Meet Duke Miller

January 27, 2014March 10, 2026JT Twissel 24 Comments

Below is my original introduction to Duke Miller, a writer who earlier this year re-released a truly unforgettable collection of stories based on the years he spent working as an aid worker. The new edition contains sections from his other publication: Handbook for the Hopeless and is available for sale on Amazon.

Duke Miller with Missa Him (I’ve been told not to ask about the name) the dog who saved him when he fell off the cliff and got inspired to write LADWD.

Now readers, I did not sneak into his boudoir to get this shot. This is honest-to-God the picture Duke Miller sent me for this post which, since the title of his book includes “dog,” is supposed to prove that he actually does live with dogs – or at least sleep with them.

I met Duke in the author chat room on Booktrope’s (our publisher’s) internal web site in October 2013. It was a pretty dull place until he showed up. Nothing but tips on how to market your book, or meet and greets with other authors. He was so honest, so hilarious, so original I just had to check out his book on Wattpad.

WOW. He blew me away. So much so that I wrote a blurb for the back cover of his first edition, along with several other authors.

Here’s what I wrote: “If John Lennon had been an aid worker in the dark places of the world, this is the book he would have written. Duke Miller has the same brutal poet’s soul, which, combined with a dry wit and illuminating vision, should make this book an instant classic.”

But instead of going on my word, read his words for yourself. From the Prologue to LIVING AND DYING WITH DOGS.

“As I lay there, the rocks were grinding me into dust and then the title and voice of this book came to me. They were competing with my need to die properly at the base of the cliff, but I didn’t die. I crawled back up telling myself that I could make it as my dogs flew around me with dog capes fluttering in the air. I started writing in my mind that night in the hospital: blood for ink, air for pages, past for honesty. “Living and Dying with Dogs” is not a novel or a collection of short stories. It’s a lack of character study; a kind of long , sad poem written in constantly updating akashic sentences that have evolved into skins or life maps that hang in the closet of my heart. It’s about how I die. Paint by the numbers and with each pigment, you add what I was and what I am and maybe what I hope to be. The images are the people I left behind. I don’t want to take them with me into oblivion at the bottom of some new cliff just ahead. You take these emotions , these characters. If you don’t mind, let them loiter in your heart for a few days or longer. Most of them had a pretty rough time. They’d like that.

Duke with his first friend in Guanajuanto, a hotel owner and spaceship designer. Although a mad genius and plastic artist, he is also a force for good – fighting street gangs and sometimes winning.

The voice you will be hearing bets on the dying, fiddles with autofellatio, smokes opium, takes amphetamines, brushes against pedophilia, leaves people for dead , drinks too much, says things he shouldn’t, aborts babies, disappoints lovers, kicks the dying, weeps uncontrollably , causes his tortured lover to go to jail, can’t sleep, lies, and looks upon orgasms as a sort of Sasquatch of the lower realms. But other than that, he’s a good guy and if you could sit with him over a beer or a joint , you’d probably like him. Think of him as a prehistoric creature, swishing his tail across the yellow grass of a savanna; oblivious to the world around him, but rising up like a primordial freeway sign pointing the way towards the unfinished off ramp. Which raises the ancient questions of this poem: Can a person care and not care at the same time? Why do good people do bad things? Why do bad people do good things?”

The Mourning Dove Hopes

January 16, 2014March 29, 2023JT Twissel 5 Comments

This week I’m going through the edits of book two, tentatively called The Graduation Present

I traveled all over Europe in this ancient VW bug… Only broke down once!

The story is very, very, very loosely based on the year I spent in Europe back in 1970, a time when two wars waged – the Cold War and the Vietnam War. However it was a different war that still cast a dark cloud over the continent. World War II. The heroine/narrator suffers from overactive imagination syndrome thus when she is thrust into perplexing situations, she overreacts. It doesn’t help that her guardian is a paradox. On one hand he is a hopeless romantic, a sappy sentimentalist and gregariously generous. On the other, he has a bawdy sense of humor that borders on lewd, cannot be pried from Happy Hour, and he may work for dark forces of evil lurking within the CIA.

