County Counting Update

 My recent trip, to Kansas City and then Michigan, went reasonably well despite technological issues, and I got to two new counties in southeastern Nebraska, and all the remaining counties in Iowa (10) and Michigan (20). The trip home went nothing like I'd planned it -- not really a surprise there -- so I didn't get to any new counties in Kentucky or Tennessee. 

Who cares. Since I very much enjoy driving my little convertible on such winding mountain roads as abound in both those states, I'm sure I'll be going to those places soon enough. 

Meanwhile, here's the updated situation. I've now been to all the counties in 37 states, shown in green on the map below. The states in yellow are those where there are only "a few" counties left to visit, which I arbitrarily define as ten or less. The number of remaining counties to go to is shown in red.

The grey states, Georgia and Oregon, are those with more than ten counties left to visit. And then there's Alaska, which doesn't have counties. I've decided that any step taken in that state is good enough: One and Done.

 This last trip was the first I've ever made with county-counting as the express objective, and the last. The only remaining areas where there are enough to tempt me to go for that purpose are (1) the state of Georgia, with its surfeit of tiny little counties, and (2) the Northwest. But doing the Northwest all at once would be an exceedingly long and no doubt dull wander, while doing Georgia in a single trip would be just plain tedious; so I won't attempt it. Best to collect those counties as I pass through on the way to places more interesting.

 The dearth of counties left to visit for the first time has prompted me to change my goal to visiting all the car museums in the country. There are hundreds of them, and they're nicely scattered across the country, often in small towns. They are the new excuse to wander, not really the objective. You know the old saying, "It's not the destination, it's the journey"? That applies here. 

At the same time, I will not get all worked up about it. On my last trip, at one point in the planning I counted 17 car museums among my planned stops. (That number included, I think, five in Hickory Corner, Michigan, because I didn't understand the set-up there; there are actually 19 separate buildings, but some of them are operated by various car clubs and, I suppose, count as separate museums. Since I went to all the ones I'd planned to see, and several others, over two days, I'm counting it as five museums.) I actually went to 13 of the ones I'd planned. The rest I skipped because their hours of operation didn't fit my schedule. (A lot of them are only open a few days a week.) I did get pissed off when I showed up at one museum -- the first, as it happens -- and they had changed their hours within the last few weeks. Well, it happens. I got more pissed off when I drove half a day out of my best route to see a museum that doesn't deserve that name. Even so, I enjoy car museums, even most of the mediocre ones. And since they come and go like cellphone plans, I'll never run out of new places to go. Will I.

Twenty-One Years

 An entire generation has now grown up since this happened. It does not include any of the unborn progeny of the firefighters of NYFD Ladder Truck 118, seen crossing the Brooklyn Bridge in the foreground. They all died that day.

(the picture was uncredited on the site where I found it; thanks to whoever took it)

2022 KC/MI Wander: One Last Thing

 

This is Part 14 of the blog post documenting my epic wandering around the middle part of the country. You really should read them in order. To that end, here's a link to Part One. At the bottom of each post, click the link for "Newer Post" at the bottom. And here is a link to ALL the pictures I took on this trip. Viewing them will require that you scroll through God knows how many pictures of parts of old cars, so you might want to just skip that altogether.

 I did, in the end, manage to contact the people who run the British Transportation Museum in Dayton, Ohio, and arrange for a tour outside their normal Monday and Saturday hours, and I'm really glad I did. I got there just after 9:30 this morning.

I was a little late because, for reasons known only to itself, Google Maps had me get off the freeway north of town and drive south for about 5 miles on Dixie Highway, a four-lane city street that parallels the freeway, but with a red light every few hundred yards and, if it's possible, even more over-the-road trucks than the freeway. Then it had me get back on the freeway and continue south to downtown. Somewhere along the way (just south of Lima, about 90 miles back) the written instructions that normally appear at the top of the screen froze with the legend "200 yards Bellepointe Drive right turn, then turn left." But the audio worked and the actual map kept moving so I could follow the correct (or at least the specified) route. Until I got to downtown Dayton. The instruction there was, "In a quarter mile, take the interchange on the right." After that quarter mile, there were two exits, literally one right after the other. I chose the first one. Not, it turns out, a good choice. That took me out of the way, to the east. Google Maps rerouted me through a somewhat convoluted neighbourhood and got me back where I should be, but at that point the map itself stopped moving, so all I had was the audio. Fortunately, by listening carefully to the instructions and moving with unusual deliberation -- in case I missed a turn, I wanted it to have time to re-route and actually give me an oral instruction before I passed by the new turn -- I managed to get where I was going. And since I remembered from having looked at the map several times over the last few weeks that my destination was south of downtown and west of the freeway, I was somewhat confident that I was headed the right way.

