Cory (#1 Son) and I took a day+ off and skipped up to Montreal for the big guitar show there. I am so glad I went - and so was he, even though he doesn’t play much guitar. After a few hours, my brain went into guitar overload, not that I wanted to do or see anything else. Here’s some more information for you.

In North America, there are 3 guitar shows that eclipse all the others. One, in Healdsburg, California is held every other year. There is another near Miami and this one in Montreal. I’ll describe it and, by extension, the others.

It lasts 3 days. Admission is ridiculously cheap at $15/day  (Canadian). Mainly, it is a showcase for luthiers who practice the very highest form of guitar-making. They have to be invited to attend. There were over 100 luthiers of just acoustic guitars alone who exhibited there. As you might expect, most were from the US and Canada, but about 10 countries were represented. And then there were luthiers of electric guitars as well. I did not pay any attention to them, except to notice that they were less numerous and had far fewer people milling around them.

But acoustics, oh my - there were  flat tops, classicals, 12 strings, archtops, Macaferris, resonator guitars, baritones, Weissenbourns... of every shape and description there, made from more exotic woods than most folks could ever name and each one was a work of art in addition to being a wonderful handmade instrument. I of course focused on the the flattops - parlour guitars, dreadnoughts (very few, which is surprising since it is the best-selling guitar size), 000s, OMs, 00s, jumbos, concert-models... and many with proprietary sizes and shapes.

Since I am very interested in both tone woods and guitar design, it was a cornucopia for me. I got to see guitars built from woods, some of which I had only ever seen pictures of: pernambuco, ebony, maple, cypress, pau ferro, bubinga, sapele, ziracote, Bolivian cherry, lacewood, zebrawood, cocobolo, koa, black walnut, monkeypod... and every sort of rosewood and rosewood substitute you could think of. But there was not that much mahogany, which I found interesting, as it is the most basic tonewood used worldwide, and a darn good one despite its popularity.

And design - what a lot to see! Some guitars looked pretty normal, but incorporated radical interior design, others were built normally but were very different to look at. Of greater interest to me were many with innovations I have heard about but had never seen or played. I can’t say that any longer. If you asked, each luthier would let you play any of the instruments he had there on display, for as long as you wanted.  Want to play a $25000 guitar? Go ahead (but be careful). Want to talk guitars? You will never find a more knowledgeable and friendly group of folks than were there, all willing to spend as much time with you as you needed.

As some of you know, I have a baritone ordered. It has been done for 6 weeks but has not been delivered yet, not sure why. Based  upon the luthier’s recommendation, I had it built from spruce (top) and bubinga (back and sides). So yesterday, I got to see my first bubinga wood, what it looked like in person (my luthier has provided me with many photos) and hear how it sounded. I even saw a bubinga baritone, not nearly as nice wood as mine. It was merely beautiful and sounded fine, but I bet mine will sound far better.  I did see another guitar built from bubinga. It was far different apppearing than mine, a mixture of light and dark brown, not the reds I expected. It was truly beautiful and I spent a while playing it. From a luthier in the west, it had a unique system to quickly and easily adjust the neck angle and pitch. I am not sure that these things would ever need doing so much as to justify this. It also led to some compromises in appearance. But I liked playing the guitar. That is, I did until I went back after having played  so many others that were better. The guy  really wanted me to buy it, too. He was obviously willing to cut his price considerably to avoid taking it back home. But, the quality of workmanship, upon close examination, did not meet my new (higher) standards. And I certainly didn’t need it with 7 or so of them at home.

I played a beautiful cocobolo guitar with a black top that was really beautiful, despite that black top. It had a double top, very thin layers of spruce sandwiched between some space age honeycomb material. I was was not at all impressed with the sound. That took me by surprise, as the luthier is quite renowned and naturally his offerings reflect that in the price.

Another innovation I wanted to learn more about were fan frets. I had my own ideas on these and found myself proved wrong. Fan frets are not parallel to each other, but are angled, each one different then the one next to it.  They must be a nightmare to install. The idea is to have a longer vibrating section for the low strings and shorter for the higher-pitched ones. The benefits to this are supposedly better intonation up and down the neck and a better bass sound. To gain this, you get a, well a weird looking guitar with a bridge not parallel to the bottom and a nut not at right angles to the neck. Looking them over and mentally complaining about their very non-traditional looks, I saw one that was different than the others. It’s bridge was parallel to the bottom and the nut parallel to the top of the headstock. This was accomplished by doing two things. First the angles of the frets were more moderate, less jarring to see. Secondly the body was asymmetrical. The builder had shifted the upper and lower bouts until they have mirrored the frets. When you have lemons, make lemonade. I picked it up and started to play. Immediately I noticed that the body seemed further to my right side than it should be. That odd feeling lasted 15 seconds and after that it felt normal. The fan frets felt normal to play right  from the start. Remember, this guitar’s frets were less angled than some others. And it had a great bass sound. As a matter of fact, I liked the way it felt and the way it played as well as what I was hearing and could probably happily live with its unusual looks. That is, IF I wanted another guitar. (0ne can never have too many!) On the other hand, I play traditional music and my audience expects to see something traditional in my hands. But, tempting.... It also had a cutaway, which I do not like, both for aesthetic reasons and since I don’t need a cutaway.

But it did have a sound port. This was something I had thought of having on the baritone I have ordered, then discarded the idea. That was a mistake, I should have had one put in. Perhaps it is not too late. What a sound port is, is a hole in the upper bout nearest the player’s face, a second sound hole. It acts like sort of a stage monitor. You can hear what you play much better and it sounds better to you. I played quite of few of these and each one sounded better than expected. Cover it up and you get less sound, less happiness. What the audience hears does not change. We did some experiments and, sure enough, I can find no downside to this one. Both of you get to hear it well, the audience and the player.

The last innovation I wanted to try out was the “Manzer wedge”, invented by luthier LInda Manzer, who I met there. Many luthiers use this, not just her. What is it is an instrument that is narrower on the top than the bottom. That does just one thing - makes it more comfortable to play. The audience cannot tell by looking.  I tried it and discovered two things. First, I think the sound  is less than it should be. No doubt, others will ague about this. But I did not like the sound of the one that I played. Secondly, I am already comfortable with large guitar bodies - I don’t need it more comfortable.

We went to Montreal just for the day. If I were serious about getting a fine instrument, I would go for all three days, try out all sorts of guitars, take notes (there are so many there, you will not remember it all if you don’t), and then bargain for the one I want during the last minutes of the show. They have booths where you can take a prospective guitar and hear yourself play without the din of other playing, people talking and moving about.  I didn’t do that as I was not serious about getting another guitar at this time.

I noticed that when I played, a crowd started to gather around me. Why was that? There were so many other players there who can blow me out of the water. Most of them, probably. But, I play fingerstyle, with a good bass beat and, with the song circles I play in, have learned to play a bit louder. Toes start to tap, then they walk over to see what is causing it, huddling around to listen until something else distracts them. An interesting discovery. I was of course far from the only one there who drew small crowds.

