This is a sequel to The Magic Number. You don't need to read it to understand the story, but it couldn't hurt.

 

"Hallie babe, we need to talk."

When my wife Linda says that, I know I'm in trouble.

"Oh, boy. I apologize for whatever it is."

"Hallie? Stop sewing, darling."

"Yes, dear."

I released the foot pedal and looked at my wife, being more sensitive to voice inflections since I retired as Harry and became Hallie. Either that or some primal protective instinct kicked in.

"Hallie, my birthday is coming up."

"I haven't forgotten. Being on the distaff side of the gender gap I have been magically imbued with the ability to remember birthdays, anniversaries and obscure federal holidays."

"That's the calendar app on your phone. We've been married too long for that line to work."

"As you say, dear. But I am aware that in two weeks you will turn fifty-eight years old, I even have a card tucked away in my pantyhose drawer. Or should I have developed amnesia when it comes to numbers?

"In this case the numbers are important. In one and a half years I can follow your sterling example and take early retirement without incurring the wrath of the IRS."

"A pleasant thought. Does that mean I will no longer endure your penetrating stare if I sleep in while you march off to toil in the jungles of industry."

"While you stay home and sew your little heart out. Good thing I don't like sewing or I'd be jealous."

"A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do."

"Funny you should bring that up. There's something this gal's gotta to do."

"Do tell…"

"I'm sure you remember my wild and crazy hippie days."

"Actually, that was before my time."

"Stop interrupting. I've told you the story before. Since your feminine memory is so much improved you must have some faint inkling of the plot."

"Hmmm… Hitchhiking, a van full of guys, the Trans-Canada Highway, being broke, picking strawberries for days on end for sustenance? That story?"

"You were listening! Hallie, I want to relive the glory days of my youth when I retire."

"Hitchhiking? Who's going to stop for two old female farts loaded with instrument cases these days?"

"Just about anyone driving a VW camper. They're still living in the sixties."

"Do you really think you can find a van full of guys to take us across the country?"

"Hallie! Not a van, and RV. I'm too old to hitchhike and you're too ugly. If you showed a little leg at the side of the road you'd cause a pileup."

"I'm wounded to the quick!"

"Behave yourself our you'll be one step closer to transgender surgery without benefit of a licensed doctor."

"An RV? I seem to remember our one attempt at camping was not a great success."

"Hallie, a backpack and a pup tent in the middle of nowhere is not what I have in mind. Haven't you ever wanted to go on the road? We could buy a bus and travel, just like Willie."

"Willie barely missed spending a few years in the jug with his bus."

"We haven't done drugs in years, we'd be safe. Really, I've been wanting to go across country again for years. I want to see the Rockies and the desert and Yellowstone and places like that. I'm sick of winters, I want to travel and see the country."

"I like the part about running away from winter. That part's not crazy at all. Why not just take a week or two in the Bahamas?"

"And come back to a blizzard? You have to think big! No winter at all, we could go to somewhere in the South, go surfing in California, try to make it in Nashville. Anywhere but Florida, I'm not old enough to live in Florida. I hope I never will be!"

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm serious. We can visit the kids, get to know the grandkids for more than a few days at a time. We have the money, we'll have the time. Let's live a little, Hallie!"

"Well…"

"Think about it, sweetheart. What have we got to lose?"

"Our sanity?"

"Can't lose what you never had. There's an RV show this weekend and I want to go look at them."

"Sounds harmless enough."

"Hallie, I went along with your dream to live life as a woman after you're retired. This is my dream, to travel the country and see what's there after I retire."

"If you put it that way… What do we do with all our stuff?"

"You're just worried about closet space, Hallie. That's why I'm bringing this up now. I think we ought to see if it makes sense to do this. I want to get a weekend camper kind of thing so we can try it out this summer. I can take some of my vacation time and we can go camping in style. If we like it then we can think about something big enough to live in."

"It doesn't cost anything to look."

"That's where you're wrong, dear. There's a two buck admission charge."

"Two bucks to let them sell stuff to us? I suppose we can afford such an extravagance."

Damned it if her idea didn't worm it's way into my brain. The couple down the street had this big trailer and were gone most of the winter to warmer climes. And she was right, I was getting sick of winter. Shoveling snow with arthritis gets old, just like I was getting old. My son down in Austin kept posting pictures of picnics in January with the thermometer at 70°, the little bugger.

Then there were stairs. By the time I got from the basement to the third floor I was feeling it these days. Carrying a laundry basket up those stairs was a pain. Being the homebound spouse, I did the housework while Linda was working. Well, I always wanted to be a woman - you don't get to choose just the fun parts.

So the negotiating began. I rather liked having a home base, she wanted to travel without any roots. I was leery of selling our three story house and divesting ourselves of a lifetime of possessions to live in an RV while we traveled the country. We both wondered how we could find room for our obsessive wardrobes in the confined space of an RV, not to mention our collection of instruments.

We had both acquired a stable of doctors for various ailments and we wondered what to do about our medical needs. Would we be happy leaving our friends and family behind? At least we didn't have to worry about banking or credit cards - phone banking apps and ATMs have made going to the bank a quaint custom of the distant past. Writing checks? Haven't used one in years, everything's on line.

So it was that we found ourselves at the big RV show at the local fairgrounds, overwhelmed by rows of monstrous buses, fifth wheels and RVs. I'm not all that small, but I felt like a dwarf walking among the behemoths.

Not knowing where to start we just went in an open doorway and found ourselves in a luxury motor home. Luxury! What an understatement! Walnut wainscoting, ceramic tile floors, marble working fireplace, a Jacuzzi that slid out from beneath the queen size bed, complete kitchen (with an island, no less), a with large TV in the bedroom, an even larger TV in the living room, surround sound and Blue-Ray player. Jeez. We didn't even have anything like that in our house!

Naively, we asked the smiling salesman the price - just shy of half a million. Now between Social Security and pensions we would be pretty well off, but not quite in that class. I suppose he was used to such reactions, so when we explained what we were looking for and he directed us to the weekend camping size trailers.

As we looked at what was available I began to feel much better about life in an RV. Amazing what they can fit in such a small space. My HGTV addict wife kept mumbling "Tiny Houses" at me, but even she was surprised at what a well designed RV could contain. These were all brand new models, with price tags to match, but the salesmen invited us to come down to their lot and look at used vehicles. Used sounded pretty good, since we were only testing the waters, not putting on SCUBA gear and diving for sunken treasure.

The next weekend we visited Camping World, that's a national chain of RV dealers that we found at the RV show. Their salesmen had been low key and informative, so we started there. We ended there, too; the first trailer he showed us was just what we were looking for. We looked at several, but that first one was the one that made sense. It didn't have walnut, ceramic tiles or a Jacuzzi, not even surround sound, but the mattress felt good and the kitchen was functional.

It was a fifth wheel, which means part of it hangs out in front to attach to a big hitch in the bed of a pickup. It was 21 feet long and big enough for weekends, or even a two week vacation. At 10 years old it was looking a bit less beautiful than it's neighbors, but at only a few thousand dollars it would give us a taste of what life in a trailer was like without breaking the bank. Besides, if we did go whole hog we could trade it in on the bigger one and wouldn't loose much money. We had looked at renting an RV, but the weekly rental was outrageous, we could buy this one for almost what a summer's rent would cost.

So we bought it, then we bought the hitch, and the brake package for the pickup, and the… You get the idea. You just don't buy a trailer and go camping, you buy everything else you need to make it hook to your vehicle before you go camping. Then you buy some more stuff that you didn't think of at first. I was just glad I had kept my pickup when I had bought the little red sportster so we didn't have to buy a new vehicle.

