Life at Fort Hood

I stayed two years at Fort Hood. There were plenty of fallout shelters and I picked two close together where I parked my travel trailer as my primary living quarters when the weather was good. With plenty of wind and solar power, the trailer worked okay, but when a blizzard came through or it dropped into below zero temperatures, a nearby fallout shelter already equipped with bunks, stoves, toilets and even, stores of MREs with a shelf life of, maybe, 10 years stored the way they were, made a very good optional home once I cleaned out the cobwebs, snakes and spiders. A check of a couple of the MREs showed that they had actually survived at least 25 years.

       Next door, connected by an underground tunnel, was a storage bunker that contained a lot of things that would be useful in the case of a nuclear attack like gasoline, water, armaments and other things. It served well as a place to store all my canned goods, popcorn, pumpkins and squash. Almost everything that I grew during the summer. The constant 55°, like any root cellar, was perfect for storing my stuff.

       When the harvest was in, I took several short trips to see how Tin Can worked out. It proved to be very versatile, especially with so many roads washed out from all of the flooding that periodically came and went like the years. It was amazing how easily it crossed rivers and streams that I formerly had to find a way around when there was no bridge or the bridge approach was washed out. With all that heavy armor removed, Tin Can rode high in the water and moved much faster than I expected. Also got very good mileage. Once again, I felt that I could tackle smaller roads more easily with a smaller vehicle like this, albeit long trailer chain.

       One of my biggest projects was placing two pontoons under my travel trailer and placing a new undercarriage with extra wheels so that I could more easily haul it over rough terrain behind Tin Can. I also created inflatable floats from truck inner tubes for the ATV that I began to call Grasshopper. By now, all of my vehicles were bristling with solar panels at strategic angles and each one had a fold-down gimbaled windmill so that I was storing power while traveling down the road or sitting still, picking up the sun's energy or the wind's energy whenever it came my way. The solar panels were a problem whenever there were high winds, large hail or I had to drive through an overhanging canopy of trees that occurred on some of the two lane roads. Some large tarps that I would throw over the top and tie down to protect them solved those problems.

       My vehicle menagerie wasn't pretty but it was functional for the long haul. I had to be prepared to leave things behind in a breakdown when I was far from the Hood. I tried out several other military vehicles I got running, but these were my mainstay. The vehicles that would get me further down the road.

       Rocky had grown into a magnificent animal, much larger than his mother. He became a fierce protector. One day in Kansas by a stream where we had stopped for lunch, a pack of dogs smelled our cooking and came down the road toward us. Rocky, who had been patiently lying alongside me waiting for a piece of fish that I was cooling for him, perked up and let out a low growl. Normally he waited for my command. But this time he jumped to his feet and took off full tilt toward the pack before I could stop him.

       Like most packs I saw, mostly hanging out in towns and villages along the way, this one was a motley mangy bunch of about 15 mutts of all sizes and shapes. But Rocky knew who the alpha male was and immediately slammed into him, biting him on the shoulder, knocking him down and turning him around. Nipping at his hindquarters as the dog, larger than Rocky, began yelping mournfully and running away with the whole pack following. He chased them about a half-mile down the road and then turned back, coming up to me with his tongue hanging out panting, a big doggy smile on his face, eager to receive praise for what he had done and the reward of fish.

       I didn't reprimand him. He was testing himself and finding out his strength. His fur was a little ruffled and he had blood on him, but it wasn't his--this time. I didn't want him to take on a pack of wolves--coyotes, maybe.

       Perhaps instinctively, Rocky also became a consummate hunter. As soon as he was big enough, if I shot something, he would retrieve it for a pat on the head. And then one day, he showed up with a cottontail in his mouth, still wiggling and quite alive. I set the poor bunny free because I didn't need rabbit to eat while firmly urging Rocky to, "Sit." He did. After that, he would often show up with a groundhog, squirrel, grouse or even a pheasant. In the case of the pheasants, I kept every one; they were such succulent eating with a good glass of wine.

       Whenever I was out walking, Charlie, who weighed all of about eight pounds, would most often scamper up my leg and hip to my shoulder and ride along making it easier to keep up. He was quite fast in the short run, but tired easily and would rather relax and ride along when we went any distance. Charlie also had a great affection for Rocky and before Rocky was even big enough, was climbing up on Rocky's back just to be close to him and look for fleas.

       Rocky didn't seem to mind his little buddy taking a ride on his back and before long, Charlie was riding Rocky like I would ride a horse. I even got some videos of them streaking along at high speed just chasing the wind, a rabbit, or a stick that I threw. Those were some happy times the three of us had whenever we stopped to eat or camp for the night. The only family I had enjoying a little recreation.

       At that point, I knew that I could stay almost anywhere in the upper Midwest wherever there was no radiation danger as long as I could build up a place to grow food, protect myself from the elements and from the growing number of predators. Some not native to North American natural rules like lions and tigers. But it was getting too hot in the summers and often too dry. Sometimes two months without rain and only harsh, violent lightning storms to set off fires, killer hail, flash floods or tornadoes. I had no capability of fighting off fires and two of them came very close while I was at Fort Hood. Rocky, Charlie and I could escape to the underground bomb shelters and my equipment could probably survive in the concrete block shops like they originally did, but I didn't want to take a chance. A fire would eventually come through where I was staying. It was only a matter of time.

       It was time to move on. I thought I was ready. But I was apprehensive because I wasn't exactly sure if I was fully prepared. But something told me I had to go, so I did