If you want to listen to music, there were free miniconcerts each day long and into the late night. If I had gone for all three days,  l would have heard more of these. Not subscribing to any of the guitar magazines and listening to mostly traditional music, unfortunately, I knew just about  zero of the performers and the slick  and colorful 54 page booklet that came with the admission ticket did little to explain what we would hear.  A luther will hire or cajole a well-known (not by me, but by everyone else) performer to showcase his instruments and what can be done with them in the hands of the right person. We did take in a few miniconcerts and and were treated to find music that we would not be likely to hear anywhere else. The two that impressed me the most were a duo of classical guitarists, women, who played simply exquisitely beautiful music. And there was one we saw just before we left. I have no idea how to categorize his music, maybe “rhythmic avant guarde”. He used lots of harmonics and  percussive techniques both up on the strings and the body, flamenco stuff without a flamenco sound, pretty amazing. The crowd was wild over him.

I had ODed on guitars some hours before (but was still ready for more), but was reluctant to leave, it was so good. But it was late and I had my life to resume. And, the icing on the cake for many - this event coincides with the huge Montreal Jazz Festival. Everyone not associated with the show asked us if we were here for the jazz and were surprised to hear about the show. Even the huge hotel that hosted the free evening concerts didn’t seem to know about it. We had ask around quite a bit before we found where they were playing. And there were 100 in our audience!

I have this perennial fear of mortgage brokers and the kind of banks who advertise in the Sunday papers. They are set up to do home loans, not farms and property with acreage and have so often led my buyers down the rosy path.. a rosy path to no where. But JR wanted a place we had with only 2 acres and he wanted a starter home. He was already pre-approved by Wells Fargo, so naturally, I steered him in their direction. The place he wanted was not a place with acreage like we usually deal with, so why not give them a try? I had had successful dealings with them in the recent  past.

Now, the distant past, that was a different story. Years ago, I  had been contacted by some Wells Fargo agent out of Minnesota who told me of a wonderful program they now had for hobby farmers. We sell a lot of hobby farm property, so I was glad to get another source of funding. I am cautious about working with new (to me) banks, but soon enough found a great prospect for them.  Roger had agreed to buy a 130 acre farm with a new barn and old home that was in nice shape. The price was right. He had enough equity in homes he owned downstate to pay for the property if he sold either of them. He had no debt. He also had a $40000 downpayment, which represented nearly 1/3 of the total price. Good credit. Retirement income. Stable older couple with a long and good credit history. Perfect. He wanted a loan to buy the farm now, so he could finish some work on the one home he wanted to sell in order to receive a better price when he would be ready to market it.

An easy loan to make - or so they said when I made the initial call to Wells Fargo. As time went on, there were more and more delays. I have often told the people I deal with that the only guarantee that I make is that there will be surprises. We got them. Excuse after excuse why they could not yet make the loan, more papers to be filled out, more hurdles to jump over. Meanwhile Allen, the owner, moved to his new job in Utah. Finally, after several months, they turned Roger down. Why? I had to know. Because he was going to rent the other one to his son! They were afraid the son would not pay rent and he would just let him live there and not make his own payments. Huh? And they would not worry about a tenant no one knew wrecking the home or failing to make payments?  And there was another excuse they gave, equally improbable, but the dustbin of my memory cannot bring it up. Allen was digusted and offered to finance the farm to him and put off owning  his own place in his new location until Roger cold pay him off.

Years pass. We had two customers buy through Wells Fargo and had no more than the usual glitches, both on homes with small or tiny acreage. One of them was an interesting case. From Las Vegas, Dan was a Yankees fan, through and through. He was tired of Las Vegas and wanted to retire to New York and be in the country instead of a development. Being near Cooperstown was a big deal for him. That's where you find old Yankees, he said. He thought maybe a hobby farm or a B & B would be right for him. I showed him several potential places and one got him excited. It should have. A very, very  good buy with oodles of acreage and long road frontage dividing it 2 ways, it had  an old Italianate brick home that was spectacular in its own way. I believe this home was the most original home with the neatest old features that I have ever seen for sale. Wonderful old woodwork and not painted either (imagine that), big rooms with a cool layout, a great stairway, more rooms in the attic, + views. And it had an original bath with a copper tub and no plumbing (just drains). Above it was a doorlet in the wall that opened to the kitchen sink area, the idea being that you could heat water in the kitchen and pour it through the doorlet directly into the tub. You know, that was considered high tech once.

Dan recogonized the value here and that he could do both the hobby farming and B & B, sell a bit of land, and use that mney to do the remodeling and modernizing that it needed. You know, an old home can be modernized without sacrificing its special character. So, he put it under contract and applied somewhere for the loan he would need. A  couple of weeks into this process, he changed his mind about what he wanted to do and withdrew from the contract. It sold within days to another party.

But he still wanted to buy. Meanwhile, Priscilla decided to put her home and 5 acres on the market. That was a good one for Dan. Priscilla was an immaculate house-keeper andher  home was nearly new and was impeccably well-maintained. I told Dan about it. Yes, he was interested, could I take pictures for him? So I did, a whole roll, developed it, and sent it off to him. He agreed to buy, sight-unseen. He didn't want to drive back east to see it first. Normally, I would do all I could to discourage someone from doing this - it's a terrible idea that folks try on me every so often. But this time was different. After all, Dan had spent several days with me recently and knew what the area was like. More importantly,  I knew what he meant when he said "good". "Good" means different things to different folks, depending upon their standards and their point of view. When you use a subjective word like that on the phone with me, I have little to go on to determine what you really mean. But once I have shown you some property and you have given me some feedback, I can see things through your eyes and we can talk on the same page using subjective language. Dan and I had established this rapport. And, of course, how could one improve upon the condition that Priscilla kept her home? He could not fail to be happy with that. The pictures demonstrated the setting, the room layout, the decoration and the color choices and he was well satisfied with that. So he ended up buying it and did not even see it until after the closing. That ended well.

A bit later on, JR came on the scene (thought I 'd forgotten him, didn't you?) and he went through the process. Did he ever. But it was different for him. He was half of a young couple who had little cash money, and no long credit history. But they were local and had both good references and good jobs. On February 3rd, he offered full price after lower offers had failed to interest the owner.  The price was modest anyhow, but it never hurts to try. We immediately entered into contract and 6 weeks later, I called Angel at Wells Fargo for a checkup. They were supposed to get the approval that day but something had happened to their computer. She assured us that "everything looked OK" and that she was "95% certain" it was a go. JR had been in constant contact with her and got her every bit of documentation that she needed as soon as he possibly could.

