It was a good day for a hike. Breakfast eaten, dishes done, and camp made “ship shape” I drove to the Second Creek trailhead.

With my camera, Camelback (water), and trekking poles I began my ascent. 10,600 feet to about 11,600 feet. For a local this would not qualify as much of a climb. As a non-acclimated flatlander I found this to be challenging enough. Snow banks became plentiful as I reached and then continued above tree line.

The sapphire blue sky was pierced by a full sun that baked the skin and pained the eyes.

Step into a shadow and the temperature seemed to plummet. Amidst the trees, sweatshirt on… in the open, sweatshirt off.

The vistas did not disappoint and my 3 hours spent hiking provided ample opportunity for pictures and thoughtful rumination.

There are populations that make their homes above 12,000 feet, principally in the South American Andes Mountains and the Asian highlands of Tibet. However, over one-third of the world’s population lives less than 300 feet above sea-level. Far less than 1 percent live above 10,000 feet. This is the study of hypsographic demography.

As I periodically stopped to catch my breath I began to consider how quickly the air thins as elevation increases. Humans are not well designed to flourish above the clouds… there is a reason that the salinity of our blood closely matches the salinity of the oceans. We are physically happiest at the altitude of the seas from whence we emerged eons ago.

So here I am loving the mountains, the dry air, the smell of pine, the big brown bear that wandered through my campsite… yet I will never achieve the full aerobic capacity that I enjoy at 900 feet back in Kansas City.

The world is approximately 8,000 miles in diameter. Depending on the scientific discipline, the Earth’s atmosphere may be deemed to extend upwards to about 60 miles. Of course no human can survive at that altitude. Mount Everest (29,029 feet) is the highest point on Earth, not even 4 miles in elevation, and yet the fittest human can only briefly survive at that extreme.

Our inclination to be species-centric burdens us with the illusion that we are masters of vast (near endless?) realms and inexhaustible resources. However, if the Earth were reduced to the size of a 3 foot diameter ball, then the corresponding atmospheric equivalent of 10,560 feet (2 miles) above sea-level would be 9 thousandths of an inch (0.009”)! To put that into perspective, that is roughly the thickness of two pieces of ordinary copy paper.

The reality is that we are fragile creatures living within an incredibly thin envelope of breathable air. Borrowing upon an ancient proverb, “It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest”… or perhaps more to the point, it is an ill fated humanity that chooses to break the wind that it breaths.

Peace Everyone.

Today began a solo camping trip that will extend through the end of July. Day one was a hot 400 mile slog west down the non-inspiring lanes of I-70. My first real destination is Denver, 600+ miles from home. An overnight in Goodland is a prudent alternative to a 12+ hour marathon drive while towing a trailer.

These days most folks only see a hint of Goodland as they zoom past the outskirts on the Interstate. Not much there except that a sharp eye might catch a glimpse of a very curious piece of art that towers in the distance.

I am camped at the Goodland KOA, located on the east side of Goodland, along less traveled US-24.

One might say that this is the backyard of Goodland. One might also incorrectly assume that there is not much to see here. Back to that piece of art…

In 2000, Canadian artist Cameron Cross approached the trade group, Sunflowers USA, with the idea of recreating VanGogh’s painting, “3 Sunflowers in a Vase” in Goodland. The proportions would be breathtaking; the painting would be 24 feet by 32 feet (VanGogh’s original was not even 2’ x 3’), and it would sit upon an 80 foot tall easel, the largest in the world. $150,000.00 was raised and the completed work was dedicated in 2001.

Continuing my 2+ hour sojourn I came upon a number of other notable finds:

In the 1950’s and early 1960’s Studebaker Motors of South Bend Indiana produced the “Hawk” in a number of variant forms. It was a design ahead of its time and from a styling and engineering standpoint it rivaled Chevrolet’s Corvette and Ford’s Thunderbird of that era. This lonely (1956?) model sits waiting for a tender heart and deep pocket to restore it’s former glory. Price unknown.

A few blocks later I encountered the equally forlorn (1951?) Hudson Hornet.

This was a low slung beast of a car weighing in at nearly 2 tons, and featuring what was then the largest 6 cylinder engine in the world. Capable of speeds in excess of 100 mph and featuring excellent handling, the Hornet was perhaps America’s first muscle car.