"Jan at fifteen" by Connemoira — “Jan at fifteen” by Connemoira

What results is a comic romp through Europe to solve a mystery which may not exist as our heroine, Miss Riley Ann O’Tannen, learns that wars cast long shadows but somehow people survive. They might not survive with the same hopes and aspirations as privileged Americans, but they do survive and usually with a realization of what is really important. Pub date is in May 2014.

On to Pretty Kitty news:

Rice flavored with garlic? You gotta be kidding.

Despite all manner of wooing, Pretty Kitty has not been convinced to come inside and join the family. She’s getting treats, Friskies and rice flavored with garlic (hubby assures me that cats can’t resist rice flavored with garlic but I have my doubts.) However, she still runs when we try to pet her. Sigh. Hubby is about to give up hope.

You’re feeding the fuzz ball? Well, good luck chump!

The squirrels continue to be pissed that hubby is cavorting with Pretty Kitty. They’ve taken to chattering angrily at us from tree limbs.

The mourning dove waits for his mate to return.

I end with the sad story of this mourning dove. He used to have a mate (mourning doves mate for life) however then the hawk came along and now the one sits in the cherry tree near where his mate was killed and waits. Apparently hope knows no end for the mourning dove.

Write about cats instead!

January 6, 2014October 30, 2014JT Twissel 5 Comments

The following is a repost in honor of Cat Day!

We call this little sweetie Pretty Kitty. She shows up at our back door every morning looking hungry. At first we shooed her away

“What do I look like? Cat food?”

because of this little guy and his friends who aren’t particularly fond of kitties whether they’re pretty or not.

But she would retreat only as far as the hill above us and look down, sometimes sneaking onto the deck when she thought we weren’t watching to gain a prime perch from which to hunt. As far as we know, she’s not a very good birder. We haven’t found piles of feathers or half-eaten carcasses. We did however catch a rat. Darn, I guess she’s not a ratter either.

Before Christmas hubby began to worry that she might be an abandoned cat so he decided to put out a bowl of Friskies leftover from our cat sitting days to see what she did.

“Delete, delete, delete – will you ever learn how to use a semi-colon?!”

(here’s a pic of Rocket Kitty, our grandcat.

Like many cats associated with writers. Rocket Kitty provides free editing services whenever he visits.)

Hubby set Pretty Kitty’s bowl far away from the railing where his other pets (the birds, quail and squirrels) expect their treats but near enough so that we could watch what she did. Sure enough, she gobbled everything we set out. Still her coat appears well-groomed, her eyes bright. Maybe she just likes Friskies better than what she’s getting at home. She still runs when we get too close but gradually she’s let us near enough to snap a few pics so I could go on line and figure out what kind of cat she is. The closest breed seems to be this one: http://animal.discovery.com/tv-shows/cats-101/videos/ragdoll.htm

A ragdoll cat is so named because of their propensity to go limp when picked up. They’re also called “puppy cats” because they like to follow their owners around, particularly when young. They’ve got big bones, silky fur and bright blue eyes. They are also one of the largest cat breeds. You can see in this pic just how big Pretty Kitty is…

Anyway, six days into the New Year and I’ve already broken my resolution to write only about dogs. Worse yet, I am falling in love with a kitty who probably has a home somewhere and alas my poor heart will be broken once again. My, my. 2014 does not portent well for the Twissel so far. Last year at this time, I’d just a signed a contract with Booktrope and expected the sky to open. It did not. Now another book’s going through the process. Will it set the world on fire? Probably not. Will Pretty Kitty eventually go limp in my arms? Who knows. Each new year comes with a question mark and no promises. Just hopes and dreams and schemes which may go broke. That’s why God gave us friends. Okay, God didn’t give us friends. If you want friends, you’ve gotta work for them which is a better New Year’s resolution than not writing about dogs, don’t you think?

Neither a mountain lion nor a teenage driver but a bird.

Now that all the holiday folderol is over, we should post a flyer about Pretty Kitty around the neighborhood. Hubby will undoubtedly give a thorough tongue lashing to her owners, if indeed they come forward. Ours is a dangerous neighborhood for kitties – mountain lions, raccoons and big dogs. Not to mention, teen drivers.

Sigh. I’ll let you know how it goes and again, sorry about the dog thing. Resolutions are meant to be broken.

