knows where else? Oh Anne, if you weren’t so hilarious I would be furious. But instead I can only laugh at that guilty mug because of course you know you are busted, but your belly is sated anyhow. And the payoff is definitely worth the risk because you continue to be a chowhound finding food in the most precarious places!

Sharing the front seat

Dora is running strong, the dogs are sleeping in the sun and only wake up for our 200 mile marker that allows them to run like the wind in the rest areas and then right back to sleep for the next leg of a many-legged trip. 7 PM is the magic hour that Dora stops for the night. Today we find ourselves near Des Moines, Iowa for a marathon ride of 744 miles and counting. We park at a truck stop, the dogs are fed and we are settled in for the night looking forward to more of the same tomorrow. The air is cold and the wind blows all the time because the country is flat. I have my book, a glass of red wine in the toasty warm, small bed minus the banana peels, and six dogs surrounding me. Life is good in a van called Dora. Around 2 PM we wake up shivering as the temperature continues to drop into the 20's. We start up Dora and warm our space. The goal is Seattle by Friday so I can drink wine with my friends and the dogs can sleep in a real bed and have long hikes in Marymoor Park for a few days. Seattle is the halfway point and after resting up we will continue on our Adventure North. Stay tuned. . . 

The Adventure North in Dora the Explorer

Day 1, Good Friday, 2013.

Driving away from 614 4^th Avenue West maybe for the last time is both nostalgic and bittersweet as I reflect on my time spent here, all five months. It is amazing how incorporated life gets in just a short amount of time.  People are met, routines are made and life becomes set for a while. The weather is cold, windy and dreary today but the weatherman has promised warmer days with sunshine next week, and the flowers are in bloom. Soon it will be hot and humid, at least by my standards and I can’t say I will miss that. Air-conditioning is not in my vocabulary. But, Boarding House 49 is still up and running with my furnishings so one day I will return to deal with moving it out.

The people are wonderful in this special little town called Hendersonville, and the mountainous landscape is beautiful. Why then do I feel like a fish out of water? Probably because the ocean is at least four hours away, and the wide-open beaches as I know them do not compare with the cold water and flat beach-scapes here. The houses appear so close together that gaining beach access can be difficult.  As an adult I have lived in the east for short periods: West Virginia, New York City, Nantucket and now North Carolina - all for the experience. The same feeling continues to surface – I don’t belong here. My psyche knows this but I insist on trying it anyhow. Although the people are nice and polite I never feel like I get beneath the surface. I can’t seem to get it, whatever “it” is.

Homer Beaches

The avant-garde culture and art scene is a mere twenty minutes to the west in Asheville, appealing to the non-conforming, hippy generation. If I had it to do over I would explore North Carolina from that perspective and place. Nevertheless, in the end I would still be returning to Homer where there are miles and miles of coastline, the beaches are free to explore and dogs run with abandonment. The cultures from east to west are vastly different, and reflect in varied perspectives, values and goals – not dissimilar to the differences between say, France and Germany or Sweden and Italy. And of course there is the Midwest and the South to consider. Each place has amazing attributes, albeit different as night and day.

Camp Cocker goes to Morro Bay

Travel is about introspection and self-discovery. In hindsight I remember as a child some of my first thoughts were to grow up quickly and go west, specifically California. The Beach Boys were singing about the sun, ocean, blondes, bikinis, and sports cars in the early 60’s and I was there in my heart. Perhaps this soul was destined to be on the west side of things? Of course we all have the answers inside our hearts, our intuition tells us what we need as human beings; the problem lies in trusting the power within. I have always felt more at home in the west, and being here this winter has brought that fact to the forefront so that I can actually say it now. Before it was just a fleeting thought commingled with guilt associated with family, and loyalty to my home state of West Virginia – about as far east as it gets before the coastline.  