Once all the shouting was done the itch was upon us. Having filled the trailer with the linens, towels and whatnot that had been hiding in the back of a closet for who knows how long, we dug the pots and pans and such that Linda's daughter the mandolin player had dumped in the basement when she left her college apartment. Then we dithered over what clothes to bring with us. There's an old saying that the Chinese ideograph for 'trouble' is two women under one roof. I don't know about that, but two women sharing a small closet is certainly trouble. As a lifelong crossdresser, I completely understand the need to have clothing for any occasion in your suitcase when traveling!

Oh yeah, we filled half the storage compartment with our instruments. With all the planning done we set out for our first weekend.

Memorial day weekend I was feeling pretty good as we punched our destination into the GPS and started out. Things went well until we saw the sign for the 10’8″ bridge ahead. Since we were pulling a 11’4″ trailer this was a problem. Naturally, this warning sign was posted after any road that would allow us to avoid the bridge and there wasn’t convenient driveway to use to turn the thing around. There is no simple way to turn a big camper around short of the Utah Salt Flats. There was, however, a good size field on the left so, shifting into four wheel drive we attempted to turn around. I got about halfway through the turn before getting mired in the mud, four wheel drive does no good if there’s no traction.

Linda and I got out and stared balefully at the RV, wondering if our first night of camping was going to be in the field when three pickups pulled over. Out piled several volunteer firefighters, in minutes one of them had hooked his four wheel drive to mine, another stopped the traffic and a third guy opined that "You should be able to get under that bridge." Some people just can’t do math, I guess.

We were soon back on the road, leaving only some impressive ruts in the field behind us. By the way, we now own a new GPS made for RV use with bridge heights and vehicle weights included in the route planning.

It was a good weekend, hanging out with folkie friends and singing around the campfire. We had a ball showing off our new luxury apartment (compared to our old tent, that is) and beamed at the jealous comments. We also got our first lesson in being careful when setting up. You have to remember to drop the tailgate before you pull away after unhitching the trailer. I was lucky we were on a downward hill, I only took off the molding strip on the tailgate.

The trailer took some getting used to, but on the whole we were satisfied with our first weekend. As we headed down the Thruway back home, there was a bit of a cross wind but overall the driving was pretty easy. I felt what I thought was an increase in the wind as we went, that is until people started honking and I noticed bits and pieces of something flying off the trailer. As there was no safe place to pull over without being too close to the driving lanes, we limped to the next service area and pulled to a stop where we discovered that we had blown a tire. Not only had we blown a tire, but the steel belts whipped around and tore up the side and bottom of the trailer, causing extensive cosmetic damage.

I stood there in my crinkled blue skirt and matching blouse, staring at a tangle of steel wire where our tire used to be. There was no way I was going to crawl under the RV, drop a 16″ tire, jack up a multi-ton trailer and replace the mangled ruins of the old rim. The role of helpless woman didn't sit too well, but I had absolutely nothing to wear that wouldn't be completely ruined before I finished. Note to self - include some grubby clothes in the trailer next time! Good thing the RV had four wheels or we would have been in a world of hurt.

At that point we happily recalled the platinum roadside service we had opted for when buying the trailer and out came the cell phone. Forty minutes later the cell phone was still out, plugged into the car charger as the battery was complaining.

"Hello?"

"How may I help you, Ma'am"

"We've blown a tire and need some help."

"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Are you in a safe place?"

"Yes we are."

"That's great. Where are you located?"

"On the New York Thruway just east of Utica at the Schuyler Travel Plaza."

"Just a minute, ma'am. Let me locate that."

It was more than a minute. It seemed like hours.

"Hello, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I can't seem to find your location."

"On the NY Thruway just east of Utica at the Schuyler Travel Plaza."

"I don't have that on any of my references, ma'am. Could you tell me what mile marker you are at?"

Those rest areas are humongous, and we were in the very back with all the 18 wheelers. Insert long pause here as I hiked nearer the road to find I was at mile 227. Insert another longer pause as I hiked back. Insert yet another pause as she tried to find someone to help.

It's enough to give one pause…

"Hello ma'am?"

At last!

"Yes, I'm here."

"Ma'am, I haven't been able to find a working crew yet. Since it's Memorial Day it's hard to find anyone available. Please hold while I try again."

Wonderful! Once again Linda and I were preparing to spend the night camping in an unusual spot until help could come when a pickup pulls up next to us and the guy gets out and asks if he could help. Could it be that two morose women staring at the remains of a tire invited pity? I sure hoped so!

Believe it or not, he worked for Camping World, the chain where we bought the trailer, ferrying RVs across the country. So while Linda and I entertained his three year old son he changed our tire for us. (Good thing a horse transport pulled in next to us while he was working, it was very entertaining for the three year old.) One look at the spare tire told us that it would be chancy at best to make it back to home without blowing another tire, so we left the trailer at the Syracuse Camping World for repairs and went home to Rochester without it.

Despite all the problems it was a good weekend. There is a world filled with people who live the Good Samaritan story and we got to meet several of them. The world may be going to hell in a handbasket, but we are going to have some very good company as we travel.

With our first trip a technical success, we booked two weeks at Allegany State Park (That's in Southwestern NY if you don't know) and we started using up Linda's vacation time before it evaporated when she retired. We reached the park and discovered the driveway to our campsite was only about a foot wider than the trailer’s wheels with some serious ditches on either side. I was a newbie at backing this thing up and I was not at all happy about getting in there. The good part was that your neighbors when camping are almost always willing to lend a hand and I soon had a guy who drove 18 wheelers for a living directing me into the site. Amazing how a man can't resist telling a woman how to drive a big rig. I'm used to such things after a couple of years being a woman in public, but it still gives me a bit of a snigger when it happens. It still took a lot of backing and forthing but he really was a good guide. After a while we were in place.

 

Aside 1: Trailer Technicalities

Before we go on I have to explain how the leveling system works in a fifth wheel. You open the side storage and push a button and listen as an electric motor makes the gears lower two legs at the front of the trailer. Eventually - you’re moving a couple of tons of trailer, it isn’t going to be fast - the legs hit the ground and raise the trailer. After a little more time the trailer raises high enough to disconnect from the hitch in the bed of the pickup. Once the pickup is driven away you push the button and lower it until the thing is level. Sounds simple, eh?

 

"Uh oh!"

"What's wrong, Hallie?"

"I think we should have gone to Florida."

"Florida? For a week of camping? I thought you didn't want to hang around with old farts."

"I'm not worried about the old farts, I think the trailer wants to be a stork."

"What?"

"You notice the trailer is standing on one leg."

"Do you suppose it wants to build a nest?"

"If we can't get it on both legs we're going to spend the night in the pickup."

"A nest might be more comfortable, but that idea is for the birds."

"Owl agree with that."

"So what do we do?"

"We take everything out of the front compartment and get the flashlight, then see if I can find out what's wrong."

It was starting to get dark by this time, and there I was unloading the front storage compartment to peer inside with a flashlight. It was fortunate that Harry had made his living as a machinist, as Hallie I had inherited all of his mechanical skills. I discovered there is a bar running from the powered leg to the unpowered leg so that they turn in unison, but the connecting bolt was broken. Not a difficult repair, but it was after 7 PM on a Sunday night with a 20 minute drive into Salamanca, the small town just outside the park's borders. Anybody want to take bets on the odds of finding a 1/4" bolt in time to stabilize the trailer so we could sleep in it?

The trailer seemed to be OK on only one leg, even if it was obviously twisted a bit, so we fired up the pickup and headed for town. For once the Travel Gods were feeling generous and we reached the auto parts store minutes before they closed. They even had a bolt that would work, so I bought two, just in case.