Kitty luxuriating in his kitty condo.

Update Oct. 29: Well, as those of you who’ve followed the blog all year know, Pretty Kitty turned out to be a boy and because of his green eyes, he cannot be a ragdoll. However he doesn’t seem to care. He’s now in possession of two humans who buy him all sort of treats and cater to his every need.

“What greater gift than the love of a cat.” Charles Dickens

Write About Dogs

December 30, 2013August 28, 2014JT Twissel 3 Comments

On January 6th, I will have been blogging for a year. Insane, I know. I think I have seven followers however, because this is blog number 50, lack of followers hasn’t stymied my blog vigor. Well, it’s hardly vigor. Once a week I sit down at my computer with a blank mind. I swear, a completely blank mind. Then a crazy idea enters my head and before impulse control can kick in, I’m off and running. So far, I written about:

to name just a few.

However, my most popular blog was Dog Daze which included this picture of two canines totally unrelated to me which I think demonstrates that if you want readers, write about dogs or at least include the word “dog” in your title along with a picture of some adorable mutt.

On another though similar note:

Because top ten lists are so blasted popular this time of year, I’ve decided to post a list of my top ten blogs for the year 2013 (based on comments received):

Dog Daze – an ode to small town Fourth of Julys
Cloud Forests and Capybaras – interview with author Cinda MacKinnon (includes a picture of her adorable dog Gaston)
Gaston
Moby Jan – golfing in the Mayan Jungle
#rukidding – tweeting from gynecological stirrups
Sign in OBGYN waiting room
Dem Dam Hippies’ Christmas in Have You Been Saved Missouri – the Hong Kong flu and an ice storm enhance the Xmas experience
Shattered Glass, Shattered Lives – Melody Paris describing her inspiration for the cover of FLIPKA
Black-eyed Susans – memories of a tornado in Michigan
Sigmund Freudicon at Your Service – the first couple of pages of FLIPKA posted by Twissel’s handler after her breakdown
Release Anxieties – post publication jitters
Man Training 1.0 – Hubby attempts to train squirrels, squirrels instead train man.
Squirrel trains man

I keep expecting someone to pop up and say “stop this blogging nonsense. You clearly have nothing to say that makes any sense” but they haven’t and so I suppose I’ll continue on next year, however, henceforth I’ll include the word “dog” in all my titles. Then I’ll make it a point to post pictures every doggie and kitty I come across.

Happy New Year, everyone.

The Ice Storm Cometh

December 14, 2013November 30, 2018JT Twissel 6 Comments

Part Two (and Conclusion of) Dem Dam Hippies’ Christmas in Have-You-Been-Saved Missouri

The day before Christmas an ice monster crept over the town of Greenwood, his goal, to flash freeze everything living and lock us in houses where our illusion of safety would be challenged by falling trees, downed power lines and out-of-control fires. Between the ho, ho, ho of jolly Christmas songs, we heard horror story after horror story over the radio, pleas from officials to stay off the roads.

Christmas Eve the Ice Monster still controlled the town. We had no tree, no stockings, no presents. Family managed to get through on the phone, disappointed we hadn’t gotten the packages they’d sent. But there was no mail delivery service in Greenwood. Just a tiny one-room post office two blocks away where you went to “call on” your mail and neither Jo or I had had the strength to walk down there. Christmas lights across the street flickered in the frozen boughs of trees kneeling to the gods for mercy. We went to bed early, fully dressed and under every blanket we could find.

In the morning the ice covered windows acted as prisms, sending the colors of the rainbow through the room as the winds outside whispered – the Ice Monster has fed upon the innocent and is moving on. For the first time in days I’d woken with a growling stomach and not a headache. “I’m hungry,” I said to Jo who stumbled from the bedroom. Outside we heard children yelping as they mounted new sleighs and took to the ice covered streets.

“Hot damn! So am I!” Jo opened our sole kitchen cabinet. “Look what I found! A bran muffin mix and it only needs water. Good thing cause we bloody well don’t have anything else.” She turned on the water but nothing came out. “Whelp, no water either. The pipes are frozen.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to drink melted ice.” I said as she melted one of the icicles formerly hanging from the eaves.