A week later, JR told me he was supposed to hear within 24 hours. Yet another week later, I called Angel at Wells Fargo to get an update. She said just one more document was needed (this was beginning to sound like a stuck record - we'd heard that line numerous times already). But she could not foresee any problems, it was just a matter of time. Two days later, I get the word that JR was approved! What? I was expecting to hear that the money was there and they were ready to go ahead and close. The approval was supposed to have been done weeks and weeks ago. Whta did the "pre-approval" mean? Now, this did not please the Johanna, the owner, one bit, as she had just given word to her tenant to move out. She is a crustly older lady from downstate who is all business. Her holdings have to be earning for her. Period. She is not the kind to suffer fools, but she will do whatever she has to and do it on time.

Another week passes. A different gal from Wells Fargo called and wanted a revised contract. Huh? Why now? This was not going to please the owner, not one iota. And it was going to mean at least another week's delay just to shuffle the papers between everyone that needed to sign. But when she received the new contract, she was ready to close, asap. A week later (now I am beginning to sound like the stuck record), I called Angel. She had some questions about the contract they had asked me to revise.

Two weeeks pass; now we are into mid-June. We are "very close" to closing, and Angel had thought they could close the previous week, only JR just got a new (better) job and they needed some form for employment verification. So another week passes. Now Angel says they have not received the form they need. I call JR, it was sent, twice. I call Angela - oh, their fax was broken.

Let's skip a bit and fast forward to mid July. Angel said her loan processor (what was she?) was on vacation and she doesn't know where the files were. Angel is actually a nice gal and we had a talk. After 6 years with Wells Fargo, she was ready to quit over this. She is getting tired of putting JR off.  Two weeks later, now the Wells Fargo attorney wants to see JR's employment verification. Don't ask me why he couldn't get it from Wells Fargo.

They have had an engineer inspect the home and someone else in for the roof. I had to go up each time for this.  It was fine. But now they need something else from the seller (who is very disgruntled by now) and need someone to inspect it for flooding (after all, they are only 400' above the nearest large body of water that could flood). Ankd Wells Fargo still needs the employment verification. JR's boss is sick of sending it out to them. JR needs to get it directly from the boss and take it to them in person and have them sign for it, but they won't accept it this way - we tried.  Now I am switching between two women at Wells Fargo. Neither seems to know what is up and one of them ups and leaves for 2 month's maternity leave - and forgets to transfer the case to someone else. JR calls them every day now. Early on, I made the mistake of telling him that the "squeaky wheel gets the grease". Are they pissed now? Or do they just want it closed to get him off their back?

Another call. The inspector is having trouble getting the information he needs from the Johanna, who has been dealing with him directly.  I thought things would go smoother without me between them. So I call her - and get a different story. She has not spoken to him in weeks but has called him a few times without getting an answer. And she is an unhappy camper. Her tenant has been gone now for 2 1/2 months. The investment is losing money big time. And she has had to spend money on the home that was not intended, all to please the various inspectors. I called Angel and she said that their inspector, who had been responsive in the past, was not getting back to them either.  So I called the owner - and learned that she is about to leave on vacation.

Now, the Wells Fargo attorney gets reinvolved. They are ready to close, have no problem with JR, but don't have what they need from the office. The main thing they need is clearance to close.  I spoke with the owner on vacation - she is willing to finance it now, just to stop the hemorraging and get her investment working again.

This story has gone on long enough for you to get the drift of the kind of hassles that can present themselves. By mid August, everyone is disgusted with Wells Fargo. That's when they tell us that they are not going to make the loan. Their excuse? His new job (which was better paid).  What happened to Angel? She quit over the whole thing and went to work elsewhere.

The next month was spent negoticating over owner terms, and dealing with JR's attorney (who is no winner either). That finally fell apart as the owner wanted too high an interest payment. They finally agreed to just rent and JR will save  money toward purchase. By now, it is late October and everyone is just sick of the whole mess.  That was 3 years ago. JR is still there, still renting,  but he has a new job. He took the money he had been saving and started a business with it. I hope it does well - he can get $6900 from the government as part of this year's stimilus plan and if he is ever going to close, this is the time. Of course I want that, not having been paid yet for anything other than a measley rental sum.

And what happened to Wells Fargo? Last year, they closed up shop and left town. The building still sits idle. I liked them better when they just drove around in armored cars.

If you drive along the Jordanville Rd, you will no doubt notice a beautiful red and white barn that sits by the roadside. Part of the bottom floor is made from beautifully laid stone and the rest is carefully done, but modern and neatly kept. It is an eye-catcher. If you slow down to look at it, you may see that there is a red pipe gate that is closed and locked at the driveway. No one around here gates their drives. Well, almost no one. I do know of another and find it plain weird. But look deeper here and you'll see something else. There's a house, hidden by low-hanging trees and bushes. It appears to be an old house, not nearly as well-kept as the barn or the grounds, but it's hard to tell, it is so obscured by the greenery. You wonder if it is ever lived in.

As you may have guessed, there is a story coming. We had it listed for sale once, listed by John, not me. As a neighbor, John has known the owners for decades. It was owned by a elderly German couple, Hans and Murtha. Hans had served in WWII, on the other side.The stories he could tell, John tells me. I never understood why they emigrated to the US right after the war, but they did. You would think they would not be welcomed. Maybe they weren't - that might be an explanation for the rest of the story.

After they moved in, they lost the barn to fire, not of suspicious origins: not to worry - we're not like that up here. Being a builder, he undertook to rebuild it. That explains the partial stone first floor. To support themselves during this time, Hans went to New York City and took construction jobs on bridges and things like that. In fact, he made something of a career of this. He never did milk cows here like he had planned. But all the stuff to milk was there, he proudly pointed out. Never mind that the barn, while like new, was now functionally obselete for that. That's a fact he could not see. But he always cut the hay, which is why the farm was for sale. He was getting too old to do the work any longer and could not trust a tenant to do it correctly.

Which is exactly the point. That's explains the gate. I have never seen such paranoids as Hans and Murtha. They would have cashed in and sold years ago but could not bring themselves to trust anyone. Finally, they decided they could trust John, they had to trust someone to help them sell it. When anyone from the company came with a customer, John had to be there. You never know, I might attack them with a machete or something. John was nice about that and hung around every time I came up. Pretty quick, I found someone who might really want it, a real nice guy from Connecticut who was serious about finding a place, had the money, and wanted to raise beef. The place was perfect for him. The appointment had to be set up through John and he was there when everybody arrived, serving as sort of a body guard or something for Hans and Murtha.

Hans showed us everything proudly. Then we went in the house and Murtha took over. It was not as bad inside as you might think from the outside. Clean, plain and shiny. They loved glossy paint, odd colors, colors just a bit darker and harder than others might be comfortable with. The thing that struck me about the house more than that was the complete absence of a personal touch. There was nothing on the walls, nothing, no photos, no pictures, no calendars. And nothing personal anywhere else either.

I learned more about them from John. It seems they hated each other and stuck together because neither trusted the other one enough to allow them a chance to get the upper hand. That coincided with my observations. They did not communicate between themselves any time I was there. When we showed the buildings, one would always be nearby,  in the room or hovering around if we were outside while the other was talking about it - but never closer than the far wall. As far away as possible, but close enough to monitor what was being told to us.

