Travel Companions That Don’t Shed

     “When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch…. I fear this disease is incurable.”

   That is the opening line of John Steinbeck’s novel “Travels with Charley” and in short, it sums in brief prose my very experiences of life.

   The novel is a light-hearted review of a road trip Steinbeck took late in his life with his dog Charley.  They cris-cross the country “in search of America” and in so doing, encounter an intriguing collection of human beings and situations that make the back roads of this country so, well, intriguing.

   Steinbeck soon learned that having his dog Charley with him opened many conversations, set strangers at ease and overall led to greater adventures. Not only was he a good companion, he served a purpose and made the journey so much more pleasurable in many ways.

   However, I’m a cat person and little Miss Snowbelle, who becomes perturbed during the three block ride to the veterinarian’s office, would never tolerate the discomforts and inconveniences of three month a cross-country road trip..

   Thank goodness I have my friend Edna.  She lives around the corner and would hop in the car with me at a moment’s notice, so ready is she to explore the world – or just escape her husband, kids and dogs that live in their house.

   Our schedules are such that we usually have our Christmas lunches in February, so getting together for a road trip is about as likely as the price of gasoline dropping to less than the gross national product of a small nation.

   However, the moon and stars aligned very briefly on a sunny spring day a few weeks back, and Edna and I took off down I-70.  Blackwater, Missouri was the destination, a fun little dot in the road about half-way between Kansas City and Columbia.  The resulting story is in the summer issue of Show-Me Missouri Magazine.

   This isn’t the first time Edna and I have explored the back roads of Missouri together, and each time, she has been a pleasant traveling companion who made my work easier.  Just like Steinbeck’s Charley, Edna opens many conversations, sets strangers at ease and contributes to a great adventure.  

    And now that I’ve compared her to a poodle named Charley for all of cyberspace to enjoy for eternity, we’ll see how long it will be, if ever, before I write the next installment of “Travels with Edna.”

Luv ya girlfriend!

 

 

 

 

 

Toot, Toot

   My Grandma Eastman lived in little Anna, Illinois, one of those places where still today many people don’t bother to lock their doors.  And certainly 40 years ago, there were fewer reasons to worry about whether that dead bolt and chain were in their places.

   So when we would come to visit, we often just opened the front door and walked in, calling to Grandma as we went.  Sometimes she was in the kitchen or in the basement doing laundry, but most often, she was out back in her little garden where she celebrated the better part of many of her days.

   Wherever she was, when she heard us calling, she would respond “Toot, toot.”  And she would keep repeating it as she got nearer, just like a little train announcing its arrival.

    Well, it’s not just little grandmothers and choo-choo trains that go “toot, toot.”  In a recent professional development session at a writer’s conference I attended, Susan Kraus, a writer from Lawrence, Kansas, chastised and challenged all of us to toot our own horns more often.

   Well here I go.

   At the writer’s conference I was at in Rapid City, I won a third place award in magazine writing for an article I did for Points North Magazine from our trip to Alaska.  The name of the story was “The Great Silent Places” and it’s on my website.

   I didn’t go to the spring meeting of the Midwest Travel Writers Association that was held in Amarillo, Texas.  Nothing against Amarillo – I understand they have an abundance of Dr. Pepper in Amarillo.  It’s just that I’ve been traveling quite a bit and every writer has to spend some serious butt time in front of the computer or it’s not called work and nobody writes you a paycheck.

   The spring meeting is when MTWA, the oldest professional travel writers’ organization in the country, recognizes outstanding achievement among its members.  The awards are called Mark Twain awards, after one of the world’s first and best travel writers, who, of course, was from right here in Missouri.

    Well,  I’m just a little embarrassed to tell you the details, but in summary…

… you’re reading a blog from the Mark Twain Travel Writer of the Year.

 

toot, toot.  

 

You Can Go Home Again

    The most exciting part of my work, some might call it glamorous, is exploring and writing about far away places, exotic cultures and experiences that some might call adventures.  But a real pleasure for me is finding a great story and exciting destination in my own back yard.

   That was the case in January when I had the opportunity to return to Cape Girardeau, Missouri – not exactly my birthplace, but certainly where I spent a lot of time as a child.  It was when I started college at Southeast Missouri State that I really came to love Cape. (I would insert some stories of my college experiences here, but since my parents read this blog, perhaps those stories would be left to the imagination of those who “enjoyed” college as I did).

    My first professional jobs were in radio and television Cape Girardeau, and of course, that showed me the little community in an entirely different perspective.

   But going back to my roots 30 years later was not the experience that Thomas Wolfe had when he wrote his infamously quoted novel “You Can’t Go Home Again.”  I fell in love with Cape again, with the majesty of the Mississippi River there, the history of Lewis & Clark, the Trail of Tears, of Mark Twain.