Known for it’s sturdy strength, if not its speed, was the depression era McCormick-Deering 10-20. This example likely dates to around 1928.

There was more…

How about a 28hp 1948-53 Allis-Chalmers WD in tricycle configuration parked next to a 1955 Ford Sedan Delivery Wagon…

Finally, central Kansas is known for its ability to produce food. Signs along the highway tout that each Kansas farmer feeds over 155 people.

Walking down a dusty road I found evidence that production (in this case corn) far exceeds the ability to market or deliver that commodity.

Literal mountains of grain lay near concrete silos already filled to capacity. Some of the grain was covered against the elements, but some was not.

Tariffs? Over-production? Distribution problems? I do not claim to know, but over 40 million Americans live in poverty… 1 in 8 Americans are deemed “food insecure”. There is something wrong with this picture.

Peace everyone. Pete

Our last day on Jersey Island was extended due to the change in the ferry schedule and ferry destination that was unfortunately imposed upon us. We took the opportunity to “make lemons into lemonade” by spending the day at Mont Orgueil, better known as Gorey Castle.

“Gorey” was built in 1204 upon a site that had featured fortifications for thousands of years dating back to Neolithic times. It remained Jersey Island’s primary defense until advances in gunpowder and cannon rendered it obsolete in the early 1600’s. Over the preceding 400 years Castle Gorey underwent many additions and improvements.

It was ideally situated for viewing the coast of (then) military rival France, only 14 miles across the water.

It again became important with the Nazi occupation in 1940. Those troops, with the use of imported slave labor, converted portions of the castle into reconnaissance and gun positions.

As currently presented, Gorey is a well preserved labyrinth of rooms, stairways, and passages. We frequently found ourselves turning a corner only to find that we had traveled in a circle.

It also has become a venue for a variety of interesting and unique art pieces that are relevant to the Castle’s place in history.

We boarded the ferry at 7pm for an 8pm departure. The terminal, and subsequently the vessel, were significantly more crowded than our previous two passages. This was due to the combined passenger loads of two ferries, the one we were on and the cancelled ferry we had intended to travel. Fortunately, we still were booked into a private en-suite cabin that allowed us a good night’s sleep and hot showers.

Not so lucky were most of the other passengers who passed on the extra cost of a cabin and instead curled up in whatever nook, cranny, or floor space was available to them.

Before bed Christine and I secured a table in the bar for a nightcap. Tables were at a premium so I held the table while Chris went for drinks. There were 4 chairs at our table, two obviously unclaimed. An attractive woman of our generation approached and asked is she and her husband might join us. This was the most fortunate question of the day as Liz and her husband Fred, who happened to be standing next in line with a Christine at the bar, were as pleasant a couple as one could hope to meet.

We spent the better part of 3 hours laughing and sharing our “stories”. They were originally from mainland England but years past had fallen in love with Jersey and made it their home. We agreed to meet for breakfast aboard ship at 6am prior to our arrival in Poole.

Before our evening ended the discussion turned to my annoyance with the change in the ferry itinerary and the challenges that this presented to us. A gentleman at the next table overheard and joined the discussion long enough to offer to drive us to our hotel in Portsmouth. This was Kevin, and his offered kindness saved us over 2 hours of travel and $150 dollars in added costs the morning of our arrival. Kevin declined our offers of compensation explaining that the detour only added a few miles to his trip home. Of course he was ignoring the fact that the rerouted ferry also impacted him. Sharing his cost would have been fair.

Liz, Fred, and Kevin are good examples of the friendliness and generosity that we have continually experienced in the UK. These good people are our “neighbors”, our Allies, our brothers and our sisters. We share the bonds of a common heritage. As a people, we should not allow those gifts to be thoughtlessly trashed by the whims of any one person or administration.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. The afternoon I typed the above (May 17th) we encountered a English gentleman who upon learning of our nationality waxed longingly of a trip he dreams of one day taking across the States traveling old Route 66 on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. His ardor had a pilgrimage quality and he specifically mentioned the “Rocket Man” statue located in Wilmington Illinois, a scant 30 minute drive from where I grew up. Pilgrimage may be defined as an intentional journey to a place of spiritual significance. Some may scoff at the notion that icons found along Route 66 are spiritual. However, spirituality is found within the pilgrim’s heart and not that of the audience. I understand how the dream of a journey feeds the soul, even if it is to stand at the foot of a 25 foot tall “Rocket Man”. I also know of two Scots from Glasgow, Sean and Garry, who understand this as well. We all need our dreams.