They had a son who lived in Baltimore who had urged them for years to sell and come live with him, but they were not about to take his advice. Nor would they take ours. My man from Connecticut wanted to buy the farm and made a full or nearly full - memory fades -  price cash offer (far more than I ever expected to get) but they weren't sure if they should take it. Suppose it was worth more? And they definitely did not like the idea that this guy wasn't going to milk cows here. And they were not sure if these were the kind of people they wanted owning their property either. My Connecticut man was no fool and saw that he was spinning his tires with these folks and went off to buy something else from someone who would sell. We lost him and lost the sale. That was not the only one this happened to. Some Amish wanted to buy it, and they were not the right people either, according to Hans and Murtha.

Finally, we gave up in disgust, seeing that a pissed-off customer could bring about a lawsuit. You can't discriminate against folks just because you don't think they are "right" for your place. That doesn't fly. The last I heard was that Hans finally died and Murtha is living there peacefully by herself.  If you go up to the house, she will hide in an inner room. Even though the lights might be blazing, you will get no response when you knock on the door. The blinds are always drawn and the doors and windows are always shut and locked, habits from her days with Hans. She doesn't drive. I have no idea how she gets food. She must trust someone enough to allow them to take her to the store. I have no idea who that would be. Or maybe the son from Baltimore comes up every few month and buys hundreds of dollars worth of food for her at a time. Anyhow, now she doesn't have to live in fear that Hans is going to cheat her. That farm isn't for sale either. Don't bother asking. And the hay has not been cut either.

If you drive along the Jordanville Rd, you will no doubt notice a beautiful red and white barn that sits by the roadside. Part of the bottom floor is made from beautifully laid stone and the rest is carefully done, but modern and neatly kept. It is an eye-catcher. If you slow down to look at it, you may see that there is a red pipe gate that is closed and locked at the driveway. No one around here gates their drives. Well, almost no one. I know of another as well and find it plain weird. But look deeper here and you'll see something else. There's a house, hidden by low-hanging trees and bushes. It apears to be an old house, not nearly as well-kept as the barn or the grounds, but it's hard to tell, it is so obscured by the greenery. You wonder if it is ever lived in.

As you may have guessed, there is a story coming. We had it listed for sale once, listed by John, not me. John has known the owners for decades. It was owned by a elderly German couple, Hans and Murtha. Hans had served in WWII, on the other side.The stories he could tell, John tells me. I never understood why they emigrated to the US right after the war, but they did. You would think they would not be welcomed. Maybe they weren't - that might be an explanation for the rest of the story.

After they moved in, they lost the barn to fire, not of suspicious origins: not to worry - we'rre not like that up here. Being a builder, he undertook to rebuild it. That explains the partial stone first floor. To support themselves during this time, Hans went to New York City and took construction jobs on bridges and things like that. In fact, he made something of a career of this. He never did milk cows here like he had planned. But all the stuff to milk was there, he proudly pointed out. Never mind that the barn, while like new, was now functionally obselete for that. That's a fact he could not see. But he always cut the hay, which is why the farm was for sale. He was getting too old to do the work any longer and could not trust a tenant to do it correctly.

Which is exactly the point. That's explains the gate. I have never seen such paranoids as Hans and Murtha. They would have cashed in and sold years ago but could not bring themselves to trust anyone. Finally, they decided they could trust John, they had to trust someone to help them sell it. When anyone from the company came with a customer, John had to be there. You never know, I might attack them with a machete or something. John was nice about that and hung around everytime I came up. Pretty quick, I found someone who might really want it, a real nice guy from Connecticut who was serious about finding a place, had the money, and wanted to raise beef. The place was perfect for him. The appointment had to be set up through John and he was there when everybody arrived, serving as sort of a body guard or something for Hans and Murtha.

Hans showed us everything proudly. Then we went in the house and Murtha took over. It was not as bad inside as you might think from the outside. Clean, plain and shiny. They loved glossy paint, odd colors, colors just a bit darker and harder than others might be comfortable with. The thing that struck me about the house more than that was the complete absence of a personal touch. There was nothing on the walls, nothing, no photos, no pictures, no calendars. And nothing personal anywhere else either.

I learned more about them from John. It seems they hated each other and stuck together because neither trusted the other one enough to allow them a chance to get the upper hand. That coincided with my observations. They did not communicate between themselves any time I was there. When we showed the buildings, one would always be nearby,  in the room or hovering around if we were outside while the other was talking about it - but neve closer than the far wall. As far away as possible, but close enough to monitor what was being told to us.

They had a son who lived in Balitimore who had urged them for years to sell and come live with him, but they were not about to take his advice. Nor would they take ours. My man from Connecticut wanted to buy the farm and made a full or nearly full - memory fades -  price cash offer (far more than I ever expected to get) but they weren't sure if they should take it. Suppose it was worth more? And they definitely did not like the idea that this guy wasn't going to milk cows here. And they were not sure if these were the kind of people they wanted owning their property either. My Connecticut man was no fool and saw that he was spinning his tires with these folks and went off to buy something else from someone who would sell. We lost him and lost the sale. That was not the only one this happened to. Some Amish wanted to buy it, and they were not the right people either, according to Hans and Murtha.

Finally, we gave up in disgust, seeing that a pissed-off customer could bring aobut a lawsuit. You can't discriminate against folks just because you don't think they are "right" for your place. That doesn't fly. The last I heard was that Hans finally died and Murtha is living there peacefully by herself.  If you go up to the house, she will hide in an inner room. Even though the lights might be blazing, you will get no response when you knock on the door. The blinds are always drawn and the doors and windows are always shut and locked, habits from her days with Hans. She doesn't drive. I have no idea how she gets food. She must trust someone enough to allow them to take her to the store. I have no idea who that would be. Or maybe the son from Baltimore comes up every few month and buys hundreds of dollars worth of food for her at a time. Anyhow, now she doesn't have to live in fear that Hans is going to cheat her. That farm isn't for sale either. Don't bother asking. And the hay has not been cut either.

As is common after a rain, we had static on the phone lines. Only this time, it was so bad I could hear a phone conversation only with difficulty. So, on Wednesday we called for repair service once again. They came while we were gone Friday afternoon and when they were done, the static was gone - along with  the internet, and the dial tone. But I could still call on the fax line, albeit it at 10 cents a minute or so. Janet was pissed, having left the concert to get home to get messages. She ended up driving an extra 120 miles on little sleep to try to get the messages that never could have come anyhow.  Yeah, she was pissed, and called them early Saturday.  They tried to tell her the problem was inside the home and then she gave them Hell, telling the woman at the other end that she was not listening to her (which she wasn't). Everything worked until it was repaired, couldn't she get that through her skull?