    The results of my visit fill pages 56-59 in the June issue of The Crafts Report.  And by golly, if you flip on to the next page, you’ll see a story about a craft artisan from North Dakota who taught Martha Stewart a thing or two.

    I’ve had a relationship with the editors at The Crafts Report for nearly 20 years, which is longer than many friendships, marriages and prison sentences.

   Like Martha, I got to go home again, but my visit didn’t require an ankle bracelet.

Traveling Solo

  Nobody travels alone in this world.  Although there are times when we may pack a single bag, get on an airplane by ourselves and not know another soul when we arrive at our destination, we have not traveled alone.  Dinner may be at a table for one, only one room key may be required at our accommodations, and admission to an intriguing attraction may be a single, yet we are still not alone in our experiences.

   While traveling and writing about travel have become much of my life, for all of us, traveling is a poetic and befitting metaphor for life.  And just like the journey through life that is influenced so greatly by our families, our teachers, our friends and co-workers, my writing and my travels are also enriched by others.

    Today, my thoughts are of Shifra Stein, a friend and pioneer in travel journalism, whose journey in this world ended on Thursday.  Shifra was an entrepreneur, a creative spirit whose mind never rested, and an inquisitive soul who found intrigue and entertainment in any number of options the world presented to her.

    You can’t have lived in Kansas City for very long without having known the name Shifra Stein.  She was the Queen of Day Trips and an artist of many mediums.  So when I was seeking advice and sponsorship for membership in the Midwest Travel Writers Association, and later in the Society of American Travel Writers, I called and introduced myself.

   From that first lunch we had at the River Market Brewing Company more than ten years ago, Shifra and I became friends, business associates, and travel partners.  Two of the books that now carry my byline and generate income for the Meyer household were first written by Shifra Stein. Many of my goals and dreams have been brought into focus through conversations with her and the roads she traveled in this life.

   Now Shifra is traveling on a different plane, but I don’t believe she is traveling alone.  A good part of those who knew and loved her is tucked away in her carry-on and in her checked luggage.  And the road left for us to travel without her is undeniably more bland, void of the scenic overlooks and roadside attractions that was Shifra’s presence in our lives.

   Her journey in this world has altered my journey, and even though there may not be as much laughter along the way now that she is gone, each time I pack a bag, board a plane or place my fingers on a keyboard, Shifra Stein will continue to be here, sharing the journey with me.

    God rest her soul.

I’ve Been to the Mountain Top!

  This post could simply be called an Update to A Very Real National Treasure, or National Treasure Part 2, and could come with the warning label “do not try this at home.”

   But basically, “I’ve Been to the Mountain Top!” expresses my enthusiasm for the destination as well as the facts of this post.

    If you were to scroll back to May 18, you would read that our hike took us to ”remote locations and higher elevations than most travelers to the Black Hills experience.”

   Yeah Baby!    We stood on top of George Washington’s head and looked down Thomas Jefferson’s nose while we surveyed the magnificent view experienced on a day to day basis by the daring workers who carved Mount Rushmore during the Great Depression.

     Let me back up and share with you the story in a linear, more comprehensible manner. 

   When Bruce and I registered for the Society of American Travel Writers conference in Rapid City back in February, we signed up for a story research tour called “Over and Under.”  The under explored one the many caves of the Black Hills.  Between you and me, after exploring caves in Missouri “THE Cave State,” I’ve decided I’m not a fan of dark, damp, enclosed spaces that could cave in on you.

   The over part of the tour was more to my liking.  It included a rare opportunity with National Park Service rangers to hike the top of the heads of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln.  In the past, the NPS has taken journalists to the top about once a year to talk about the eco-system, the maintenance of the famous monument, and more recently, about security to protect this national icon.

   On rare occasions, federal judges, U.S. Senators and other powerful big wigs who could influence the NPS budget could request a tour as well, but it is an experience that is certainly off limits to the general public.

    After we made the climb, the NPS rangers who accompanied us told us in very clear terms that, because of national security and because of obvious curiosity from the general public, that we journalists could not write about the experience.

    Since then, Gerald Baker, Superintendent of the Mount Rushmore National Memorial, clarified that we could write the story as long as we clearly state to all that climbing is NOT allowed except on very rare occasions and under the direct supervision of NPS employees.  Otherwise, you might be spending time in a federally-funded accommodation.

   In just a few words, let me tell you this….it ain’t what it looks like in the movies!