“Why the hell not?” I had no idea why the hell not and so I just watched as she whipped up the bran muffins and fired up the old gas stove. “And I also found some hot cider mix! I do declare, we’re in for a real feast now.”

I can still remember children shrieking as they slid down the closed roads, the hot apple cider and bran muffins tasting better than any gourmet meal I’d ever had. Happy to be alive, we danced to Jefferson Airplane:One pill makes you larger, the other makes you small, and the one mother gives you doesn’t do anything at all. Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall!!

As we danced around the room, townsfolk walking past and hearing the unholy ruckus, shook their heads, “Dem dam hippies sure are crazy.”

Ah yes, no Christmas since as ever been so sweet.

Dem Dam Hippies’ Christmas in Have-You-Been-Saved Misery

December 8, 2013July 20, 2024JT Twissel 16 Comments

The year the Hong Kong flu swept across America killing scores of people and leaving others begging for death, I was a “Christmas Helper” assigned to the home goods department of a Macy’s in downtown Kansas City Missouri. If you’ve ever taken a seasonal job selling products you know nothing about then you’ll understand why I spent most of my time in the stock room. No one ever found anything in the stock room and I could sit in there forever wondering why anyone would want a tangerine colored crockpot.

The store was located not far from the abandoned stockyards in an area where few businesses still survived but I was just a teenager with few lines on my resume. And so I’d quickly and without thinking taken a minimum wage job an hour by bus from Greenwood Missouri where I “crashed” with a friend (Joellen) a few years old and much wiser than me.

Joellen’s husband had made the unfortunate decision to sign up for the National Guard in 1966. First, he was shipped from Reno Nevada to Missouri and then to Japan. She’d followed him to Missouri (they were newlyweds) and, thinking they’d be there for awhile, enrolled in graduate school. Now she was stuck in Greenwood, a town south of KC with a welcome sign that included the phrase Have You Been Saved?

After high school, my first attempt to voyage out into the world had ended in a Mennonite cornfield with one friend hospitalized, the other pregnant, and me with a fork stuck in my leg, “Come live with me,” she’d written,”and get your shit together.” She had more faith in me than I did.

We were known in Greenwood as “dem dam hippies” who lived in a three room shack with little insulation, leaky windows and a wall heater that barely kept the place warm. The car was stored in an attached lean-to but in order to keep the engine block from freezing, we had to run an extension cord out to a lamp underneath the hood. It didn’t always work. Every morning I drove with Jo to the campus of the University of Missouri, Kansas City (UMKC) then took a bus down to Macys.

Five days before Christmas my body began to ache. The bars, barbecue joints, and Victorian boarding houses along the route back to the campus were decorated for the season with blinking lights and Santa Clauses but in my worsening condition, they were as sinister as ghouls in a carnival funhouse. I remember seeing my reflection in the window on that dark, cold night. Instead of eighteen I looked eighty (or as my mother would say “death warmed over”).

I cried as I waited for Jo outside her class. All around were murals Thomas Hart Benton had painted in his lean and feverish years, scenes of farm life that felt so cold and lifeless I decided he must have hated his subjects. I tried to convince myself that a good night’s sleep was all I needed but deep down I knew it was the Hong Kong flu.

The next morning I was barely able to lift my head from the pillow. I managed to call Macys only to be fired but didn’t care. I was about to die so what did it matter. Some time during the next three days Jo stopped checking on me which meant she’d also been stricken. The phone rang and rang and rang until whoever was on the other end gave up. Finally I was able to stand for longer than a few minutes without swooning but, as so often happens when you think the worse has come and gone, you find out it was only a teaser for the main event.

Click here to read the conclusion The Ice Storm Cometh.

Cloud Forests and Capybaras Part 2

July 26, 2013August 28, 2014JT Twissel Leave a comment

Love this picture of Cinda getting chummy with the dolphins! http://www.cindamackinnon.wordpress.com

Today I’m posting the second half of my interview with Cinda MacKinnon, the author of A PLACE IN THE WORLD. During the first part of the interview we talked about the wonders of Colombia, the setting of her book and then we switched gears to talk more about her.

JT: When you finally settled in the U.S., what rocked your world?