Returning to the campsite I removed the broken bolt and threaded in the replacement, only to find the original bolt was a metric thread and I had an English thread. I have a well equipped toolbox in the pickup, so there was a battery operated drill and the correct taps to put new threads on the gearbox.

Picture, if you will, the scene. Here we have a rather large, mature woman in a white skirt and pink blouse awkwardly half kneeling on a rug to protect the skirt, half crouching with her artificial bust pressed against the lip of the storage compartment under the front overhang, the top of her body inside the storage compartment. The mature lady is mumbling around the flashlight in her mouth while trying to avoid puncturing her silicone breasts as she brings the drill into position to replace the failed bolt. The romantic essence of femininity, to be sure."

"Can I offer you some help, ma'am?"

I damn near took off the top of my head when I started at his voice.

"Mumble, grunt, thippt." I removed the flashlight. "I certainly could. Would you like to hold the flashlight?"

I quickly wiped my spit off it, wouldn't do to gross out a helpful neighbor.

"Surely. What's going on in there?"

I explained about the avian tendencies of the trailer and he joined me in the recesses of the storage compartment, rather intimate contact for two total strangers. With the light pointed in the right direction the job was much easier and soon I had the hole drilled and tapped. He was even kind enough to push the button while I lined up the connecting bar and screwed it in place. Somewhere a little before ten o’clock we finally were able to go inside and draw a sigh of relief.

What a way to meet your neighbors! I know I don't pass as well as I'd like and am resigned to it, but sharing a storage compartment in the dark with a total stranger was a bit daunting. Not a sight you see every day, I suppose.

At my age women in the skilled trades are still an unusual phenomenon; people tend to stare at women doing this sort of thing and our neighbors were no exception. I have to give our truck driving neighbor points, though. I must have been exuding femininity as I drilled and tapped in a dark hole; I detected nothing unusual in his attitude. Nice to know I'm so comfortable in a woman's role it works even at close quarters in the dark.

Wait a minute, I think I may have created a false impression there…

 

"Well, that was an interesting experience," commented Linda.

"You should have been there with your falsies almost falling out if you want to talk interesting."

"Hallie, you of all people should know I'm not the one sporting falsies in this marriage."

"Should I take off your bra and check?"

"Not until we get the bedroom opened up. Maybe you should try gluing the things down like they do in those stories."

"Been there, done that, have the scars to prove it."

"Funny, I've never noticed any scarring and I've examined the subject closely."

"So you have, and maybe I'm exaggerating a little."

"Honey, there ain't nothing little about your falsies."

"And therein lies the problem. You ever picked one of them up?"

"On occasion. Not exactly pumping iron, but they do have some heft to them."

"That they do. Before we met I tried gluing them on, but hanging a couple of pounds of silicone off you skin puts a lot of strain on the glue. Some little slip of a thing with a 32B bra can get away with a few ounces and go jogging or bouncing on a trampoline without any problems, but when a couple of pounds of silicone hanging off a more, uh, mature frame causes the glue to fail it takes a significant amount of skin with it. It bloody well hurt! I couldn't wear a bra for weeks until it healed."

"Oh, you poor baby. Maybe you should consider implants."

"Don't think I haven't thought of it, but so far the falsies have been enough."

"If you're happy then I'm happy. Lets get this place set up and we can remove each other's bras."

"Mmmmm…"

 

People who love camping are our kind of people. Even the twenty-somethings who sit around a fire and guzzle beer by the case tend to be friendly (sometimes a bit too friendly.) but goodhearted; willing to help but not being overly curious about the exact relationship of the two women in the trailer. We were often invited to share a campfire when we were in the park and were never disappointed when we joined our fellow campers.

Naturally, it rained most of the first week, but we had a great time anyway. There's something deeply satisfying about being in a nice, warm RV listening to the rain falling. With a refrigerator, stove, microwave, TV, computer loaded with good music and a couple of E-books full of our favorite authors you can ignore the weather and live the good life in the wilderness.

The weather did cooperate for a visit to the Cattaraugus County fair, a wonderful rural fair that has most of the traditional events of a rural fair. We loved seeing the 4-H kids and their animals, the quilts and handcrafts, the horses and simple, home-made exhibits. Looking at all the sewing and craft projects gave me an irrational urge to run back to my sewing machine. I did still have several projects waiting in my order book. I wonder if I could enter one of my creations in the Monroe County Fair. The county is not too agricultural any more, but they did have textile competitions. Hmmm…

I found that hiking in a skirt is very enjoyable, our neighbor's dog loved it and must have run three times the distance we walked. Evenings around the campfire were fun, Linda and I could usually get everyone singing.

We had a great time with the little girl next door and her mother; we had a nail painting party and tried out several colors. I had my hair enthusiastically braided by the precocious little urchin while Linda and her mother tried to keep a straight face as she explained how to braid hair. Our little friend and her family were delightful neighbors. By the end of the two weeks we felt at home and had pretty much figured out where to store things and how to dance around each other in a limited space. It was starting to feel like home.

It turns out that we took to our mobile home with gusto. If we were in a park we could go hiking or fishing, if we were closer to civilization we could play tourists and still go home to our own bed. By the end of the summer we were sorry to winterize the trailer and have to wait out the cold until we could use it again. By then we had no doubts we could live in a larger RV as a permanent home.

We spent much of the winter sorting stuff. One pile to keep, another to give to various relatives, another for the VOA or Goodwill, still another to leave at the curb. How is it you keep so much stuff that just plain isn't worth anything; stuff no one in their right mind would want to have when you give it up? I would have laughed at Linda's pain at downsizing her wardrobe to fit into our new home, but I was crying right along with her as I winnowed my own clothes. We had a 20 foot long enclosed porch off the upstairs bedroom, and between the two of us we had filled it all with feminine frippery. That's in addition to what we had in two bedroom closets and several dressers.

In January I once again hit a magic number: 62 ½. I filled out the forms for Social Security and started collecting checks. Turns out you can still work while you are on SS if you don't earn too much. It made a nice addition to my retirement check. Having been in a good union, my defined benefit pension and Social Security made for a very reasonable income.

Springtime was occupied by painting and other fixup around the house. It may seem ridiculous, but I have a painting skirt. I don't know if it helps, but it does make some boring tasks a little more tolerable. When people came over for the stuff we put on Craigslist, you'd be surprised how many men don't want a woman to help them move furniture. As the weeks passed the house got more and more empty. Not the back room though, it kept filling up with garage sale stuff.

The painful part was parting with my tools. After our summer trials I knew I would need a well equipped toolbox in the pickup to keep up with trailer maintenance. Paring down to the essentials was as painful as pairing down Hallie's wardrobe, but it had to be done.

Memorial Day will henceforth be known as the start of Garage Sale Hell. Fortunately, the sun was shining and the weather clement. Every table we owned and anything we could borrow was out on the lawn. Everything we hoped not to own any longer was on the tables. Then there were the bookshelves. The books (somewhere around 3000 of them, I didn't count) had been donated to the library. E-books had collapsed the used book market, you just couldn't sell them even to the used book store. Many months on the computer had put the essentials on our new Nook E-readers. (I only pirated the ones to replace the physical copies.) ((well, mostly.))

Linda had her Boutique on the porch with the better clothes we were leaving behind. I had my Tool Crib in the driveway. Bazillions of CDs were on the tables (the music safely on the laptops we had gotten for the road). We put prices on stuff, but we were easy to bargain with; it all had to go! Friends helped with the CDs (the little round plastic kind, thank you), a young man just starting out in the contracting business was overjoyed to find a home for my wayward parts. There were even several larger women who approved of my taste in clothes. By the end of the first weekend we had made a considerable dent in the pile and had close to $1,000 in the till. Sounds like a lot, but $1,000 for the accumulations of a lifetime - pretty sobering.