   First of all, I thought there was a road or something that would take us most of the way.   Nope, we climbed the whole way -  about 500 feet straight up in less than a half mile.  At one point, when our presence could be detected by those watching from the visitor’s center, we made a mad dash for cover, just about even with Abraham Lincoln’s chinny-chin-chin.

    And seriously, because of national security precautions, we are prevented from talking about many aspects of the climb and Bruce was severely restricted on what he could photograph.  However, we were joined by a mountain goat at the top who didn’t appear to be too impressed with our two-legged climbing skills. 

     But as we panted and tried to catch our breath, our breaths were simultaneously taken away at the grandeur of the vista, at the magnificence of the work, and the sheer national pride in living in a country created by the four men in whose hairline we trod.

   Now, my job is to find an editor who will take my words and Bruce’s photos and share them in another medium with readers from around the world.  Until then, I continue to catch my breath, nurse my bruises and revel in the knowledge that I have been to the mountain top.

   And if you would like to read another account of the hike, click here:http://www.blackhillstravelblog.com/travel-writers-photogs-get-an-eyefull/

A Very Real National Treasure

  I’ve never been a big fan of Nicholas Cage, but after my weekend hike in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I have new respect for the actor. 

  In National Treasure - Book of Secrets, just released on DVD, he jaunts across the top of Mount Rushmore with less effort than I exert walking around the block.

   Now I don’t know how old Cage is - I could google it but I really don’t care - but in a few weeks, I’m going to have a significant birthday that ends in a big zero.

   And, I don’t know what the elevation is in Hollywood - I could google that too - but where we were in the Black Hills was about 5700 feet.  That’s about 5,000 feet higher than Kansas City’s 700 feet above sea level.

   And, I really don’t care how often Nicholas Cage works out, but I swipe the card at our fitness center a couple of times a week.  Yet, I was huffing and puffing on our hike at a very audible level.

   But I wasn’t alone in the heavy breathing department.  Bruce and I were in Rapid City for a conference of the Central States chapter of the Society of American Travel Writers, along with about 100 of our colleagues in the travel media business.

    Our hike, led by National Park Service rangers, took about 25 of us to remote locations and higher elevations than most travelers to the Black Hills experience.  But it was worth the huffing and puffing, along with a few scrapes and bruises accumulated by us all, to reach the heights of this range of mountains so sacred to the Native Americans. 

   The Black Hills of South Dakota are among our favorite destinations in the United States, and we’ve written about our journeys here in the past.  But now, we have new experiences and new reasons to share with readers about this beautiful area, where buffalo still roam, where beauty is literally around every turn, and where there is little humidity and fewer mosquitoes in the summer.

   So over the next few weeks, our colleagues and I will be sending story proposals to editors, posting on blogs and websites, and otherwise sharing with the world about our appreciation of the natural beauty here.  I’ll keep you updated on where my stories land, but in the coming months if you see anything in print about the Black Hills, it’s probably from one of our friends here.

   And if you’re looking for ideas for a memorable vacation this summer, don’t worry about being as fit as Nicholas Cage.  Come to the Black Hills and enjoy a very real national treasure.

 

A Writer’s Fool

 

  Although it is not documented in any history books or at the fabulous library in his honor in Springfield, Illinois, I believe that Abraham Lincoln must have been a freelance travel writer.

   The basis of my historical observation comes from a famous Lincoln quotation:  “You may fool all of the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all of the time; but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time.”

    This is on my mind as my first story appears in the May/June issue of Arrive, the Amtrak Magazine.  The Detours column of this publication, which is read by business travelers in the northeast United States, highlights things to do when business travelers are not doing business.  

   However, it has been said that 90 percent of our nation’s business takes place on the golf course.  I don’t know about that since I don’t golf, but fortunately for me, the editor at Arrive magazine is one person who does at least a percentage of his time in a typical conference setting.  That’s where I met this editor, at a writer’s conference, and that’s how I ended up with my by-line under the headline Matter of Course, which highlights six unique golf courses in the northeast.

    One might wonder then, how a writer from the Midwest who doesn’t play golf handled such an assignment.

    In my case, our good friend Scott Parish helped me out.  Scotty once produced a television show about golf and, in so doing, traveled to some of the best courses in the world.  He knows all of the lingo, the jokes and the history that is needed to make a story sound rich and authentic.  Scotty and I brainstormed about the courses to include.  He explained the terminology and proof-read my story.

     So a good travel writer needs to know a little about a lot, or have connections to the people who know a lot about a specific topic. More so, a good travel writer can’t be afraid to ask questions, lots and lots of questions, and can’t be afraid of any destination or assignment.

   Click on this link, Arrive, and see if the words Scotty and I put together were enough to fool at least Abraham Lincoln and you, at least this one time.