Fast forward to Monday - we're back and still nothing was working. So I called this time. They tell me (at first) that the reason I didn't have internet was because I never signed up for it. Naturally, that didn't fly.  Then they said I was dialing the wrong number. Sure, like we had changed the settings on our desktop computer while we were away. After nearly an hour on the phone, they agreed to send a repairman out. "He'll be there between 8 and 4:30", they said. I replied, "That's a rather wide time frame, can you be more specific?" So they said, "How about between 8 and 9?" I said that was fine - especially since it was 8:30 now. Then they realized the folly of what they said and suggested the 8-12 time slot. I said, "OK, my wife will stay home from work today for that". I failed of course to mention that she did not want to go to work today either. 

Time passes... and passes. The guy arrived after 6 and told us he never even knew about the work order until 4:30. He fixed the problem anyhow by connecting a line the other guy forgot and had left open to the rain. So, what was their problem? Admitting the screwed up? Or having a repairmen do the work? Or getting back at us for giving them a bit of Hell on Saturday?

It is amazing what will attract people to a property. I often say that if everyone had the same likes and dislikes, the same property would be sold over and over in an upwards spiral of price - and nothing else would sell. But it doesn’t work that way (thank goodness). Everyone has their own tastes. When we give advice, we try to appeal to an average buyer. They do exist. When remodeling a home, use bland off-whites, colors that make a home look light and, looking light, bigger. Not many folks have a problem with that color and of course no one loves it either. The best we can hope is to “do no harm”.

       We had a neatly kept and smartly painted farm home. The lady who owned it had, shall we say, distinct tastes. A bright red room with brilliant white accents. Brown and burnt-orange trim on the outside. All done in good taste (hers). And everyone hated it. Her color choice clearly cost her several sales. Finally, someone agreed that, yes, they could change those colors and could see past them for the good buy the property represented. When I went to visit the new folks a year later, what did I find? You guessed it -  brown and burnt-orange trim. But they had remodeled the barn.

    Doug had just repainted the interior of his home in preparation to selling it. He changed his personal choices to something acceptable to nearly anyone, the bland, light colors. We found a buyer who needed to move in before the sale took place. He allowed that.They started remodeling right away, then left, leaving him holding the bag without a sale but with some terribly interesting colors - an awful robin’s egg blue, purple, and bright pink rooms. This was a high end home, too. Which mean, in this case, that the buyers did an excellent job painting - - - and were terrible in their choice of colors. Californians. So Doug ended up painting his home for the 4th time (these colors required 2 coats) inside of a year. But eventually he got their deposit (they had simply refused to come to the closing), so it was worth his while by the time all the dust had settled. But not worth the hassle.

    Another case that comes to mind was a boxcar house that Mort had listed years before I joined the company (this had to be in medieval times, I’ve been with him so long). By  “boxcar style” , we mean that one room goes directly to another, with no hallways or common rooms with multiple doors. What’s more, much of the wiring was strung out on extension cords, from room to room. And, the icing on the cake - it was superbly  overpriced. So, one Sunday, Mort got a call on it. That alone surprised him. No one else ever called on it. These folks wanted to see it right away. Inwardly groaning  and thinking of his potentially spoiled Sunday plans, he described to the buyer just how this house was. He wanted to nip any disappointment in the bud before he screwed up his Sunday in a futile effort. But they would not be dissuaded. They arrived on time, he took them over ...  and they loved it. They told him that theit was exactly what they had been looking for andhaad never been able to find (no wonder). They loved it so much that he wrote out a Purchase Contract then and there  and took it to the owner who promptly; accepted it. Sold!  And he is still scratching his head.

    An then there was the “Pitchfork Special”. It seem these folks had rented this barn but did not have enough dairy cattle to fill it. Normally, there would be 2 long rows of cattle, standing tail to tail. These goofuses had one long row instead, real unhandy for milking. And they had filled the other half of the barn with manure. Now, they could have used the barn cleaner, a long, slow-moving chain that makes a circle of the gutter behind the cattle and moves the manure to a spreader, after which you can spread it on the fields where it will do some good. Its all mechanized - you never have to shovel shit. But, being goofuses, they shoveled it and didn't use their labor -savings devices. By the time I got there., the east half of the barn was filled 6’ deep in manure. It all would have to be shoved back out in order to be used again. But the goofuses were gone, out of business (how surprising) and a new dairyman there would never get this one past the inspectors. He would have to shovel it back out to the barn cleaner, a horrible task to contemplate. And it all had to be done before you could start earning money there. So, Mort advertised ti as “The Pitchfork Special”.  When life deals you lemons, you make lemonade, right?. You would never believe how many calls we got on that place  - and it sold readily.

Well, I finally did it. It took 17 years to get up the gumption, but yesterday, I did it. Did what? Put new strings on my autoharp. This was not the simple job it is for a guitar or banjo. First, there are 37 of them needed and a set of 36 costs $55. But my autoharp was custom made, with an - let's say an "unusual" - tuning, which incorporates, rather experimentally and also, I might add, rather successfully, a succession that includes some double strings, some missing notes, and regular tuning here and there. I was not sure a regular set of strings would work. After some years of procrastination, I realized that I was not going to find strings sold separately, even if I knew what gauges I needed for each one. I have been playing autoharps for 40 years and have never restrung one. This one I have had since 1992 and it's a keeper, everything I could ask for in looks and playability.

But it no longer sounded so good, folks couldn't hear it well, and it wasn't as fun to play. This is what happens when you play on 17 year old strings. Having owned the new set for a year and having a free day, with a series of gigs coming up, I decided to get 'er done. The first thing you need to do is to unscrew the bottom plate. That required a trip out to the shop as the "house" screwdriver didn't fit. OK, not bad. I detuned the bass string, removed it, got out the one from the new set that seemed the best, and compared sizes. Seemed OK, so I put it on. This is a VERY heavy wound string, like on a bass guitar, ony far shorter with a little loop at one end. Hmmm, my old string had a lttle round gizmo on it that the new one lacked. Was I supposed to take the gizmo off and put it in the new one? I went out for some tool small enough to insert, tried it, and quickly discovered that once out, it would not fit in the new loop. Hmm, guess not. Well, that certainly saved me a lot of work. So I put the string on, started tightening up the tuner with the wrench and it flipped off the bottom side. Had I been able to put the gizmo on, that probably wouldn't have happened. So, I repeated the process a couple of times with the same result.

OK, I traipsed back down the stairs, went out to the shop and returned with a wood clamp. This held the string down while it was tightened. First, I had to try it a couple of different ways until I found one where it would not slip off. That worked. OK, low G is done. Next was low C. That didn't go too badly. Then low D. I put the thin end through the tuner, bent it 90 degrees in preparation for the winding- and it broke off, right at the tuner! That elicited some colorful words. Naturally, it was too short to be used now. What to do? So, I cleaned off the old one the best I could and put it back on. Fortunately, none of the other strings broke that way and I can only figure that the D was just defective in its temper.