The next weekend was not so great, but we gamely set out our wares and hung the signs on the light poles near the house again. The crowd was smaller, but we cut prices drastically and things sold. Sunday about noon it started to cloud up and the weatherman was promising rain, so we just plain gave away anything that was left to anyone who would take it. It still took four trips in the pickup to transfer the leftovers to Goodwill, but at last the garage, the back room and the yard were clear. Time to call the Realtor.

I mentioned that Linda is an HGTV addict. I don't think there is any twelve step program for this particular addiction, and if there were she probably wouldn't take advantage of it. That's OK, even if I can't bring myself to watch TV in general and HGTV in particular.

About ten years ago I was thrown off a galloping horse and spent two weeks in the trauma ward recovering from multiple injuries - six broken ribs, two fractured vertebrae, a broken shoulder blade and a broken collar bone, not to mention a detached lung. Linda was right there at my bedside, watching HGTV, while I couldn't move far enough to get the remote without hurting. The worst part was I couldn't wear a bra or breast forms for many months without considerable pain, even now I get occasional twinges where the ribs broke.

Not that I'm complaining (much!) but when it came time to sell our home it paid off. With the junk gone and the house staged it took a miraculous four days to sell the house. It went on the market Tuesday and by Saturday we had two offers, one with no contingencies and even $100 more than the asking price. We took it and celebrated by heading out to Camping world with the RV in tow to see what we could find for our new home.

It wasn't quite so easy this time, we didn't take the first one we saw, but found a really nice Keystone Montana, 37 feet long and only five years old. The cool thing is that it had four slideouts, bed, kitchen, desk and couch/dining table. When you're traveling the whole thing folds up neatly, leaving no room inside; when you push the button a hydraulic pump whines and the slideouts slide out to open up the inside to a surprisingly spacious area.

The previous owners must have been neat freaks, the light tan carpeting was pristine, as was just about everything else. What sold it is the bedroom closet that extended the entire width of the trailer. We would still fight for space, but our pared down wardrobes had a place to hang. Too bad Linda and I are different sizes, it would have been nice to share clothes, but real life doesn't always work that way.

Another thing we hadn't anticipated - my trusty F150 pickup couldn't haul the bigger trailer. At eight tons we needed a bigger vehicle to tow it with. We soon found out that used diesel pickups (it had to be diesel for the power needed) were like hen's teeth; people who buy them run them into the ground, they don't trade them in every year. There just wasn't anything used available.

In the end we found an F350 diesel that had been on the dealer's lot for almost a year so they gave us a pretty good price. Pretty good means it cost more than our house did when I bought it twenty years ago. Even after trading in my beautiful red sportster, the 401(k) took another hit but came out ahead when the house sold, it had appreciated considerably. We were ready for our new life.

It's a good thing we had a neighbor with a very wide lot two doors down from us, the new 5th wheel would not fit in our driveway. It's also a good thing we were friendly with the neighbor, who let us park the RV there for the time it took to finally empty the house and fill the trailer. This required a few more trips to Goodwill, as we had overestimated what we could take with us. The generous neighbor also made out quite well in the deal as he got much of what we couldn't fit. We found a cheap storage place to keep some family furniture and such that we didn't want to get rid of in case we decided to settle down somewhere, put our good mattress in the RV and the RV mattress in storage and spent our last night at home in the trailer a couple of lots away with an extension and hose connected to our neighbor's place. I know that doesn't make sense, but that's how it worked.

 

Aside 2: The cats.

We have two cats, Curious George and Harry Houdini. We didn’t intend to have cats - in fact we had to give away our cats shortly after we were married because my cat allergy was making it difficult to breathe. I hated to do that because I’m a cat person. (Linda is a dog person. She’s also a horse person, which is why I spent those two weeks in the hospital, but we fortunately have no place to keep a horse!) In any case, one fine June day a few years ago I went to the garage to get something and found three tiny gray blobs wiggling on top of a pile of stuff. The gray blobs were kittens about four weeks old, one of the stray cats in the neighborhood had apparently moved her litter to our garage not many hours before.

Since we didn’t need three more stray cats in the neighborhood I brought them inside. All right - they were so freakin’ cute there was no way I could resist them. The plan was to raise them until they were big enough to find new homes, which involved running out for kitten formula and little tiny kitten baby bottles. We hand fed them for several weeks and took them with us everywhere as they needed to eat every five minutes or so - at least it seemed that way.

Curious George has an obvious name - from day one Georgie investigated everything and was on a lap as soon as anyone sat down. Harry Houdini was the one who escaped from the cage no matter how many exits we blocked. Harry is the original scardy-cat, she makes herself scarce when strangers are about. Oh yeah - they’re both female, but the names were attached long before we found that out. Does that make them transgendered? I suppose that would be appropriate.

 

We wanted to take the cats with us on our travels, but we had left them home in the smaller RV because it was just too much to handle in that small space. Now the challenge was to see if we could turn our two outdoor prowlers into house cats. First decision was what to do with them as we traveled. Looking at the trailer we decided to let them travel in the bedroom. A little time with the a friend's table saw ( I had sold my own)and I came up with a construction to block the space between the bedroom door and the staircase so the cats couldn’t escape.

After finally getting the trailer leveled we opened the bedroom door, but there were no cats. What we hadn’t noticed was when the slideout for the bed was slid in there were two large holes opened up beneath the bed, holes perfect for unhappy cats to hide in. When the slideouts are in there is absolutely no space in the trailer, so until we could get the cats out we couldn’t open up.

In frustration, I ended up fishing a broom handle through the holes and determined we could slide the bed out without puréeing the cats, so we carefully opened up, then slid the bed back in a few inches. Linda solved the problem with an inspiration - one can of cat food by the hole and they came out in only minutes. The cats usually have only had dry food, so the treat of canned food brought them running. The cats now travel in the shower - no way they can get out of it while we're moving.

Over the first week we solved such problems as where to put the catbox, and found that cats are truly nocturnal. They love to race from one of the trailer to the other. Oddly enough, both cats didn’t seem to mind being indoor cats, neither one attempted to escape for the first few weeks.

 

Aside 3: Odors in small spaces.

RVs come with large vent fans in the ceiling for good reason. With a small space it is pretty easy to fill it with one objectionable odor or another. (Hint: there's a dedicated exhaust fan in the toilet.) In cold weather you need to be careful about how much garlic you use in cooking. In hot weather you need to take the garbage out regularly. It was soon obvious that when the cats used the catbox you needed a gas mask even if you were in the bedroom with the door closed and the catbox was at the other end of the trailer.

I've alluded to the collection of tools necessary to keep up with maintenance in an RV, so I put said tools to use after a trip to Lowe's hardware. We now have a repurposed dryer vent fan connected to the catbox with a light dimmer to control the fan speed. (I didn't want to blow all the heated air out with the odors.) Works fine and problem solved.

 

Our first stop was a visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water, the incredible house built over a waterfall in Pennsylvania. Many years ago I watched a film showing how the house was retrofitted with modern materials to keep the outhrust porches from falling down into the water. Wright was a genius of an architect, but a lousy engineer, so many of his buildings have needed extensive renovation and updating to keep them standing. Of course he didn’t have our modern hi-tech materials that would have made his life easier.

The tour was fascinating and we learned a lot. Linda and I had read a book called Loving Frank some time ago about Frank and Mamah Borthwick Cheney, whose long term affair was a very popular scandal of the times. Ever since we have had an interest in Wright.

I've always harbored a secret love for the women's fashions of that era. The formal division of all things into "men's work" and "women's work" does trouble my feminist soul, but damn, those formal dresses look great! I know from experience that the corsets of that era are purely hell to wear all day long, but the result still looks wonderful. Talk about suffering for fashion! Girdles in the fifties and sixties were an improvement, I suppose, but I'm glad to be able to just wear a bra and be comfortable.

