Gordon Grindstaff
Travels with Susie is an account of the comings and goings of the Author, his wife, Susie and their RV, ‘Fionna’, The book is a hilarious report of their experiences as they first went through the decision to retire and later, to travel the byways of North America.
Part travelogue, part monologue, part History primer and part pieces of the author's vivid imagination, the book is all entertainment. The stories found in these pages will appeal to not only RV'ers but to anyone who is looking for a laugh or an occasional bit of inspiration. Many of the stories first saw life as fodder for the Author’s self syndicated newspaper and magazine columns.
Ride along with Susie and the author as they visit Luckenbach, Texas, searching for Willie Nelson and real cowboys.
Sit on a bench with the Author along the Mexican border and discover the little known and scandalous secret of a major time saving device.
Wade ashore in the Florida Keys with Cuban refugees and later, toss your cookies with Susie on the rough seas of the Gulf of Mexico.
Share a sprig of Buffalo grass with Randolph Scott.
Meet Paul Bunyon’s grandson, still living in the North Woods of British Columbia and hang on for the 2000 mile drive as the author and his wife race to reach Indiana and their seriously ill daughter.
And finally, discover that when the author is not making a fool of himself, he is unwittingly realizing what life is really all about as he learns more about our world than he ever expected to know.
Gordon Grindstaff is a retired Information Technology Consultant, but writing has always been his first love. However, the early attempts at storytelling coincided with the discovery that his children were big eaters and writing as a profession provided for only small portions at the dinner table.
His current business card identifies him as a humorist and while his wife Susie might disagree, his writing will back up the title. His humor springs from the experiences of being raised in a post WWII small town in Southern Indiana. Raising 4 children tested his sense of humor and on more than occasion, had it down on the mat for the 3 count. However, that experience, along with 40 plus years of marriage, the world of Corporate silliness and life’s everyday situations has sharpened his wit to the point where he is considered one of Monrovia, Indiana’s premier humorists.
He and Susie retired in 2001, sold practically everything they owned and set out in their RV to see the country. Their travels led to a self syndicated Newspaper column published weekly in four newspapers in two countries as well as a monthly piece for Senior Life Magazine of Southwest Florida..
His work also appears occasionally in at least 3 other publications but has been largely ignored by a couple of hundred rags whose editors have resisted Mr. Grindstaff’s constant whining.
His readership, at last count, now numbers in the dozens and spans the United States from North to South and east to west not to mention the Mediterranean Coast of Spain. .
Sometimes hilarious, sometimes sentimental, once in a while nostalgic and always entertaining, his words will touch your heart and your funny bone. They have also been known to cause some of his more uncouth readers to snort loudly through their nostrils.
We paid for a week’s camping at Falcon Lake and were given a huge campsite on the edge of the brush. After we got the camper set up, We wandered over to the adjoining site to chat with a couple who appeared to have just ridden in on an Oregon bound wagon train.
Their names were Bill and Louise. Bill wore a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. He looked a lot like Randolph Scott, one of my boyhood heroes.
Louise was in shorts and a halter top but would have looked right at home with a bonnet and an apron over a crinoline filled long dress. She took Susie by the arm and they disappeared into their camper as Bill gestured for me sit on the picnic table.
“We spend our winters here but I still do a little ranching and some oil drilling on a small spread up by Abilene.” He told me while throwing handfuls of deer corn to a herd of Javelinas who wandered up out of the brush as we talked.
Javelinas look a lot like wild pigs but they’re not. Animal Husbandry is not my strong suit but I understand they’re related to the antelope family. They looked a little bit menacing but I resisted the urge to climb up on the picnic table because Bill seemed unconcerned. I also knew Randolph Scott would never climb up on anything just to get away from a member of the antelope family.
Bill reached down and pulled a blade of buffalo grass and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed on it as he continued.
“You goin’ across the border?”
“Yessir, I think we will. I’m a little leery but… “
“Don’t be taking any firearms over there.” He warned. They’ll throw you in the hoosegow if they find so much as a bullet on you.” He shook his head in disgust.
“Twenty years ago, you could ride in there with a gun belt and a forty four in the holster and they wouldn’t say anything. Now it’s downright dangerous for Americans to venture into the interior of the country and you can’t pack even so much as a hand gun to protect yourself from the pistoleros and the bandidos.” I assured him we didn’t even own a b-b gun.
“And you got to watch for the Federales. You don’t want to fool around with them. They look like sixteen year old kids with automatic weapons but them ol’ boys would just as soon shoot you as look at you.”
I reached over and pulled a blade of that Buffalo grass and stuck it between my teeth. My God. A terrible taste flooded my taste buds. I spit it out, hacking and gagging.
“Gotcha’ a ripe piece, did ya?” he says.
“Yessir.” A hack-hack noise came from my throat. “What exactly is ripe?”
“I was just funnin’ with you. Ya probably got one with a little javelina stink on it.” He said. “Them ol’ boys like to mark their territory.”
With that revelation, I set to wiping the taste out of my mouth with my fingertips, scraping my tongue at around five hundred RPM, all the while trying not to envision what materials Javelinas might use to set up their boundaries.
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