As I went up the scale, the gauges changed, the smaller ones not being held so well by the clamp. Sometimes they'd slip out and I have to start over. I learned if I pre-bent them, over the back at the breakover, they'd be more likely to stay in place until tension held them there. Finally we ran out of the old wound strings. Boy were the straight ones stiff (like what my friend Rocco calls, "Stiff like a weddiing prick"). But the new strings continued to be wound. I figured that would still sound OK. Eventually, that business petered out, and the first new unwound string appeared, just as stiff as the old ones were. Well, whaduyaknow, the clamp would not hold it. No way. They just kept flipping off the bottom while I was holding them down at the top, trying to turn the wrench and apply tension. More inventive language, loud enough so my wife could hear (she was outside). I secretly hoped she'd take pity on me and offer to hld the damn things while I did the tightening. It really needed 4 hands to do everything. But Janet was conditioned from years of farm machinery breakdowns to just keep well out of my way when things get loud and experimetal language was employed and I was damned if I was going to ask for help to put strings on an instrument!

Eventually, the stiff strings got less so as I worked my way up the scale and things became easier again. By now, my fingers ached and were sore from being pricked by the ends sticking out from the loops at the bottom. In a blaze of glory, I finally put the 36th string on, a high C (the 'harp has 3 octaves). I used the old high C for the 37th string, a high D, which had been missing for a few years. I don't play the D often and could make do without it. I tuned it up, played a few chords. Ugh, just awful! So I retuned it, played chords again. Better. Actually, not bad. I played at bit on sore fingers, checked the tuning once more, found it right on. What no slippage? All my other instruments slip some until they settle in, was I finally going to have something easy on this? The answer was apparently "yes" and I played some more, as much as my fngers could stand under the circumstances.

You see, autoharp strings are VERY tight. They barely give when you strum, just enough to produce sound, no more. There are literally TONS of pressure upon the frame from this. I have more than once raised a blister on the ends of my strumming fingers in just one song. If I play a lot, the fingers get callused and that is no longer a problem. But with 17 other instruments demanding attention, I never play it that much. Picks make it sound much louder and would stop the blisters but there is a problem with them I have never been able to overcome. My particular style involves melody picking with the conventional "pinch" between fingers and thumb, combined with rhythmic strumming and occasonal picking with both sides of the fingers. When this happens, the picks go flying off into the atmosphere. I am still looking for "2-way"picks. If I ever fnd them, I'll use them.

Meanwhile, I deal with blistered and sore fingers and learn either to play carefully or less often or, conversely,  play enough so I get the calluses. I got the new strings and the better sound once again; maybe I will pick it up more often. Oh yes, one more thing - I learned it takes 2 hours and 45 minutes to change strings. Don't do this just before the show!

Is your boyfriend looking to buy his own place? Good for him (I use "him" but we can just as easily switch sexes for this lesson). It may be a good time, if he can get financed and has enough job security to be sure he can pay it back. Be aware that most of the real estate drops in price center in just 5 states - California, Nevada, Aridzona, Florida and Colorado.  Many places have not dropped much or at all (like here), but everywhere folks - and banks - are worried and are fearing the worse. You hear these dire things about the country as a whole, which as a whole are correct, but they may not be true for where you happen to live. The news media and our citizens tend to not notice that last little bit.

Speaking of good timing, he must be aware of the Obamabucks program (my name for it). He can get $8000 (or 10%, whichever is less) for his downpayment, absolutely free, thank you, Uncle Sam. Though banks are finally asking for more sensible (and larger) downpayments, this $8 grand will take up a lot of slack for many folks across the country. As it should be, it will be of the most help for those who are poorer, those buying the cheaper homes. That's 8-10% of our median home price here. In the Bay Area, it is more like 2%, but their salaries are higher too. I should add that it won't help you if you have owned a home in the last 3 years. And you have to buy before this December. There is time, but if you wait past August to start looking, you may discover you are too late or will end up making compromises you never intended to make. A codicil is that the Obamabucks will also lower your payments correspondingly, which no one minds. Interest rates are good right now and that helps, too.

If you are not married or have not made a very real and significant personal commitment towards each other, I would caution you against investing with him on this, however. Don't make the mistake of thinking I am against co-habitation. As a realist, I recognize that it has been going on for many centuries and is not likely to stop. There are many reasons for it and there are many against  it: each person's case is different. But if you are not to the point of merging your lives in marriage (which I am neither advocating or arguing against), you should not do so in business. Buying a home together is essentially a business deal. That is not to say you cannot help him out with rent or expenses or things. If you do, you should get something back in return (a place to live?) of course.

Remember: if your name is on the dotted line of ownership and you two decide to split, then you are responsible, just as he is. I have seen it all - mutually-owned property lost to tax foreclosure when a couple got in a pissing war; one partner walking away, leaving the other one left to make payments that were double what they could handle; a partner saddled with making payments even thought they were no longer living there (and paying rent elsewhere); someone being forced to sell at a loss because one income was not enough to keep up with the payments; credit scores ruined, one partner saying they would make the payments themselves, then abruptly stopping and not telling the other partner (thereby ruining both their credit scores); the one left with the home stopping all maintenance.... There is a long list I could recite, but you get the point. Your business relationship should be as strong as your personal relationship, not stronger.

Another way to think of this - buying a home is essentially a long-term investment. It rarely pays in the short term. If you will be one place only a very few years, you will probably lose money, compared to renting. There are other reasons to own as well, ones that may make this reasoning beside the point - but it should still be considered. If  you expect to be in one are for a good length of time, then buying makes increased sense, as long as your domestic partner can be expected to be with you right along as well.  If you can do it on your own, without help from another, best yet. Then neither of you will be in the tank if the domestic arrangement goes south - yet another case of timing being everything.

Today, Interstates are taken for granted. One third of US highways miles are traveled on them. The longest,  I90 at 3099 miles, runs 3 miles from my home, yet I rarely use it, finding my short trips are quicker if I do not have to stop for tolls. And I see far more countryside and local life when off the interstates. This is especially true here in upstate NY, but I have have made this a rule on long road trips: I always travel part of each day on the side roads if I want to see what is really going on in the country through which I travel.

President Eisenhauer is credited with founding the Interstate Highway Sytsem in legislation proposed in 1956. The idea was to link every city above 50000 in population,  a national defense priority. His experience with the Autobahn in Germany and long slow calvacades in Army maneuvers in the US led to this proposal. Little known is that the background for this came from FDR's era. Perhaps the first highway to interstate standards was the Pennsylvania Turnpike, opened in 1940. I remember it being considered, along with the new New Jersey Turnpike and the NY Thruway, new "super" highways, roads that folks just loved - only they complained about the high tolls. (What else is new?)  Mostly, though, the Interstate system is free, supported 90% by Federal money (your gas tax at work).  When they put in I88 here back in the late 70's and early '80's, there was a big controversy over the link to I 90, still a toll road. NY wanted the Federal money for 88, but the Feds wouldn't release it. Finally, they reached a compromise: as one section of I 90 was already free (goes north of Albany and joining  at he Berkshire Extension of the Thruway, and then the Mass.Pike, both toll roads then). They would make the connecting section of I 90 free, but only for those traveling to it from I 88!