We were so impressed that we became members of Falling Water and Linda got an official Falling Waters hiking stick. We could now visit several Wright houses around the country for free, many of them on our intended travel path.

Onward into West Virginia and a beautiful state park on the Ohio River. As we left the first morning Curious George made a break for freedom and disappeared into the woods. We figured she would be back and left for the day, but we didn’t get back until about ten that night and when we got out of the pickup there was Georgie atop the trailer howling forlornly. How she got up there remains a mystery.

How she got down is less of a mystery, I climbed the ladder with a flashlight in my mouth, enticed her close enough to grab and descended the ladder with a very unhappy cat in one arm and clutching the ladder with the other. I did have the foresight to wear my heavy coat and use the leather work gloves I save for chopping wood and such. All the way down I was hoping the coat was thick enough to prevent her claws from getting into my breast forms as I clutched a very unhappy cat to my bosom. Georgie did not attempt to escape the trailer for many weeks thereafter.

In the Cincinnati area there was another Wright house, so we visited it and were once again impressed by his ability to design beautiful and functional homes. One of Wright's quirks was that he hated clutter, so he invented the carport. His customers needed a place to protect the newfangled automobiles but he hated having any walls to encourage cluttering in the garage. We could have used that philosophy in our old home!

Poor Frank, the carport at both Falling Water and Wescott House had been enclosed to make a visitor center. Wescott House had required extensive restoration as it had been cut up into apartments when the Wescotts fell on hard times and sold it. A few decades ago no one placed any special value on such architectural treasures, they were just buildings to be used as wanted or torn down if they were in the way.

The next day we spent at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Museum. The museum is a brilliant tribute to the men and women who suffered and gave their own freedom and even their lives to end the abomination of slavery. The juxtaposition of the best and worst of humanity is strangely fascinating and thought provoking. If you ever get to Cincinnati it is well worth a visit. As a man learning to be a woman the frequent reminders that women were regarded as little more than chattels for much of history was personally sobering.

Then things got really fun - our old friend Jasper was performing in Cincinnati. If you read about the night that Hallie first walked into the outside world, you'll remember that Linda and I opened for the wonderful Canadian folksinger, Jasper. He was vastly amused at the reaction of the promoter when I showed up as Hallie, and even invited Linda and I to join him as backup singers for a couple of songs in his second set. That was a very good night, it's not often you get to sing with someone as accomplished as Jasper.

Naturally, I had been prowling the Web to see if anyone we liked was performing near where we would be, and this was the first time it happened. We got there early and scored front row center seats. You can do that pretty easy in folk music, the venues are pretty small and I've never run into assigned seating.

If you're not into folk music, you probably don't realize that folk audiences will sing along lustily on the choruses. Linda and I are no exception, so we joined in the first time Jasper sang a chorus song. After the applause faded jasper leaned foreword and scanned the first row.

"I know those voices! Is that you, Hallie? Linda? What the heck are you guys doing here?"

I was amazed, Jasper remembered our names after only meeting us once. Linda was quick to reply. "I always wanted to be a groupie. We're stalking you!"

Looking back at the audience Jasper filled them in. "These guys are from upstate New York and they opened for me a while back. It was a memorable night and I never thought to find them here." Looking back at us, "I'll catch you guys at the break."

Wow, could this be our fifteen minutes of fame? So that's how Linda and I ended up singing backup on a couple of songs in the second set and being invited to the party after the concert. Folkies are the same wherever you go, we sang our hearts out until two in the morning.

The farther south we got the warmer it got. The warmer it got the less comfortable having silicone breast forms pressed against my chest became. Traveling was just fine; the pickup has AC and so does the RV, but 80 and 90 degree weather made for a clammy chest. Even worse, wriggling or trying to shift my breast forms in public was not good form. At times like these I thought longingly about having real breasts.

Naturally, Linda noticed my wiggling and not-so-surreptitious efforts to unstick my forms.

"So Hallie, have you discovered one of the downsides to wearing a bra?"

"Not so much the bra, but all this plastic on my chest does get rather annoying in the heat."

"Too bad they're so many people around, you could reach over and squeeze some of the sweat out of my boobs. You're not sweating alone."

"Normally an offer I would not refuse, my love, but people would stare."

"And they're not staring at you already?"

"Well, no more than usual, I guess. I would appreciate being able to wear something with a plunging neckline on a day like this."

"Maybe you should reconsider having that boob job."

"It still seems like a fantasy that isn't practical."

"You want a practical fantasy? My, you are a walking contradiction!"

"My life is a contradiction. As long as I'm fantasizing, why not a smaller body and a nice set of hips?"

"I've never heard of a 'hip job.' "

"And you certainly don't need a boob job."

"But maybe you do. If you're determined to stay Hallie then why only go half way? It's worked better than I thought it would, and I don't think I would freak out if you had real breasts."

"You wouldn't?"

"Maybe I could come to appreciate why you like to play with mine so much."

"It would be nice to see what it's like from the other side."

"I like it from this side, sweetie."

"The warmer it gets the more I wish I had a body that could carry off those skimpy blouses you can wear."

"Just don't think sleeveless, old girl. Your manly shoulders are just to damn masculine I'm afraid."

"Do they do arm jobs?"

"Only if you're into reincarnation."

"That would involve diapers - not my kind of kink."

"For which I am profoundly thankful!"

"You really wouldn't mind if I did something so permanent?"

"As it only involves secondary sexual characteristics I'm OK. Admit it - you do want to have your own breasts. You need to make some phone calls when we get to Austin."

"Think we can find a plastic surgeon who will do it without a note from a shrink?"

"Remember that gambler that got a boob job to win a bet? I think he still has them twenty years later. If he can do it, so can you."

"I do remember. A couple of years ago he was talking about having them removed, but I couldn't find anything on the Net that said he actually did it."

"You have been thinking about implants, haven't you?"

"You tempt me. How about a nice rose tattoo around the nipple?"

"Don't push your luck, Hallie!"

 

My wardrobe had changed since I retired Harry for Hallie; for that matter it had changed several times in a lifetime of crossdressing.

Naturally, I started by swiping my mother's clothes - what crossdresser didn't, at least if there wasn't an older sister handy - and graduated to miniskirts and sexy stuff when I finally had a place of my own. Then there was a dry period when I married my first wife - convinced that marriage would 'cure' me of the need to crossdress.

It hadn't. When my first wife was in the hospital with our first child, the urge overcame me and he spent those two days in skirts. Soon afterward I realized that Hallie wasn't going to go away, so I did what I thought was right and told my wife.

She wasn't thrilled, to say the least. Coping with a new baby is stressful and my timing was downright lousy, but we managed to cope. Over time we worked out rules we could both live with, but it hadn't saved the marriage.

What it had done was improve my wardrobe - nothing like your wife wincing at your purple skirt, green blouse and red platform shoes to start you thinking about how a woman of your age should dress. Still, I favored more dressy outfits and bold jewelry, but in those days Hallie seldom left the house so it didn't matter, even if almost all the woman of my acquaintance wore pants and casual clothes out in public.

That changed when Harry retired; Hallie's wardrobe became more causal in order to blend in more effectively. I still favored long skirts - varicose veins are so ugly! - and blouses that helped conceal the arms of a man who made his living as a machinist, but for everyday wear my wardrobe became yet more casual. Not that I didn't enjoy wearing the fancier things in the closet, but the opportunities became more limited.

Casual dressing had its limits, even when wandering the country in an RV and living in campgrounds. I just didn't like to wear t-shirts, the darn things just emphasized my all too masculine body too much. Years of effort had gone into my feminine image, (having a high tenor voice helped) but I still drew curious glances and occasional hostile ones.