CCM: I don’t know if it really rocked my world but I rediscovered libraries! In Bogota every time one of my friends would get a new book in English, we’d all pass it around like it was the greatest thing in the world. It didn’t matter if it was pulp fiction – it was a book!

Books, books! A much better obsession that TV!

CCM: I”m embarrassed to admit I also discovered cable television. We had a TV in Colombia but only watched it once a week, when the I Love Lucy show was on.

My husband was appalled! But in the U.S. people talk about all the shows they watched growing up like Leave it to Beaver, which I’d never seen so, of course, I had no point of reference. That whole part of the American culture was alien to me.

JT: And did you also go bonkers over McDonalds’ burgers?

CCM (chuckling) Did I ever tell you about the McDonalds’ connection?

JT: No what’s that?

This innocent looking sandwich is destroying the rain forests!

CCM: Well, one of the reasons the rain forests are disappearing is to feed America’s love affair with hamburgers. Costa Rica lost, I forgot the percentage but I can look it up for you, a lot more of their rain forests than Colombia and the reason was cattle ranching.

JT: So to save the rain forests we should eat fewer hamburgers?

CCM (chuckling): Costa Rica is trying to promote eco-tourism which should help (although it encourages more trampling on sensitive plants so…) And then there’s reforestation, however, what regrows is not always the same as what had been there before – the plants, well, they’re just not the same. It’s kind of a double-edged sword but better than nothing.( Click here to learn more about what is being done to save the rain forests)

JT: Your novel is set in the late 1900s. Is there any particular reason you chose that time period?

Long swinging bridge.

CCM: It was the peak of bad news for Colombia – you had the drug cartels, the guerrillas, the coffee fincas being taken over for cocaine…I should clarify, most cocaine is not grown in Colombia just processed there.

JT: You told me you considered killing off your protagonist (Alicia). Why?

CCM: During the ’70s and ’80s it wasn’t uncommon for people to simply disappear in Colombia. I knew people who were driven off their land and some even lost their lives. It just seemed a likely thing.

JT: You recently returned from a trip to Columbia, how was it different from the Colombia of your teen years? Did you still fear for your life?

Town consumed by city.

CCM: The embassy is, of course, telling people not to travel to certain areas (embassy personnel are not even allowed to travel by bus!) however, my friend travelled all over without having any problems at all.

There are certain foods you may want to avoid. In Bogota or inland areas avoid fish – except trout. I ordered bass and it came head and tail intact, fried to a dried-out crisp. Stick with trout, chicken or beef- they are big on beef. Fish is good in coastal areas of course. My favorite dish is ajaico

Check out mycolombianrecipes.com for more delicious Colombian recipes.

chicken stew with potatoes, corn, capers, herbs and avocado. Also be sure to try arepas, corn cakes, and

empanandas, sort of meat fritters, while in Colombia – and I love the platano, plantain, and yuca. By the way, the water is safe in Bogota – but not rural areas.

JT: Last but not least, how was your experience publishing your first novel? Any words to the wise to debut novelists?

CCM: That’s a huge topic – I could write a book!

And now blog followers, as promised, one last picture of Gaston, the most wonderful dog in the world.

Cloud Forests and Capybaras

July 22, 2013July 22, 2013JT Twissel 7 Comments

The other day I interviewed Cinda MacKinnon, author of A PLACE IN THE WORLD, the passionate story of a young biologist struggling for survival in the cloud forests of Colombia during a very turbulent time. On her blog she explores Colombian culture and the rain forests in addition to inviting fellow ex-pats to share their experiences – fascinating stuff! Aside from being an author, Cinda is an environmental scientist who holds an MA in geology. More importantly she’s the owner of the world’s most wonderful dog, Gaston.

I’ve known Cinda for many years and during that time she’s refused to age, still lovely as the proverbial breath of fresh air and just as delightful. I’ve never seen that lady in a bad mood. Wait a minute. What’s up with that? Writers are supposed to be moody and often depressed. Not to worry, loyal readers, I’ll definitely delve deeply into this deviance from the writerly norm ; )

We decided to use the interview as an excuse to have lunch together at Siam Orchard, a popular Thai place across the street from the library in downtown Orinda. After getting our orders, Cinda dove right into what inspired her to write A PLACE IN THE WORLD.