I had a wonderful experience this winter, and creating Boarding House 49 was a hoot. I now reflect on my life in Homer and smile. I can’t wait to get back to my friends and my doggie guests at TBTB. I consciously embrace the fact that I will once again complain and want to leave when the snow gets to be too much. It’s a cycle and when it happens I know it’s time to move my body. I have no idea where this wanderlust will go next but more than likely Europe or California, they both speak to me in different ways.

High Falls, DuPont Forest

Goodbye North Carolina and thank you for the opportunity to realize once and for all that I am a true west coast girl at heart. I will remember the time spent here fondly - the sweet tea, the DuPont Forest hikes, the organic coop, the dog parks, the incredible yoga practice at Brightwater, the beautiful waterfalls, the trendy margaritas and tapas, and the friends I have made in this incredible place. 

After 375 miles and six hours, I arrive in Point Pleasant, West-By-God Virginia for the weekend and realize with more nostalgia that it’s been awhile. My high school, the institution I spent so much time in, has been demolished. Gone like it never existed, leaving behind over a hundred-year history. A three million dollar football field has been built, my sister has dementia and my childhood home has been torn down by the State. Change - if nothing else we can rely on that one thing in this life. Energy is always moving, evolution is happening and nothing stays as it appears. At the moment the dogs and I will enjoy Easter Day with the family and camp at Krodel Park for three nights. For that I am grateful for this too will change one day.

We will be back on the road headed west early Monday morning.  Stay tuned for more adventures of Dora the Explorer on her trip North. . .

Namasté

Unbelizeable - The Adventure Beyond Ordinary. Follow the tales of seven tipsy sailors and a Captain called Slime as they cruise the Caribbean for seven amazing days.

Day 2. The streets remain lively outside our hotel room most of the night. My bed is next to the sliding glass door that I opened for fresh air. I woke up from the feel of a lovely cooling mist on my face. That mist was actually rain that had cooled the temperatures to a balmy 82 degrees vs. the 88 when I arrived. It feels divine.

By 8:30 AM I am off in search of the yoga studio listed online. Rather than walk the beach I decide to meander through the city of San Pedro, a 30-minute walk. The studio has an incredible view of the beach, and ceiling fans. The practice began and I was immediately sweating and wondering how I would survive an hour and forty-five minutes of the humid heat. The instructor finally asked if anyone wanted the air conditioning turned on and my hand immediately shot up! I can now finish without a struggle.

Later I met up with the other two sailors and Captain Slime to shop for provisions. We found a place called Caye Mart – with the big K in the corner, where we could get the basics. The Captain and his Sea Wench had the menu laid out for seven days on the water complete with a comprehensive shopping list. Obviously they have done this before. Shopping for eight people can be a bit overwhelming but we manage to get what we need from Caye Mart, the butcher for the meat, a bakery for the bread and a produce stand for fresh vegetables. We continued to a liquor store to buy a bottle of wine for Captain’s specialty dish – Spaghetti with Clam Sauce.

The wine was expensive because well it’s all imported. A bottle that costs $15 at home was priced at 68 Belizean dollars or $33. Forget drinking wine for the hell of it, we’re on to the hard stuff: Vodka, Gin, Rum, Coconut Rum, Tequila and Whiskey – much more cost-effective. After a morning of shopping it is time for lunch and a panty ripper or two at the hotel bar.  The ripper ended up being a Belikin, the local beer that would quickly become a favorite of the crew.

The remaining four happy sailors arrived early evening to join us for cocktails. The Toucan crew was now complete and ready for a meal at Elvies Restaurant, recommended by the Captain. It was indeed incredible. The daily special was grilled snapper and conch soup. Nom, Nom, double Nom!

Tomorrow the guys will meet with Simon from TMM Charters and get checked out on the 48’ catamaran that will be home for the next seven days. One more night in our hotel and then tomorrow we set sail out of San Pedro harbor, destination Caye Caulker, our first stop. I can't stop smilin'! 

Unbelizeable, The Adventure Beyond Ordinary. Follow the tales of seven tipsy sailors and a Captain called Slime as they cruise the Caribbean for seven amazing days.