What was an even greater help was living in two of the most tolerant communities in the world. The people drawn to folk music are pretty odd to start with, we have more than our share of oddballs and fragile people. I got amazingly little pushback when I came out publicly as Hallie on the stage for all the world to see.

Then there's those of us who go camping. The kind of person who abandons city life to spend a weekend in the woods has a very different outlook on life than most people. Those of us who chuck it all and live full time in an RV are pretty flexible in their outlook. We have to be - being rootless is not for everyone. Once again, I've gotten plenty of strange looks, but no overt hostility since we have been on the road.

Which leads us to some doubts on my part as we spent the fall wandering, gradually heading toward Texas as the spirit took us. I came of age during the height of the civil rights unrest - the image of the fat Southern cop and the violent redneck are still in my brain. I'm happy to report that's just where they remained - the people south of the Mason-Dixon line, at least those we ran into, are just people - not much different then those up north other than the accent.

As denizens of the frozen north one of the inducements of traveling was to escape the winter. While heavy sweaters and woolen skirts have their charms, I could do with about two weeks of winter around Christmas and then back to the seventies. Barring that, heading South sometime around October to escape the snow will do.

On the other hand, doing so involved a major decision. I was completely happy to live as Hallie. Linda was, well maybe 'ecstatic' would be overstating the case, but she was comfortable with me in a dress. But Thanksgiving was coming and we had been invited to my son's place in Austin for the holiday.

My son has known about my crossdressing since his teenage years, but he hasn't seen me dressed since I was the Bearded Lady at a circus themed Halloween party when he was seven. Yeah, I had a beard back then. Since he's pushing forty that's a long time ago. They knew in the abstract that I was Hallie now and if we joined them it would be as Hallie & Linda, Harry's clothes being long gone. I knew the family was going to have to meet Hallie sometime after I retired and the time had come.

 

"Hello?"

"Hi Wes, it's Dad."

(Silence)

Oh wait, I had grown so used to speaking as Hallie I didn't sound like 'Dad'.

"These days known as Hallie. Sorry to confuse you."

"Oh, that Dad. Not like you haven't confused me most of my life."

"Just doing my job, son."

"You're retired."

"Never going to retire when that job is so much fun."

"Oh joy…"

"As a matter of fact I've been pretty joyful since I retired Harry. Hallie is a lot more fun."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Good. I called to see if Hallie and Linda are still welcome for the Thanksgiving dinner you offered. Harry is one with history, but I don't want to make you or Billie uncomfortable."

"I guess you were serious when you said you weren't going to retire from the job of confusing me."

"Seriously, I'm Hallie from now on. I know it doesn't make sense to anyone that doesn't feel the need, but that's the way it is. I meant it when I said I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. If you don't want to meet me as Hallie then I'll live with that."

"You aren't going to be the bearded lady again, are you?"

"You remember that, do you?

"Kind of hard to forget. You made one ugly woman."

"Thanks, son. By the way, the beard and chest hair is gone permanently."

"Just doing my job, Dad… Or is that Mom?"

"Well, Dad seems to be a bit out of place at this point. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"Let's stick with Hallie. You won't mind if I slip once in a while?"

"We modern women haven't worn slips in years."

"Don't skirt the issue."

"Your humor hasn't improved since you moved south, has it?"

"Yours hasn't improved since you lost your mind, has it?"

"Nope."

"Good."

"External changes only, at least as the physical is concerned."

"Mental changes… Damn that was one tempting straight line you gave me, Hallie."

"Well, I am straight, you know. Despite what some people might think. Just not in the closet any more."

"Speaking of closets, how do you and Linda fit all your clothes into that trailer? You had more clothes than Mom in that attic closet you thought we didn't know about."

"With difficulty. Having a keen sense of fashion and accessorizing my wardrobe helps."

"Ask a foolish question, get a foolish answer."

"You doubt me? I'm cut to the quick!"

"I seem to remember a parent who lived in grubby jeans and T-shirts. Besides, I've seen the pictures of you in your closet, Hallie."

"Pictures from my callow youth, when my idea of femininity was yet undeveloped."

"It would have been better if those pictures stayed undeveloped."

"I have to agree. I will have you know that I now dress and comport myself as a mature woman."

"Mature? Now there's a word I don't often associate with you, Hallie."

"You always were a smart-ass kid. Glad you haven't changed."

"Well I can't say I'm glad you've changed, but if you and Linda are happy we can live with it."

"Thanks, son. I see from your Facebook page you've started doing house concerts."

"Yeah, I guess I've inherited that music gene from you. Nothing big, but every couple of months we invite someone over to play."

"And I bet you manage to find a way to back them up."

"Hell, I make them let me open the show. I have the power…"

"Since you're such a powerful promoter, how about having me and Linda for a show while we're there."

"Send me your resume and a demo tape and I'll consider it."

"Looks like that power has gone to your head."

"The world takeover is scheduled for Thanksgiving evening when everyone is sleeping off the turkey dinner."

"Beats watching football on the TV."

"We'll see you in a few weeks."

"And I'll try to restrain the turkey jokes at the Thanksgiving table."

"Not a chance, son. We're too much alike."

"Threats, she still makes threats. Guess you haven't changed that much. Bye Hallie."

 

We continued our travels, heading Southeast to Virginia to visit an old friend Linda had reconnected with on Facebook, arriving well after dark at our chosen campground. It was pitch black, no lights in the camping area except a lamp on the locked bathrooms. Somehow we managed to back the trailer into an open spot - they were all open - no one else was there. The cold seemed to be intent on following us South; it was cold enough that there was no water available, but we had a full water tank and didn’t worry. Cheapskates that we are we plugged in and used the electric heat to save propane and curled up for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning we went to check in and discovered we had gone to the closed section of the park. The open area, with complete hookups was just up the hill from where we stopped. We made do, we were not going to hassle closing up, moving and opening up again.

The evening with Linda's friend remains a surreal experience. We invited them to the trailer for dinner, so we were together in close quarters. Linda and her long lost friend fell to reminiscing about the past, leaving me and her husband to try to find a topic of conversation. He knew I wasn't a genetic female, but I did my best to look the part of a genetic female. Now two normal strangers trying to find something in common to talk about is bad enough, but I felt like the proverbial crossdressed elephant in the room.

After a bit of searching, we found out that he had been in the trades for many years, so we swapped stories of the stupid things we had found in an industrial setting. We hit a lull in the conversation and looked over at our spouses happily reminiscing.

"Do you get the feeling we've been left behind in a time warp?" he asked.

"I think they've both been sucked down some kind of deep well. Kind of like when I went to her high school reunion and everybody was talking about people and things I didn't know about."

"I've had the experience. At least then there were a bunch of mismatched partners hanging around so we could commiserate."

"Is that what we're doing, commiserating?" I asked.

"We could give it the old college try - wait a minute, make that the old High School try. Do we weep and moan or try to find something to talk about?"

"Weeping will screw up my makeup and I've never been into moaning. Let's try this - how did you two meet?"

"Ah, a fine neutral topic! Jody and I met when we both got screwed by a guy who signed us up for lawn care, us and a couple of hundred other suckers. It was quite a scandal for a small town, he took in enough to buy a new pickup and split, leaving us all high and dry."

"Jeez, pretty much the same thing happened in Rochester, except it was snow plowing."

"I suppose there are those who will try to make a fast buck anywhere. We were two of the people who gave evidence against him and we spent a long time waiting around and talking while the trial dragged on. His lawyer fought every little thing and dragged it out for days. We had a little party when he got put away and kept seeing each other. These days we do our own yard work together."