Ginger Salad – yummy!

CM: I grew up without a place where I felt I really belonged. My father was in the foreign service and we moved a lot but spent most of our time in Latin America. So, I know what it’s like feeling stateless. That’s why once my heroine found a place she loved she insisted on staying there, despite the difficulties, and making it her home.

JT: A PLACE IN THE WORLD is set in the cloud forests of Colombia near where you lived as a child. To me, cloud forest suggests elves, fairies and talking trees. What sort of enchanted beings or plants would one expect to find in a cloud forest?

CC (chuckling): Well, let’s see – no elves or fairies that I’ve seen! But there are jaguars, capybaras and quetzals. The jaguar are beautiful animals, frightening but magical in their own way and the capybaras are unique because, well, I don’t think they live anywhere but in South American.

JT: What is a capy…? (JT stumbles with the pronunciation)

CM: Bara? It’s the world’s largest rodent. They sort of look like oversized chipmunks.

(Click here to check out a hysterical video of a singing capybara. A giant rodent singing opera? That’s definitely magical.)

JT: And the…

CM: The quetzal? It’s the most fascinating bird in the world. It has iridescent emerald feathers, a red breast and tail feathers this long (Cinda indicates an arms-length.) The Mayans used to collect its feathers believing they had magical powers.

The Quetzal “Just a gorgeous bird”

(Note from JT. After seeing a picture of one, I have to agree. Look at those tail feathers!)

JT: How about legends and myths?

CM: The myth of El Dorado (the Golden One) comes from Colombia.

JT: Oh really?

CM (nodding yes): Many, many years ago, before the Spaniards arrived, there lived an Indian ruler (El Dorado) who – as a part of an annual ritual – covered himself in gold dust and then the Indians took him on a raft to the middle of a lake and threw him in … well not threw him in. He got in the water and washed the gold dust off. His followers then threw gold and other offerings into the “sacred” lake. When that gold was discovered years later it prompted the legend. (JT: For more about El Dorado click here.)

Then there’s the legend of Salto Del Tequendama, a beautiful 550-foot waterfall near Bogota with a tragic history. During the Spanish conquest many of the indigenous people thought the only way to escape being made a slave was to throw themselves from the top of the falls. The legend was that halfway down they’d magically transform into an eagle and thus could fly away to freedom. Sad.

(From JT: For more about Salto Del Tequendama and its Haunted Hotel, check this out: http://eyesoncolombia.wordpress.com/2010/06/13/tequendama-falls-the-haunted-hotel/ It’s fascinating and on my bucket list.)

Ok peeps – that’s all for today. I’m tired of transcribing. Next time, Cinda discusses what bewitched her upon returning to the states (even though it mortified her husband), the hamburger’s sinister connection to the rain forests, and why you may want to re-think ordering fish in Colombia.

Stay tuned!

Dog Daze

July 8, 2013July 2, 2021JT Twissel 10 Comments

My very first Fourth of July post from 2013

On the Fourth of July we always walk downtown for the parade with our neighbors and their dog. Our neighbors have the coolest dog in the world. If he were a human he would be Cary Grant – suave and sexy but with a playful side. With his golden, slightly curly fur, he charms all the lady dogs and the young studs too but steers clear of German Shepherds.

You can never tell when confronting a German Shepherd – he could be either a Jimmy Stewart or a Mike Tyson.

Like Cary Grant, our neighbor’s dog doesn’t approve of exercising in the heat and often wrapped his silky body at my feet in the shade.

Gaston April '11_035 — Gaston aka Cary Grant

Before they fell in love with Cary Grant the neighbors had a black dog, not sure what breed, who they called Toby. One day Toby came up for a visit. When I said “Hi Toby!” he glared at me. “My name is Jack,” he said. Well, not in so many words but with that look dogs’ll give you when they think you’re a nitwit. Toby’s human equivalent would have been Humphrey Bogart, mysterious but trustworthy, a hopeless romantic with a cynical shell.

Ducks — Our July 4th festivities always include a petting zoo.