The sound of the I Phone alarm rings at 4:30 AM. I get up while six sleepy dogs peek their heads above the covers with a “you’ve got to be kidding” look as they circle twice, flop back down and return to sleep. My bags are packed and Belize is calling. In a few short hours I will be in the tropics with my friends having a cocktail on the beach. I kiss the dogs, tell them I will return in a couple weeks and I’m off to the Asheville airport – about 15 miles away. I have allowed myself plenty of time before flight time at 7:45 AM.

Driving down 64 west I gaze down at the gas gauge and realize I should have put some fuel in the tank yesterday. Oh well, I should have enough I mused. Another few miles and Dora starts sputtering and I recognize the sign. Oh NO! She is in desperate need of gas and is actually running on fumes at the moment. I wonder if I do run out if I have enough time to make the flight? It would be close and I’m not in the mood to deal with it.

Yikes! I beg Dora to hang on telling her we will find a gas station as I pass an exit sign that says petrol is one mile away. She chugs a bit more and I let off the gas just as I see the ramp and a blessed Marathon station. We cruise off the freeway only to find a red light at the intersection, OMG. The lights in Hendersonville are notoriously the longest ever. We wait and we wait, and wait some more. I put Dora in neutral and remove my foot from the pedal, all the while talking to her and willing the light to change. Finally! A green light as I cautiously push the gas and plead with her to not die. Yippee, we are actually moving forward albeit at a snail’s pace and we literally coast up to the pump. Wheeew! Thanks Dora. We pump the gas and we’re off again toward the Airport only losing about 15 minutes. No worries we still have plenty of time and I am now wide-awake, or wired would be a better description.

Checking in at a small airport is a breeze, I wait for my Atlanta connection to depart and settle into the idea of a vacation from my life as a multiple dog owner and landlord extraordinaire. I’m ready. Arriving on A concourse in Atlanta the monitor says Gate D37 for the international flight to Belize City. I take the tram and then the escalator up to D concourse. There are only 38 gates in this concourse and well you guessed it, my gate is all the way to the end. I am lugging two bags, camera, and computer to what seems to be a never-ending walk to the gate and feel exhausted already. At last I see the D37 sign and sigh, but the gate is – well, Empty???? An agent tells me there is a gate change and the new one is E18. What? Another concourse, I shriek. But it’s only one over from here was her reply.  Maybe for you honey, but I have already completed a half marathon to get here, as I turn around and head back the way I came.

Through the concourse, down the escalator to the tram again, back up the escalator to an E gate that I can only hope has not changed again by the time I get there. I need a drink. I find the gate and the fight is delayed for 45 minutes, which means I have time to find the bar. It’s only 10:30 AM but I’m on vacation. I settle in across from the gate and order a Bloody Mary, a house Bloody Mary that I gulp down because they are now boarding. It cost $12.80, OMG. Who said the south is cheap? I have never paid that much for a drink in the Anchorage airport. Oh well, I’m on vacation.

I finally get settled in my seat and the plane is packed. There are multiple church groups that are going to Belize to help build schools in the city. Each group is surprised to see another one, thinking their youth congregation has the market on volunteer work in this country. Apparently there are at least three different organizations on board and I find myself in the middle of their debate. Oh well, I’m not with any church group so I order a mojito. That seemed to stop the conversation cold. I smile and say I need to get in the island spirit. I usually don’t drink on flights because I don’t like how it feels later. But, I’m on vacation. The mojito was so bad that it didn’t even resemble what I thought I was getting. Because of that, I ordered another one just to be sure.

I settle into the 3.5 hour fight nicely, actually I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know the plane is bouncing around on what feels like a gravel runway and the temperature inside the cabin is so humid that it is excruciating. My head is pounding and the inside of my mouth feels like sandpaper. I realize we have landed, let the party begin but first I need a breeze, any movement of air would be nice. The church groups have resumed their conversation about who is doing what and where they are doing it. OMG, my heartbeat is slamming inside my head. Get me out of here; it is so hot that I am stripping off my sweatshirt first and then my shirt. I’m down to a tank top and can’t remove anything else respectfully, but I bet it would shut the volunteers up. Can we please get off?