John Churchill was named 1st Duke of Marlborough by England’s King William III in 1702.

This was in recognition of his military service to the Crown. His career went on to amass a remarkable string of 26 military victories without defeat. Churchill’s most noted victory occurred at The Battle of Blenheim where over 100,000 troops were engaged in combat.

Churchill dealt a stunning defeat to the French army which suffered over 30,000 casualties. Churchill dispatched word of his success in a note that he personally wrote on a tavern bill.

Shortly after this victory the King granted him an indeterminate lease of the estate that came to be known as Blenheim in honor of that victory. In 1704 Parliament authorized nearly a quarter million Pounds for the construction of a palace upon the grounds.

The Duke contributed another 60 thousand Pounds. The result was the construction of the monumental Blenheim Palace, the only non-royal “country home” in England to bear the designation of “Palace”. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

England’s monarchy remains owner of the property so long as the Dukes of Marlborough continue to pay the “rent”, which consists of delivering a French battle flag to England’s monarch at Parliament each year on the anniversary of the Battle of Blenheim.

The First Duke died without a surviving male heir. Parliament acted to protect the family’s rights by passing legislation that allowed the Churchill family to pass and hold title through its females, the first and only time that such an Act has ever been granted. Twice this has preserved the family’s hold on Blenheim.

The Estate has remained in the hands of the Churchill’s and Spencer-Churchill’s for over 300 years and is currently the possession of the 12th Duke of Marlborough, James Spencer-Churchill. The Spencer line of the family included the ill fated Princess Diana. The Churchill line included the famous Sir Winston Churchill who was born on the property in 1874.

He is buried in a modest family plot in nearby St. Martin’s Church, at Blandon.

The Palace is incredible in its size, design, and contents. Upon visiting the estate one of England’s kings was heard to say, “We have nothing to equal this!”

The various reception rooms display remarkable art, priceless tapestries, and artisan created furnishings of incredible rarity.

There are 22 clocks in the palace, the oldest dating to 1690. They all are in operation and are maintained by a staff clockmaker.

The library is the second longest room in the entire United Kingdom.

Apart from the Palace’s historic interest, this was the birthplace and home of Sir Winston Churchill. A portion of the tour was dedicated to his memory and considerable accomplishments. Aside from his role as Great Britain’s Prime Minister during the 2nd World War, his oratory stirred the soul of the United Kingdom during it’s “darkest hours”. He was a polymath, accomplished as an artist who’s works (submitted anonymously) were accepted for exhibition at London’s Royal Academy.

He was also a Noble Laureate in Literature for his “…mastery of historical and biographical description, and brilliant oratory in defense of human values”. His life works include writing 42 books in 60 volumes, plus 5,000 speeches and articles… in all over 30 million words!

Sir Winston died January 24, 1965. He is only the 4th former Prime Minister in Great Britain’s history to have been afforded a full State funeral. 110 world leaders were in attendance and the ceremony was watched by over 350 million television viewers around the world.

Our evening and this chapter of our journey concluded with dinner at a Portuguese restaurant in Portsmouth England with our Welch friends Huw and Nina. My thoughts turned to a 15 minute encounter in Porto Portugal with Mafalda and Rita, 2 young ladies who extended us a favor. We consider them friends for life even if our paths never again cross. Our life has become punctuate by many of these friendships. Far flung places take on the faces of these people and become personal to us.

Just today these posts have been read by scores of people in at least 15 countries. In 1869 Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness…” 2000 years ago Christ compressed his entire philosophy into a single admonition that directed us to love our neighbors as we love ourself. (Matthew 22:35-40)

“Neighbor” is not defined by race, creed, gender, or geography. A neighbor is any person who celebrates the birth of a child, or mourns a child’s death. A neighbor is one who’s empty belly craves a meal, or who rejoices at the breaking of bread with those who are held dear. A neighbor knows the sweetness of first love or the bitterness of first love lost. A neighbor is anyone who sings with the wind, smells the flowers, or smiles at seeing what is whimsical in the clouds.

Travel and seek your neighbor. Travel in your heart, travel with your mind, and travel to any place where a common language may be spoken with just a smile.

Peace Everyone. Pete