I fantasize throwing my phone to the ground and grinding it under my heel, but I need it for other things than Google Maps.

So anyway: I got to the British Transportation Museum and met its director, Pete Stroble. He and I talked for probably 45 minutes before we started looking at the cars that were all around the floor. He told me the history of the museum, which has been going on a little over 25 years now. Its membership consists of people, mostly local, who are afficionados of this or that make of British car -- his personal love is the Morris Mini. Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, just northeast of town, brings a lot of people to Dayton who have also been posted to England and there developed an interest in British cars. 

an MG restoration under way

This is not a pristine collection of finely restored gems of motoring. While there are some cars in top condition, most are in more ordinary shape. Unlike many museums, this one actually owns most of the vehicles on display. They get donated to the museum, and restored as time and money allow. Much of the work is done by various car clubs in the area; for example, I saw an MG coupe (it may have been a hard-top convertible) undergoing complete restoration by the local MG club. Its body panels have been removed and laid out on the floor prior to painting. 

MGB

Elsewhere there are cars that leak fluids, cars that need brakes, cars that run and cars that don't. The museum -- "car-rich and cash-poor," Pete calls it -- does what it can when it can. There is a core of about a dozen guys with varying degrees of technical expertise (Pete himself is a retired engineer) who put out fires left and right and then devote themselves to particular projects until they're completed. As we went around the display floor, I heard about what they've done to this car, what they need to do to that car, and what they couldn't do with a car that is no longer there. One of the ways the museum raises revenue for the expensive work of car restoration is to fix up a car they don't need in their collection -- a donated vehicle of a type they already have on hand --restore it and then sell it. Naturally, the most common British vehicles are the ones that get fixed up and sold: MGAs, MGBs, Triumph Spitfires. Rarer cars, they keep.

1960 Ford Consul

And they've ended up with a fascinating collection of cars that are unfamiliar to me, along with some interesting examples of familiar cars. A bright yellow Spitfire (a kind of car I nearly bought in the late 1970s) and a couple of bright red Triumph TR-3s (one on loan, one owned by the museum); an MG TD and a couple of rare MG saloons; a 1926 Rolls needing a lot of work; a 1936 Daimler that took part in the coronation parade for King George VI; and of course the cars I always want to see, the Jaguars: only one E-Type, a 3.8, a couple of XJ-6s. There were two Humber saloons from around 1960, big American-style family cars that seem somehow out of place in England. A 1960 Ford Consul convertible also looks like it belonged on an American street in the Kennedy years. A 1960 Peerless GT that looks English to the core. A Morris Oxford estate car ("all-steel," a big selling point in post-war Britain) and a pair of Triumph Herald sedans, which I'd never seen before.

As we went around the floor, Pete shared all kinds of stories about the cars, pointing out things that I probably would never have noticed. How the door on an MG saloon is misaligned because the frame of the car is made of wood that has warped (still, it's a beautiful car); how the US Ambassador's 1936 Packard (with right-hand drive) ended up in their museum; how they came to have an old Vauxhall DHC, and what still needs to be done on it; and so on. 

If I had just gone around looking at the cars on my own and taking pictures, I probably would have spent about an hour and a half in this fascinating museum. With Pete telling stories as we went, I ended up staying a full five hours without noticing the time. (On the downside, I often forgot to take pictures of the cars, or to note the details for my photo captions.) He may regret spending his day that way, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Anything that makes me forget to eat lunch is a great experience.

When I left, it was with the thought that the weather in Cincinnati was going to determine whether I followed my planned route through the unexplored counties of Kentucky; but the persistent problems I'm having with Google Maps foreclosed that option. I can't trust the app to route me the way I want to go. So I just told it to take me home, and it showed me that I was 19 hours away. I got a paper map of Kentucky at a rest area on I-65 south of Louisville, and saw that, with a relatively short detour to the east I could still get the 3 counties in the middle of the state; it would probably add no more than an hour to the return trip. But what's the point? Those three counties are on the way to the other 5 I would need to finish the state, so I might as well wait until they're on my course. Likewise the two in Tennessee, although that would finish that state.... With my paper map of Kentucky I can plan out a route that gets me to those to somewhat remote counties. But then what? I can't count on Google Maps to get me to Memphis afterwards, and I have only the vaguest idea of how I'd get there on my own. So I'll likely skip that little diversion, too, and just stay on the goddamn freeway all the way home. I won't get there tomorrow, but might get to Dallas, and then home on Friday. Either way, there won't be anything to tell about the rest of the trip, so this is going to be the final post from the 2022 KC/MI Wander.