Charles the Taxi Driver

Finally I feel the warm island air hit me in the face as we are herded to the customs line where fortunately English is the preferred language. Clearing customs takes only a few minutes, and now to find taxi. I follow the exit signs and find a cab driver to take me to the water taxi headed for San Pedro and the Spindrift Hotel. Any car can obviously be a taxi, all you have to do is get in the line at the airport and put up a sign. Charles grabs my bags, opens the side door and we’re off at the speed of light. Am I really in Belize or is this NYC? We are flying down the road and I have no idea how far it is to my water transportation. Charles is a pleasant, older man telling me he lives by his grandfather’s model, who died at 104. When I ask what that is his reply is no booze, no caffeine and no tobacco. Well, okay I’ll keep my mouth shut about the dreadful mojitos on the plane.

Hangin' On

The windows are down and the breeze is swirling my hair around my head. The fog inside has lifted and my heartbeat is now back in my chest and out of my head. I settle into to the cab ride and actually enjoy chatting with this Belizean man, born on a much smaller island but spending his entire adult life in this very city. We are cruising in the country and when traffic gets congested I assume we are getting close to the water. Belize City is the mainland and I am headed to the Islands or Cayes (Keys) as they are called. We come up on a large pile of dirt in the center of the street and Charles stops the car and starts unloading my bags? We are here, I ask not being able to see anything that looks like a terminal. Another guy picks up the bags (thank goodness) and Charles tells me to follow him. Okay, in for a penny in for a dime - I hope this is where I want to be. I pay Charles 50 Belizean dollars ($25) plus tip, and follow this other guy around the dirt pile that must be part of a construction project, and across the street. We arrive at a small dock with a sign listing the ferry times. I buy my round-trip ticket and wait only 10 minutes before boarding a boat that will also travel at the speed of light.  I sit back, enjoy the sites and muse about the ultimate Booze Cruise that awaits me.

San Pedro from the Water Taxi

An hour later at 3:00 PM we arrive in San Pedro where the Toucan catamaran is being prepped for the Saturday crew that I am a part of, but first I need to find the Spindrift Hotel and my friends. Getting my bags – there is no one left to carry them at this point so I need to find the hotel soon. Like magic I look at the beach strip and there it is, my destination hotel right in front of me. I check in, drop my bags, change my clothes and go out to look off the lanai in search of familiar faces. And there they are – walking toward the hotel obviously in search of someone – well that would be me. Somehow we missed each other on the beach but I managed to get all by belongings up a flight of stairs by myself. I start waving and they finally look up and smile. We do the island greetings and head directly to the bar where a real mojito can be had. Instead I am talked into the island drink of choice, a Panty Ripper! Fruit juice and coconut rum, Yummy! We make plans for tomorrow - shopping for our sailing provisions and the booze. But for now we are making dinner plans for after the bar event that happens every Thursday night – the chicken drop? Don’t ask. . .

Chicken Drop Course

After the infamous drop we walk to a lovely beach side restaurant where we dine on the daily special of fresh grouper that absolutely melts in our mouth. The air has cooled off, the beach is magic and the sand between my toes is heavenly.

And so it were, from Asheville, North Carolina to San Pedro, Belize in a matter of hours, the UnBelizeable Adventure begins on a lovely Thursday evening under the stars. Life is good as several tipsy sailors along with Captain Slime enjoy several more beverages while waiting for the rest of the Toucan crew to arrive mañana.

The Sugarloaf Trail?

Good Morning Sunday, the sun is out and it looks like a good day for a hike. Let’s get online to find a trail reasonably close that is not too strenuous so all the dogs can enjoy time outside, including the senior members of the pack. I find one called “Sugarloaf,” described as a 3-mile loop going around several ponds, easy and well marked. Perfect!