"Romance among the roses, or some such. People meet in the strangest ways."

"How did you meet Linda?"

"Her daughter and my son were seeing each other and playing in a bluegrass band together; we met when we both came to their first gig. I was weirded out because I was into sex, drugs and rock-n-roll back then. She started singing harmony with me at the party afterwards and we fell in love, even if our kids split up later."

"Funny the ways people can get together."

"If we hadn't met I'd probably be a drugged-out homeless loser rotting on the street corner somewhere. I was headed downhill after a divorce. I got interested in her and the music naturally followed."

"So she made you the woman you are today?" He said it with a gleam in his eye and a grin.

"Nah, I was a crossdresser long before that. She did teach me how to dress and act so I wasn't trying to be a groupie for the some heavy metal band."

"You'll pardon me if that image causes me some consternation?"

"It causes me more than a little consternation. Some memories are painful! I know I didn't get the best body to try to live like a woman, but I do try."

"Whatever floats your boat, Hallie. Good people come in all flavors."

"Now I feel like a jelly bean."

"As long as you don't try to wear a bunny suit to deliver the candy…"

My groan attracted the attention of the ladies.

"What are you guys doing over there?"

"Just contemplating the odd ways people meet."

"And the odd people you meet, no doubt."

"I don't find your husband odd at all, madam." I replied.

What could she say to that?

I've mentioned my fondness for period clothing in the heyday of Frank Lloyd Wright, but visiting Colonial Williamsburg offered some wonderful opportunities. A little research on the Internet revealed a costumer willing to rent dresses appropriate to the period. Naturally, we elected to appear as well-to-do women, so Linda and I spent two glorious days in voluminous skirts, satin blouses and bonnets as we explored the place. We fit in so well that we were sometimes taken to be some of the paid staff that told you what life was like in the revolutionary era.

I guess that evening was pretty much how our lives ran on the road. I've run into some small number of people who are offended that I choose to live my life as Hallie, but the vast majority give me some odd glances and just got on with whatever they're doing. I wasn't lucky enough to draw a body that could just let me sink into the river of femininity, but with practice and concentration I have been able to live my dream without major strife. There's a mindset that goes with being able to give up a home and just let whatever happens happen.

There are exceptions - like my brother. We came within a few miles of his home in Richmond but I didn't even call. If I got the liberal live-and-let-live genes in the family, he got the conservative ones and he had no problem telling me I am a perverted SOB whose philosophy was ruining the country. When I became Hallie he was livid. He unfriended me on Facebook but it didn't matter much as I had taken him off my news feed because of the crap he posts. My sisters just think I'm crazy, but they knew that years before I retired as Hallie.

Then there are the exceptions like the North Carolina legislature. I admit that I was looking forward to causing some trouble as we passed through the state. Now, if you've read any crossdressing stories, you'll know that using a public women's room often figures prominently in them; the whole idea is to use the women's room without raising a hue and cry, right? Well, the bigoted beggars had me determined to use the urinals in the Legislature Building and as many men's rooms as I could in North Carolina.

I got my first chance at the "Welcome Center" that you find whenever you enter a new state on the Interstate Highway System. I found it highly ironic that North Carolina had made it abundantly clear that I was not welcome there but still put up a big sign proclaiming "WELCOME TO NORTH CAROLINA."

On one hand, Linda was just as pissed off by bigotry as I was, but not so sure she was up to bailing me out of the local hoosegow if things went wrong.

"How could I get arrested for complying with the law?" I replied with my most innocent expression. "Anyway, it's not like I haven't spent a few nights in the drunk tank before I reformed myself."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you weren't wearing a dress on those occasions."

"Well, there was one occasion when I was wearing stockings, panties and a training bra under my jeans and leather jacket. Good thing they didn't think a strip search was needed."

"The mind boggles… So what's your plan?"

"I think I'll just peruse the literature racks for a while until someone heads into the men's room, then I'll make my move."

"I don't suppose you have a 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card in your purse?"

"Well, I do gotta GO and intend to pass water…"

"I just hope your bail isn't more than $200."

 

OK, I'll admit to you I was more than a little nervous. By this time I had become accustomed to using the Ladies Room, it was more than a little nerve-wracking to contemplate reverting to the Men's room despite my unaltered anatomy. I was damned comfortable in my role as Hallie; Harry was no more than a slightly unreal memory.

I didn't have to wait long, it was a busy weekend and there were lots of other folks stopping to relieve themselves after long hours on the road. In fact, I lucked out - an entire bus load of passengers came crowding in the front door, neatly splitting into masculine and feminine waves of humanity intent on one urgent objective.

I made my move, heading unerringly for the door with the figure displaying two separate legs.

"Ma'am!

I steadfastly ignored the cry.

"MA'AM!!"

I almost felt sorry for the poor little old lady behind the information desk. She wasn't in on the caper.

"I turned, and in my best feminine voice replied, "Just complying with the law, darlin'." I pride myself that I managed a bit of a Southern drawl as I pushed open the door.

Despite the fact that I had used the Men's Room for the vast majority of my life, it was still a shock to see the long line of urinals, complete with a long line of men in front of them. My entrance went unheralded at first; the men were intent on their mission. At last one of them shook himself and turned, his jaw dropping.

"Uh… Lady…"

On queue every head turned toward me.

"Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, just complying with the law."

I had come prepared with knee-highs so I was able to lift my skirt in front of the urinal and do what I had come for. Not for me the shy retiring woman in her individual stall, but I indulged in the previously masculine only ritual of letting fly while standing up.

The result was eminently satisfactory! It was so silent that you could hear, pardon the image, the piss drop in the urinal. Then came the nervous laughter, a few outraged comments, and one clear voice: "I knew this would happen when those damn fools passed that asinine law!"

"Glad to know someone in this benighted state has some common sense, brother," I replied as I calmly washed my hands and exited.

Linda was waiting outside the door, the information lady fretting by her side.

"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am. Maybe you should write to you legislators and tell them they have better things to do than pass idiotic bathroom laws."

Exit, smiling and satisfied, stage left.

Lest you think that all we did in North Carolina was scandalize people in bathrooms, we did find a great deal to see. If you head for the mountains there are spectacular waterfalls and several caves like Luray Caverns. If you head for the seashore there is much to appreciate.

Stone Mountain outside Atlanta deserves a mention. It is a beautiful park, but somewhat creepy as it is unabashedly tries to make heroes of the people who fought to keep other people enslaved. It is a beautiful place, a mountain of bald stone rising from the wooded hills near Atlanta. We took the cable car to the top of the mountain and there I took this shot.

I don't have a clue who these two beautiful little girls are, but seeing them together at the top of a Confederate monument spoke volumes to me. No matter how hard some people try to spread hate there are many who will spread love just by living and cherishing life.

 

When you spend your time traveling there is a temptation to turn a story into a travelogue. There is an RV park near Mobile Alabama that has a Welsh narrow gauge railroad running around it and Texas has a truly superb state park system. Everywhere we went we found something to enjoy.

Being retired means that every day of the week is a Saturday, you can kick back and do what you damn well please, so we simply traveled and enjoyed ourselves. We were in Steve Austin State Park just outside of Houston the weekend before Thanksgiving when we noticed we suddenly had lots of neighbors - the only way we notice that a weekend has rolled around was when the RV park is suddenly full of people.

November in Texas can be quite warm, we had been enjoying 80° temperatures and I was getting quite a bit of enjoyment wearing my summerweight dresses and skirts. I am partial to gauzy, colorful fabrics when the weather permits - it helps to cover up my too large arms and shoulders but lets me stay cool enough to enjoy the weather. For the past several nights, it had gotten a bit foggy as dusk approached, and the deer that lived in the park would magically appear out of the mists as I sat there watching. Linda and I had found the best place to watch was usually near the playground, there were benches to sit on and lots of open space for the deer to graze.