When I moved to Rocky Top here from 12 miles away, near Johnstown, one drawback to the move was the extra drive to Albany, as I had moved southwest 12 miles. Then one day, I decided to look for an alternate route. Perusing the map, the only possible better route would be 162 (where I live) to 20 to I88 to I90. It didn't look good, but I resolved, to make a test. And I got surprised in the process: it was both shorter as well as quicker by 10 minutes!  Plus not a single toll. It is intersting to note that much of this trip for me is along US 20, the "Great Western Turnpike", the local name which stems from its colonial origins as a toll road. One short cut I take is over a road called Shun Pike. This was built as a way around the colonial toll booths, hence the name.

My family used to take occassional long road trips, going "out west" several times in the'50's. I remember things being long - long trains we'd see and sometimes have to wait for, long empty roads, huge long lines of traffic built up behind a slow car ahead (we're talking 2 lane roads now). Once or twice, a house was being moved (yes, they did that stuff back then) - and there'd literally be hundreds of cars ahead of you. Dad would gun it, pass two or three, and get back in line. This would continue for hours, then he'd be ahead of the slow one and we could sail along again, finally free - until the next line was encountered. All day long.

And then there were the detours, the dreaded white signs that got you lost in cities you never wanted to see.  But there were other signs to look for and we'd play games, getting points to be the first to see Clabber Girl Baking Soda, Quaker State Motor Oil, Burma Shave (especially fun to read the little poems, one sign at a time), and, once in a great while, the distance to Harold's Club in Reno.

Interstates: we gave up a lot, and gained a lot. With our population over twice now what it was back then, we'd be lost without them today.

This trip had been planned for 10 years - meaning only that we had intended to go for that long.  I opened the trip up to friends, knowing it was so good that it would only be fair to share it.  And I warned them that I would not be making very definite plans, that we wanted to stay limber and flexible. Folks that I asked fell into two categories: my old Outing Club friends (over 100 were told about the trip) and cavers (10-20 were told about it). Their response was interesting. 5 cavers were very interested, and just 2 OCers were. My theory is that most of the OCers live in the Northeast and they have this notion that there has to be an outdoor recreational vacuum between the Adirondacks and the Rockies. The cavers, knowing of all the caves in this area, knew better. A moot point, it turns out, since everyone eventually cancelled.  So, until folks dropped out, I found myself planning a lot more than I intended. It was hard to plan, since so much depended upon the weather. If it rained too much, the river would flood and we would have to wait for it to go down. Too little rain and we would have to start further downstream and of course the current would be less, and would cut into the distance we could travel each day.  Here’s how it worked out.

    We traveled to St.Louis and picked up a canoe from Val Schmidt, one of the cavers who had wanted to go. We really appreciated that, since it meant we could travel canoeless (our brand new car is very small) for 2000 miles. The car was so new, we could not get a roof rack for it. (It was also so new that we could not get cruise control, an aftermarket product planned but not yet made.) One of my cartop foam blocks had blown away a few years ago and I needed to replace it. A trip to Albany showed that my anticipated $3.50 purchase was going to be between $30-40 because now you have to buy 4 of them, along with straps, none of which we needed. When I unfurled the straps with the canoe on top (it was longer than the car by several feet), I found to my dismay that the ends of each new strap were sewn in such a way that they could not feed through the catch. We figured out a way to use them and in the process noticed that Val’s canoe had not one but three thwarts, the middle one of which stuck above the gunnels, giving about 1/8” clearance between it and the car’s top. That made me nervous. We took off anyhow and when we hit 40m/h, another problem surfaced, one which could not be ignored. The straps roared with the wind and that big aluminum canoe acted like a huge sounding board. We could not even converse at that speed! No way were we going to travel 800 miles that way, which meant a quick side trip to Dickie Bub’s (that’s really the name), a sort of farm and home store where I bought some foam pipe insulation, one piece of which was strapped to the thwart and the rest around the straps. Remember that trick - it brought us peace as well as peace of mind.

    We spent Tuesday night in Harrison, Arkansas, in a cheap motel, since it was pouring rain. Arriving the next morning at our potential put-in, we found the Buffalo brown...and flooded, several feet about the level at which they let the concessionaires float it. So, being flexible, we went hiking. The first hike was to see some twin waterfalls. They were OK and the hike was miniscule, so we hit another, Lost Valley. This is very well worth doing and is very cool, following a small creek upstream until it you see it blasting from a cave with another, higher waterfall coming in at the side. The cave proved to be more like a wide natural arch and, above it, another waterfall spat into the insurgence. Further up was yet another resurgence, from a real cave, which proved to have yet another waterfall inside it. Great easy hike, large beech trees, fun terrain. But it was only a few miles long and we still had time on our hands, so we went for a third hike, to Hawksbill Crag, proudly presented as the most photographed rock in Arkansas. Whoopee do. But, the sky cleared and it was a decent hike, even if the rock was not as neat as we’d hoped, and we passed another large waterfall along the way.  We camped that night at the Park Service’s Steel Creek campground, a nice spot along the river with a high bluff on the opposite side, with, yes, yet another waterfall plummeting from it.

    Thursday, the water had changed to the greenish color it would retain for the remainder of our stay. And it had gone down enough to allow us to canoe. We put in at Ponca and paid a concessionaire to shuttle our car to Kyle’s Landing, below Steel Creek. Let’s say, the run was sporting and we were glad not to have our camping gear along with us. No rocks to hit, but there were often large standing waves, sometimes 3 and 4’ high. That’s when we noticed Val's canoe did not feature spray rails. We had to empty out a couple times here and there. The last was after “Hell’s Half Acre” the longest continuous stretch of rapids we faced on our trip. Other canoers were doing the same thing at the same spot.  One of them told us, “We were paddling along, doing everything right, and suddenly I noticed that the gunnels of our canoe were 4” under water”.  That made me feel better as we took in 4”, total.  The stretch of water we did this day seems to be everyone’s favorite and it had had the least amount of quieter water separating its many rapids. Not to worry, nothing was above Class III.  There were some tricky cross currents, which we would find elsewhere on our journey. And the day was sunny and warm. We halted partway through to hike to Hemmed-in Hollow Falls, at 250’, the highest waterfall between the Appalachians and the Rockies. It was neat seeing the falling water blown 50’ off-center, weaving side to side. But don’t bother with the hike if you decided to start from the road; it’s a steep all day hike, not the 1/2 hour level one we had.