There were a few red flags to start the day off. I take Woody out front for a quick walk and he manages to poop right in front of Dora’s door on the passenger side. I go back inside to get a plastic bag and grab some dogs to load up at the same time. When I return, Woody is headed straight out onto 4^th Avenue so I drop everything and chase after him and well, you guessed it. I step right in the middle of his earlier deposit as the plastic bag lay on the ground marking the spot. I panicked when I saw him in the street and temporarily forgot about the poop but it somehow found me. After loading the dogs in the van, picking up the reminder of the mess, and cleaning the bottom of my shoe we were off, to an ominous start in search of Sugarloaf. On the way I get a call from my local hiking buddy asking what we were up to. I tell her we are going hiking at Sugarloaf and her response is “where’s that?” – second red flag.

A few wrong turns, a few corrections on GPS and we finally reach the trailhead shown on the Internet. The parking area is strange and looks just like private property with an outbuilding. I leave the dogs with their excitement and protesting barks in Dora long enough to walk around the building to investigate. Sure enough there is the row of ponds as shown on the website, and what looks like a trail leading down and around them. I return to Dora, let the dogs out and we were off. On the way down the hill my feet get tangled in extremely tough, stringy vines sending me forward into a chest plant – similar to the face plant earlier this year in San Diego, minus the tequila. The dogs didn’t miss a beat as I struggle to pick myself up with Anne desperately pulling me with her leash - red flag #3.

Blazin' the trail

After going only 300 yards the water ends and we are in the middle of a plowed area with a trail around the edge. We walk through a field covered with rotten pumpkins that the dogs thoroughly enjoy, followed by apple trees with loads of fallen apples covering the ground that they also love. DoDog manages to find a pile of dung that she rolled around in smearing her neck, throat and harness with a lovely aroma that I can only hope will dissipate by the time we return to Dora. The trail continues to wind through several fields and eventually we end up on what looks like a dirt road for farm equipment. In fact we see miscellaneous tractors and apple crates sitting along the trail. It seems odd not seeing another soul, and there is no signs markings the trail as indicated on the Internet.  But, the road is weaving to the left looking like the loop described on the website.

Anne wonders where we are going?

 We continue walking and the dogs are having a blast eating the apples along the way and crawling under electric fences that are obviously turned off. We finally come to the end of the trail and find ourselves at the intersection of a major country road. What the hell? There is a house off to the left so we hike up the hill in search of someone to ask about the trail, but first we have to pass an open barn with a large curious collie and a freaked out cat that jumped to the rafters after seeing the herd of dogs approaching. No worries we all manage to get up the driveway except DoDog, who is delayed by a Blue Healer refusing to let her pass. He actually had her rooted to the spot and I knew we would find her there when we returned. She can be extremely stubborn when she doesn’t get her way and an obvious stare down is in progress with this bossy healer.

The garage door is open so we knock on the door inside the garage. An elderly lady opens it and I explain our situation. Her response is “are you looking for my daughter?” I quickly realize she didn’t understand what I was talking about, probably because I lack her accent so I thank her, and decide we are going to go back the way we came. The hell with the loop! It obviously doesn’t exist. By this time we have hiked at least five miles, maybe farther and I hate to turnaround and admit defeat, but it is time. We are all getting a bit weary. 

Bunny looking for apples

We pick up DoDog on the way still in a stare down with the Blue Healer, and begin backtracking with only a few stops for more apples, dung rolling and water. Finally, we see the van. By this time we have been gone several hours and are really happy to see Dora the Explorer waiting for us – we have no idea at this point how lucky we really are to find her there. All the dogs have slowed down to a meandering pace and are more than ready to get inside the van. Luce and Woody at 15 and 14, were troopers but I can tell they need  a bowl of water and then a nap, in that order. I’m loading the dogs in the back when two women and a small boy come walking across the field toward us and one said: “what are you doing here, this is private property. There are no trespassing signs everywhere,” although I hadn’t seen a one. I tell her just a minute as I get the dogs settled and pour them some water, first things first. I then go back out and explain that we were hiking the Sugarloaf as she eyes me suspiciously saying there is no Sugarloaf Trail here;  something about owning 35 acres and me being on that property. What? But, I found this trail on the Internet I say and show her the driving instructions I have written down leading us to this very spot. She is confused, I am confused and the other lady asked where I am from in Alaska. I tell her Homer and she said she was stationed at Fort Richardson for a year. Small world, but back to the situation at hand.