At the time the neighbors had Toby/Jack I had a dog named Berna, short for Bernadette. She was a shelty-beagle mix I found on the bottom of a heap of pups at the pound. Her siblings had more energy and looked much more eager to be rescued but I’ve always cheered the underdog and in this case, the bottom of the heap dog. She puked and pooped all the way home. She always stank. She couldn’t be car trained or trained at all for that matter. She’d run onto freeways, get her head stuck in Costco sized mayonnaise jars and dig up every living thing I tried to plant in the back yard. But her crowning achievement was a spot on a Channel 7 news story exposing the water wasters of the East Bay (this is a long story which illustrates the depths of depravity a film crew will go to get a scoop). Guard dog, she was not. Bay at the moon dog, she was. Escape artist, par excellence. When I put my house on the market the first agent scowled “get rid of the dog. You’ll never sell this house with her in it.” I got rid of the agent.

Anyway – enough about dogs. When I started blogging I resolved to leave politics, grandchildren and dogs off my list of subjects and here I’ve gone and broken my vows. Nevermore, I swear.

DixieDevils — Can’t have a parade without a jazz band on a flat–bed truck!

The next best thing about the Fourth is how it brings out the rebel in all of us. Who doesn’t love marching down Main Street in a happy riot of fellow citizens, for a few hours, owning the streets. What a sense of freedom it is.

Highway 50 Road Trip with the Griswolds

June 29, 2013February 17, 2026JT Twissel 8 Comments

In a truly bizarre twist of fate, Via, AAA’s travel magazine, just published an article touting Highway 50 from tiny Baker Nevada to the teeming metropolis of Ely, as a “Great Drive” and no, I did not pay them to do so. You see, this drive takes you past Steptoe Valley, the spot where Fi Butters, the reluctant heroine of FLIPKA, stops for Cheetos, Pepsi and directions from a cigarette puffing cat taxidermist.

Imagine Clark Griswold, the hero of the National Lampoon Vacation series, reading this article and then announcing to his family. “This is it! The next great Griswold family road trip!”

Griswold Family — Audrey, Ellen, Clark and Rusty Griswold

As they huddle on the couch groaning Ellen, Clark’s sensible wife, opens her laptop and googles Baker Nevada. “Oh Lord, Clark. It’s out in the middle of nowhere! Four hours from Salt Lake City!” She takes another look at the directions and gasps, “Oh my God. Look at this route! There’s nothing between Delta Utah and Baker. Nothing but dry lake beds – not one town. Where would we stop to…you know?”

Highway 50 east heading towards Delta from Ely. No plant big enough to squat behind for 100 miles.

Clark ignores her as he googles sites of interest in Delta Utah. “Hum,” he points out, “we could visit the Gunnison Memorial. That’d be fun.”

“What’s great about that?” asks Rusty.

“Well, son, It’s the site of an Indian ambush quite possibly orchestrated by Brigham Young, himself. You know the…”

“Big deal.”

Clark rubs his chin. “I guess you’re right, Rusty my man. It looks like just a plaque by the site of the road. No museum, no nothing. Hey, how about this one? The Topaz War Relocation Camp?”

“A concentration camp?” Audrey gasps.”Where the government put all those poor people in WWII just cause they were Japanese! Eww.”

Clark realizes a mutiny is afoot. “We could drive to Baker from Vegas. You like Vegas, right kids?”

“Couldn’t we just stay in Vegas?” Rusty pleads.

“At the Excalibur,” Audrey chimes in.

“No! Treasure Island!” Rusty counters, punching his sister in the arm.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, kids? Highway 50 is the loneliest highway in the world! We could rent an RV and stay at this place. Major’s Station Bar and RV Park!”

Bar and RV Park, Major's Station Nevada — Bar and RV Park, Major’s Station Nevada

Groans all around.

Ellen goggles the route from Vegas. “Clark,” she sighs in exasperation. “That route’s not any better. It’s four and a half hours from Vegas to Baker and the only places to stop are two itty-bitty towns: Caliente and Pioche. Read what it says about Pioche, “… one of the roughest towns in the old West!”

“Let’s go to Desperation Nevada!” Rusty blurts out, looking up from his Stephen King novel. “That would be sick!”

“Desperation?” * Clark asks, examining the map.

“Yeah, could we, Dad? Please!”