Linda was caught in her book that evening, so I went walking alone. I arrived at the playground bench just as the last of the kids were giving up and noisily going home as darkness was falling. I was surprised to see one young man still sitting on a bench. As he seemed lost in thought, I sat and waited for the deer to realize the thundering herd of children had gone home and reappear from the mists.

The streetlights provided cones of misty light as it got darker, but there was plenty of light to see as the not-so-shy animals wandered closer, nibbling on whatever appealed to them on the ground. Since both the young man and I were perfectly still, they simply ignored us as they dined.

I had come prepared to be a scofflaw. I know you're not supposed to feed the animals, but I had a couple of cut-up apples in a baggie and enticed them closer by tossing a few pieces toward them. A couple of the bolder animals took the bait and came closer. Nodding to my fellow bench-lounger I handed him the bag of apple slices and we sat there contentedly letting the deer eat out of our hands. I swear look in those deep brown eyes was one of sad reproach when I ran out of food.

"Sorry, girl," I said softly, "I'm fresh out of apple. You'll have to go back to your natural diet."

With a wry expression the young man sighed and said "Too bad it isn't so easy to have real girls eating out of my hand."

"A good looking dude like you doesn't have the ladies eating out of his hand? Texas must be a stranger place than I imagined! 'Course, I don't see a big hat and tooled leather boots so maybe you're a visitor, too."

"Born and bred, pardner," he drawled outrageously. "Being a visitor you probably haven't checked out Houston housing prices. With the oil bust my folks can barely afford a crappy apartment, let alone a five hundred dollar pair of boots."

"That bad, huh? I haven't bought a new pair of boots since I sold my Hog years ago, but they do run pretty high for the fancy ones."

"You rode a hog?" the poor boy was incredulous.

" '86 Fat Bob with a 1340cc engine. Nice bike, but I sold her when I got married. It wasn't so much fun any more when I quit drinking"

"You were a motorcycle Momma?" The incredulous tone was back in his voice.

"Yup! Black leather was a great deal sexier when I was a lot younger and a lot thinner. Hair down to my ass and some fine black leather boots that had heels to die for."

I wasn't about to tell him I never wore that outfit out of the house back then. I didn't want to ruin the image.

"Wow! The school I go to the girls would run screaming from a moped, let alone a great bike like that."

"What is this generation coming to?" I laughed. "We made enough money playing heavy metal for drunks at the local biker bar I had my own wheels by the time I was nineteen. When you get that drunk it don't matter if the band is any good as long as it's loud and there's a sexy girl at the mike. We would charge the boys twenty bucks in the tip jar every time someone idiot hollered 'Free Bird!' "

And how I dreamed that sexy girl was me. Fat chance!

"Free Bird? Around here Freebird's is a Mexican restaurant."

"Lordy me, I must be ancient. Lynyrd Skynyrd?"

"I think my grandpa likes him."

"Grandpa! Boy, just go get me my walker and I'll go toddle back to the Home before they find I've gone missing. Now I really feel old!"

"Sorry!"

"Don't worry, my friend. I get these reminders these days. I'm Hallie, by the way."

"I'm Barry."

"Not a name I'd expect in the Great State of Texas."

"That's because I was born in Massachusetts. Dad followed the oil boom down here until it went bust. We like it but it's hard these days. Living in a tent for the weekend is a rare treat."

"Now that brings back some fond memories of when I was your age and my family went camping. I won't shock you with tales of the camping I did with my Hog and all the loose women and drunk guys I hung around with. These days the wife and I live in the Montana just down the road there."

"Your… wife?"

"Yeah, we get that a lot, especially here in the South. We're legal and everything, but it does tend to get some people excited. We generally don't bring it up, but I kind of got carried away there."

"Do the people at the Home let you sleep together?"

"Smartass. I like that in a kid."

"That's about as rare as a girl that would go out with me."

"Speaking as an old fart, you don't look half bad to me, but that may be part of the problem."

"Maybe I ought to ask Grandma if she has any single friends."

"You could do worse - find a rich one and then the young ones will like your money when she goes."

"I'd rather start a magachurch. I'd feel better about fleecing a bunch of suckers than someone I might love."

"You keep talking like that, son, and they're going to ship you back to Massachusetts."

"As long as it's summer when they do it. I've had enough of Houston summers to last me a lifetime."

"And I've had enough of New York winters to last me a lifetime, which is why I'm down here."

"I really don't remember much about winter, we left when I was seven and we've been in warm places ever since."

"You haven't missed much, believe me. How the devil did we end up talking about crappy winters when we started with you wanting to have girls eating out of your hand?"

"I guess it's because you're pretty easy to talk to. I don't have to worry if my folks are gonna freak."

"Funny… I've been called a freak for most of my life. I'm kinda proud of it."

"I bet you're old enough not to worry about what your parents will do to you."

"Barry, that happened when I was about seven."

"Right!"

"No, really. 'Course I got my ass whipped more times than I can count but I figure it was worth it. Actually, my folks were pretty cool, I just had to get old enough to appreciate them. If I had to take a guess, any parents who are cool enough to take the family camping are going to be easier than most to talk to, Right? But then I also guess your problem is more talking to girls than parents."

"Uh… yeah."

"You're in good company, my friend. I had a hell of a time asking someone for a date back when I was your age."

"But you're a girl! Uh.. I mean a woman."

"I was a bona fide, certified, pure-bread, dyed-in-the-wool hippie back then. We were determined to throw off the bounds of sexism and live the life of free love. But asking for a date still scared the crap out of me. I guess not much has changed, eh?"

"I guess not. I get all tongue-tied and my brain freezes when I try to talk to a girl."

"You're not doing too bad with me."

"Yeah but…"

"I know, I'm an old fart and you don't want to take me out dancing."

"Crap! I can just see my folks if I took you out on a date!"

"My wife would be a bit surprised, too." I laughed. "There anyone special you have in mind for this date?"

"Yeah. Her name's Lin Yao."

"Oy Vey! Courting a Chinese girl in the Great State Of Texas. You have some mighty tall ambitions, my boy."

"There are lots of Chinese in Houston, been there since forever and more came with the oil business."

"You learn something new every day - if you're lucky. I grew up with the image of a fat Redneck Southern Sheriff with a billy club who hated anyone who wasn't like him. Pardon my big mouth, I should know better after having spent a month driving through that same South."

"It's not like there aren't enough assholes around this place, but that's not a problem for me."

"Just plain old anxiety and paralysis of the tongue, eh?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, my wife tells me she had the same problem with boys. She tried whacking them over the head to unstick their tongues, but that didn't work too well."

"That would get you expelled for bullying these days."

"Then try what I did, do the 'study together' thing, join some club or activity at the school she's interested in, screw up you courage and sit with her at lunch. Talk about things that don't freak you out, stay away from anything even vaguely like dating until she knows you better. Just be friends - or maybe I should say be a closer friend if you're friends already. Too bad she's not here or you could get her to come over to our campfire and listen to me and Linda sing."

"But she is here, her family likes camping, too."

"So why aren't you hanging out over at her place?"

"Uh…"

"Ask a stupid question… Barry, my friend, let's take a stroll over to my place and you can meet Linda. Then we can casually walk by your girl's tent and strike up a conversation, which will lead to inviting them over to our campfire for some singing. Probably better include your folks, I guess."

"Really?"

"Yup. Just think of me as your Fairy Godmother. I do have to warn you, we play Folk Music on acoustic instruments. Still interested?"

It was fun to watch the two of them trying to be discrete about their mating dance, but we all had a pretty good time.