Lady #l Kathy, tells me that the Sheriff has been there looking inside the van to find a receipt on the floor with my name on it, noticed the Alaska license plates, and saw the keys dangling in the ignition. I always leave my keys in the car figuring if someone steals it, well then they obviously need it more than me. It’s never happened. However, that’s not how the Sheriff saw this situation at all. It was apparent that the woman owning the van had been abducted, driven to this spot and taken off to the woods for God knows what? I’m having a hard time comprehending all this logic as I continue to try and explain my Sugarloaf story. In the meantime Kathy is on her IPhone calling the Sheriff to tell him I have arrived back at the van unharmed, looking for some trail that I found on the Internet. OMG! I’m in the twilight zone in the hills of North Carolina.

Kathy ends her conversation with the Sheriff and then tells me that they were in the process of getting a tow truck to pick up Dora and then put out an APB on me. “You mean like an Alls Points Bulletin?” Yep, that be the one. I am more than flabbergasted and having a hard time keeping a straight face. If this weren’t so damn dramatic, it would be hysterical. Really.

I finally get Kathy to do a Goggle search on her phone for ‘hiking trails in Hendersonville’ but I can’t tell which link I clicked on to find this so-called Sugarloaf Trail. In the end I get her email promising to send her the link so that she can contact the powers that be to get her property removed from the list of available hiking trails in Hendersonville. She kept saying it wasn’t the trespassing that bothered her; it was the fact that they were sure a lunatic had abducted me. I apologized for being on her property and we were finally able to laugh about it, and the dogs and I head home. But not before another warning from her: ‘ be careful here this time of year, there are lots of psychos out.” Holy Shit, now what do you suppose that means?

On the way home we stop at the doggie wash for a much-needed DoDog bath and a complimentary one for BunBun. By this time I am hungry, as I didn’t sample the rotten pumpkins or apples on the trail, I stop at the Fresh Market, similar to a small Whole Foods store to get dinner. I settle on a scrumptious chicken breast that has been marinated in white wine and baked to perfection. We are less than a mile from the house when the aroma of that chicken breast overtokes the inside of the van and it slowly dawns on me. OMG, as I slam on the brakes, pull Dora off the road into a parking lot, and start yelling at the dogs. Five of them are accounted for but when I open the back of the van, there she is – Ms. America, aka DoDog trying to jump back over the seat before I actually catch her. Too late girlfriend, you are so busted! All that was left of the chicken breast was the aroma and an open, empty container. She had consumed the entire thing, including the bones in a flash. Pissed off to the max, the other dogs are running for cover because they know it and regret not getting in on the action before it was too late. But DoDog was quick, even quicker than Anne this time and that is amazing.

I drop them all off at the house, put Ms. DoDog in her kennel and go straight back to Fresh Market to get yet another chicken breast. The clerk at the deli reminded me that I was just there and the cashier commented, weren’t you just here? The sad part of this story, well the breast I just bought weighs less than the one she ate. And I’m still not over that one.

So much for our first day of hiking solo in the hills of North Carolina, I guess more research is in order before our next major outing. But the good news? Well the dogs had a terrific time and could care less about private property, tow trucks, APB’s or wrongly marked trails. They are asleep, twitching at my feet as I write this, probably dreaming about rolling in dung, eating apples and pumpkins, sniffing wildlife and chasing barn cats. DoDog is still smiling over the chicken breast, and occasionally licks her lips to remind me how much it was worth the scolding that she took with her head down and her tail tucked. Isn’t that just like a hound dog? 

Woof! Woof!.