    The following morning, Friday, the campground host stopped in with a weather forecast, an ominous one, with tornados, heavy rain and all sorts of evil stuff in the area. But it was not supposed to last. We broke camp and immediately the rain started. So, we read in the car, By noon, it had stopped and the host came by again, wanting to know our plans. We were ready to float and he suggested that we car pool with a couple of brothers from Illinois, who were out for several days, as we were. He set it up with them and we set off, having arranged to meet them at Pruitt at 4PM. We took a side hike, waiting for them to catch up (the brothers wanted to do it). But we did not see them and we ambled on downriver. It turns out they go there before us, having forgotten about their hike.  We have to thank the host for our very fortuitous meeting with these good folks as we all decided to join forces and canoe together for the rest of our time in Arkansas. Two cars make a shuttle, one doesn’t.  By the end of the trip, we were all fast friends.

    That night, we had to meet cavers coming in from St. Louis. I told them to meet us as the “Caver’s Camp”, for which I had directions from the Park and from which we could hike to the cave we planned to vist on Saturday. We started right anyhow, but quickly became turned about on the maze of unmarked gravel roads. Finally, we reached the Park boundaries, only to see a low water ford on the river where we did not expect it. We turned around to get our bearings. It was now 10 PM and too late to ask directions from locals. Hey, a car was coming! We halted it, hoping it was our friend Elvis from St. Louis. It wasn’t, but it was a caver, Wayne, from Springfield, part of our group. He knew where we were going and we followed him - back to the river (not the Buffalo it turns out, but a side creek, 125’ wide), which he drove right across. I frantically blinked my lights. He came back across the river. That water was well above the bottom of my door panels. If it didn’t float our car, it would flood it. The plan we reached was to have him ferry us and our stuff to the Caver’s Camp. There were some  issues, we learned. There were three ways in there. With rain forecast, the way we had just followed would flood the creek beyond what his 4x4 could ford. Another way, across the Buffalo, was already way too deep (we had canoed right across it earlier in the day). The third way involved driving a county road that would stop most 4x4’s, even without the rain.

    Saturday morning found 5 other cavers camped there, bringing our party up to 8, the maximum allowed on our cave permit. And I had been afraid that only Elvis would show, making us one short of the minimum of 4 needed. We drove out and around to yet another gravel county road to a different trailhead, one not threatened by floods. The cave, Fitton’s, is gated and permitted. The 8 of us spent 12 hours in there, seeing a good deal of its 7 miles. Fitton’s is a real caver’s cave, with a little of everything for us - downclimbs, breakdown, walking passage, crawls, and belly crawls. It is sparsely decorated with calcium carbonate formations, but has some wonderful displays of gypsum and selenite (both calcium sulphate).  Midnight found us on the way to a commercial campground, one with showers.

    Sunday was another river day and we rejoined the brothers, Chuck and Ken, who had spent the day hiking (nice of them to wait for us) and - surprise - we had 4 cavers in tow. Two shuttled our cars and two, Wayne and Steve, joined us on the river in their whitewater kayaks. So with all this shuttle power and with two craft that would not take camping loads, we all opted to car camp and canoe with lighter loads, ending up that night at Carver. This was a great campground - right next to a paved (yes, paved!) road, with shade, and NO ONE ELSE. Wayne was inspired that night and bought fajiita fixings  - whoopee, no freeze dried stuff.

     The next day, we went on to Woolum and another good meal (pad Thai). This section of the river was not supposed to be as good as the Ponca to Pruitt section, but we found longer sections bewteen rapids, which gave me a chance to look around and enjoy things more. And it proved to have the most challenging rapids, being the sight of our only mishap, when Chuck's kayak caught a wave wrong and he got a bath he had not planned on. No harm done, unless you call a lost sponge "harm".  Not feeling well, Steve left us that night.

    A few years previous, Steve had canoed the entire river, some 130-140 miles worth, doing it in 5 days in one long trip. You can go faster if you do not have to do daily shuttles. They ate up 3 hours of time every day, sometimes more. And Wayne had canoed much of it, as well as caved every cave and hiked every trail, remembering it all. How fortunate we were to have two such experienced and congenial guides with us. When we did not expect anybody else coming with us, we ended up with a party of 6, none of which we had known before we started.

     Tuesday, the five of us continued on downstream to Grinder's Ferry, a section that finally was new for Wayne. He left us that night to go back to his real life. The four of us remaining finished the trip, finally camping along the river as we'd all initially intended, in a 2 day run from Grinder's Ferry to Tyler Bend. We spend the last day under sunny skies once again and camped on a high sand bar across from a 400' high bluff, an easy landing to make and with good swimming. We ate tabouli that night, topping it off with a totally digusting meal that we'd been saving, one that was advertised to be "great food, not freeze dried". Anyway, the racoons liked it. The night proved exciting in othe ways.  After the Ken and Chick dropped off to sleep, Janet and I were awakened by what had made all the hoof prints we'd seen on the sand. Not deer, not elk, as we figured, but wild pigs. We hurriedly hung our food. Then we had yet another thundershower, which ended before morning dawn. The last 7 miles was uneventful, as was the ride home.

     Actually, there was an event on the ride home. In eastern Kentucky, a warning light came on in the dash. I recognized it as low tire pressure warning. We limped into Charleston, WVa so we could get the tire fixed. Not so; the leak was in the sidewall and no one would patch it. I couldn't find a used tire, so finally bit the bullet and agreed to buy a new one. Only that was not so simple - it seems nobody carries tires in the size our new car requires (5000 miles on the tire; it looks still new, yet is ruined). After searching three helpful tire dealers (who each in turn called others), we learned that we could get one in 3 days. Fat lot of good that does. I ended up getting one that sort of fitted, as long as I didn't put it on the front. Seventy bucks for something I don't want and will not need after a week. Let this be a warning to those of you who buy new cars - check to see if one can get replacement tires.

     So, things did not work as anticipated, but we were happy. We got lots of rain at night but never had to cancel a day's plans because of it. The water was not as clear as I'd hoped, but was far swifter. We never hit a rock but once, there was that much water. We met some great people and got some new friends. ("I ain't never had too many friends.") We passed by so many super campsites because we car camped so often, but shuttles were free after the first day. Though the shuttles (and the rain) cost us time, we still managed to canoe 95 miles on the Buffalo. With a single long shuttle, we could have easily done the entire river. But we saw the two best parts. What is left is more placid and wider water, with fewer bluffs, though in wilder terrain.

      What we did see was very clean, very little trash around and excellent Park campgrounds. Nearly all the river had big bluffs along one side or another, some of them 400' high, and always interesting. There were waterfalls everywhere, thank you, rain. There were a few caves along the river, not as many as I had hoped for, and none canoeable. And wonderful, large and green trees. I love Sycamores. Not as many wildflowers as we wanted, but some were nice. We mostly avoided the poison ivy, ticks and chiggers. There was not much wildlife, but on the other hand, we did see, along with the more common animals and birds: swans, a mink, some copperheads, bald eagles, and elk. And we had our pig encounter.

     We both agreed, we'd go back in an instant if we get the chance again. It is a great part of the US, and some of you had better see it too.