    That’s the story behind this story.

   

A Ben & Jerry’s Kind of Day

   Some days, the work of a writer has nothing to do with writing at all.  It’s about marketing and accounting and filing and organization or learning new technologies, among other disciplines. 

   Some of those days I don’t mind at all.  It gives my brain a bit of a break from searching in its wrinkled and remote crannies for the best word, the unexpected phrase or the most accurate anecdote.  It’s kind of like eating chocolate cake for dessert every day.  I could live a lifetime on chocolate cake, ooh, or blackberry cobbler like my Grandmother used to make.

    But if you had chocolate cake or blackberry cobbler every day, no matter how much you love it, just occasionally it would be nice to throw in some Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream with hot fudge and caramel sauce.

   Don’t misunderstand me.  It’s not like a day spent doing bookwork and preparing for taxes is like a day spent rolling around in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.  That’s not the point I’m making at all.

   My point is this:  I’ve got a little radio gig going for the next few weeks that promotes one of my writing projects.  KMBZ Radio (980am) in Kansas City has asked me to do a little five minute bit each Thursday  (7:40 a.m.) for much of the summer about quick getaways from Kansas City that won’t break the bank in paying for gasoline.

   It’s based on my work with Shifra Stein and the book she originated almost 30 years ago called “Day Trips from Kansas City.”  That’s when gasoline prices had sky-rocketed to an unbelievable 80-cents a gallon.

   It’s a lot of fun, remembering how to communicate verbally rather than via strokes on a keyboard.  The toughest part so far has been actually setting my alarm clock, something that causes many freelancers an allergic reaction.

    But otherwise, I sit around in my bathrobe with no make-up and the cat on my lap, and talk about the destinations that I otherwise just write about.  And try to decide what I should have for dessert:  chocolate cake, blackberry cobbler or Ben & Jerry’s.

    Like I said – some of these non-writing days, I don’t mind at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heaven for Bare Feet

 

   Sometimes when working to find interesting and off the beaten path travel stories, the suggestions presented to us for research causes one to stop and scratch our heads.  My friends Jackie, Lisa and I encountered one of those head-scratching moments last spring when traveling through southern Indiana.  The itinerary included a stop at The Sock Factory.

   If you’re one of those geeky types who like to see how things work, you’ll be in heaven at the For Bare Feet Factory in Helmsburg, Indiana. Hundreds of different kinds of machines doing hundreds of different things all at the same time.

    If you’re one of those sports fanatics who has everything you own, including under garments, etched with colors and imagery of your sports team, you’ll also be in heaven here.

   Or if you’re one of those people who loves a good heart-wrenching story about the love of a parent for her son, the strength of a family and the success of David over Goliath, you’ll never question the presence of heaven again.

   Hopefully, that’s what the editor at American Profile was thinking when he assigned me the story “Knitting Novelty Socks” that appears in the  April 28-May 3 issue of the newspaper insert.

And that’s the story behind this story.

Not Retiring Yet

   It’s funny how stories and experiences run together to help a writer do his/her work.  Living just a few hours north of Branson, Missouri, I’m frequently contacted to do stories about what’s new and exciting in the music and entertainment phenomenon of the Missouri Ozarks.  In a few weeks, I’ll be heading to Branson on assignment for both the Kansas City Star and the Dallas Morning News.

   Last year, it was SkyWest magazine that wanted a story about the 100^th anniversary of the release of The Shepherd of the Hills, the Harold Bell Wright novel that painted such an intriguing picture of the Ozarks that travelers from around the world came to southwest Missouri to experience it for themselves.

   However, when Where to Retire magazine contacted me, they didn’t want a story from Branson, but instead Springfield, Missouri.  About 40 miles north of Branson, Springfield is considered the gateway to the Ozarks and is greatly influenced by the traffic that passes through the city en route to Branson.

   I, too, had been guilty of not giving Springfield enough attention in my travels, so I thoroughly enjoyed a couple of rather cold, but fun-filled days there last January.  When I sat down to write my story about why Springfield is so popular among retirees, I kept thinking about Dad Howitt, the lead character in The Shepherd of the Hills.  Dad Howitt was probably the first person to come to the southern Ozarks for rest, relaxation and rejuvenation in the latter half of his life.

    So that became the lead to my story.  To read the entire story, pick up a copy of the May issue of Where to Retire, or buy a copy on-line at www.wheretoretire.com.  And when you’re finished reading my story, read the one entitled Nirvana in the Northeast by Mary Bergin.  She’s a fellow writer and good friend from Madison, Wisconsin.

   But neither Mary nor I are retiring any time soon.  There are too many great stories yet to write.