2022 KC/MI Wander, Day 15: The Road Home?

 

This is Part 13 of the blog post documenting my epic wandering around the middle part of the country. You really should read them in order. To that end, here's a link to Part One. At the bottom of each post, click the link for "Newer Post" at the bottom. And here is a link to ALL the pictures I took on this trip. Viewing them will require that you scroll through God knows how many pictures of parts of old cars, so you might want to just skip that altogether.

 In my memory, life was much simpler before the tech revolution. For a traveller, the halcyon days were those that came after the invention of accurate paper maps, and before the invention of GPS. Paper maps work every time you look at them. They do not issue ludicrous instructions, they do not freeze up for no reason, they do not require a signal of any kind to operate, they do not suddenly go blank, they do not change from moment to moment. True, there's a lot they can't do: they can't tell you if the road is closed or if there's been an accident up ahead. They can't warn you of a speed trap along your way. And they can't tell you what restaurants or motels are along your route, or how much they cost.

I'll take that trade.

Anyway. So saying, in yesterday's post, that I would finish with Michigan around noon and start for home proved to be a little optimistic. After Google Maps threatened several times to send me down gravel roads I just pulled up a map of the state, figured out where I wanted to go, and then looked for paved roads that would take me there. That worked, at a glance. I also enjoyed, for a change, having at least some picture in my head of where things are in relation to each other, in the thumb of Michigan's mitten. And at 2:20 pm I sailed into Sanilac County, the last of the 83 that make up the state. Thirty-seven states down, thirteen to go.

And now I'm torn. I've already skipped Wills St Clair Auto Museum -- that was easy; it was closed -- and Stahl's Automotive Foundation -- that was harder; it's only open on Tuesdays, and today's Tuesday -- and Marvin's Marvelous Museum, and the Roush Automobile Collection, the National Construction Equipment Museum (it would have been closed by the time I got there), Stroh's Center (home of the world's largest bronze falcon sculpture), Snook's Dream Cars, the Fostoria Rail Park and the Fostoria Glass Heritage Center; and the Basilica and National Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation. Some of those things I'm more disappointed at not seeing than others. And tomorrow I know I'm going to skip almost all the stops I'd planned on. (I did try to buy some moonshine here in Ohio, but the supermarket I went to didn't have any. I will find some tomorrow, I hope.)

I don't mind so much skipping all the places I'd planned to stop, back when I was just planning the trip. They're all things I can go to some other time, and to be honest most of them aren't worth the forty cents worth of gas it might take to get a photograph. They were just there, near where I was going to be anyway. The thing I'm torn about is: do I just get on the freeway and go home, or do I get off the freeway when I cross into Kentucky, and wander through the five counties I need just southeast of Cincinnati, and then the three in the middle of the state, and then the two in western Tennessee before I get back on the freeway? Or do I just stay on the freeway. That is the only thing on my mind. (That, and the British Transportation Museum in Dayton, which isn't actually open tomorrow but they say tours can be arranged outside their regular hours. If I could just get hold of them....)

So. Today I stopped at a sculpture museum and garden in Saginaw -- well, first I stopped for breakfast at a Bob Evans restaurant where something was going wrong in the kitchen; they were way behind and people were complaining and cancelling their orders and leaving. I, having lots of emails to read, didn't really notice until a certain point when I realized that I'd already had my allotted three cups of coffee and still hadn't gotten any food. It came shortly after so I wasn't too upset. Not like the guy behind me at the cash register a few minutes later. Then I went to an auto parts store seven miles down the street -- there was a much closer one, but Google Maps chose not to so inform me -- to find out why my Check Engine light had come on. (As I'd expected, a slight vacuum leak. It's been that every time but once since the invention of the vague Check Engine light, and except for that one time it's meant the gas cap didn't get tightened all the way, and the warning light goes out after a while. So far it hasn't gone out, but at least I'm not too worried about it.) And then I went to the sculpture garden.

Black Elk, the Lakota philosopher

 It's located at Saginaw Valley State University, and features the work of a local guy named Marshall Fredericks, who made good in the Art World. He was popular with auto-industry executives. Big, monumental sculptures in well-known places like Cleveland and Europe. The indoor gallery is mostly filled with plaster casts and scale models of works, while the garden outside has a number of full-sized pieces. 

There are also four fake swans in the pond out there. I only knew they were fake because one of them tipped over. 

Pointe Aux Barques Light

From there I made my way up the thumb of the mitten to Pointe Aux Barques, the second-most-dangerous area of the Great Lakes for shipping, to see the old lighthouse.

And from there I made my way through Detroit (which, to my surprise, has a lot of new high-rise construction downtown) and Toledo to Lima, Ohio for the night, where I will ponder my course for tomorrow.