I write to you from a roof top patio in San Miguel de Allende. I am able to write to you because I found a wireless network that has no password; the archaic setup in the hotel lobby was a little slow, and wouldn't be ready for a second try until tomorrow.
Well, a lot has transpired over the last few days, and I think I am just going to run the highs and lows, since the epicness of the first posts were fairly verbose. We shall conclude this entry with some of Marissa's fine photo work. Let's begin:
We left Shaggy's on Wednesday and drove to Laredo, TX. On our way there we stopped in Austin, saw Marissa's new pad (quite rad and a sweet little centrally located neighborhood), and got some grub at a local hip cafe. We then packed it in and continued our trickle south. The dogs were peaceful, the road was straight, not much to say really.
We arrived in Laredo, the front desk lady told me I had already checked in. I screamed impossible. A bald man asked for a key to the room I was supposed to have, the desk lady laughed--she put Krugmen in Kuhn's room--we took Krugmen's digs and it worked out fine.
Made a bunch of document copies at the hotel.
Hit the border, the fear and excitement was palpable. We crossed and entered into the vehicle registration area. I went through the whole song and dance, and $60 US later, we had a sticker and hit the road. There was some confusion with the gatekeeper when we exited, but she waved us through. We then drove 16mi to the customs check point; why this is so far from the border, I have no idea. We pull up, the comadante in charge asks for my papers, I show them to him, and then he asks for Marissa's--WHAT? In my broken Spanish I say that she doesn't have one, and I own the car...blah blah blah, return to sender and we head back to the border. Perhaps he just wanted a bribe, or he wanted us to give away money, but we paid for her paper too, and headed back to the border. An hour later we arrive at the same checkpoint, and the bastard just waves us through with a chuckle--who knows?
No dogs they keep saying. Finally we land on a place, and I don't mention the dogs. We get a room, it turns out no dogs are allowed, but they say I can keep them in the enclosed vacant lot outback. Great! I put them there, they start barking, I decide to pitch a tent with the pups and we camp in the somewhat summer cool of a hazy Saltillo sky. We were junkyard jungle campers and it was fun. Marissa got dinner, and rocked the Spanish hard. We had an amazing pizza and caesar salad.
Next morning, up at 6am hit the road by 7 am and we were running. After the first gas fill up, I ask Marissa to drive so I can catch up on some sleep. We listen to NPR downloads of various talk shows, and I sleep like an open mouthed angel--After 2000 miles, I see how the dogs can do it everyday--the humm of the engine is like a warm glass of milk. 200mi later we switch off again and we near our end.
We decide to get off the main road and head to San Miguel de Allende. The guide book describes it as a lovely little colonial retreat for retirees. Marissa has to pee. I hit an unmarked speed bump at 60mph, and we immediately seek a bathroom. We make it in to town and get lost in the El Centro cobble stone one way freak out of San Miguel. My blood pressure rises several points and we exit the town to higher ground to regroup. Several hotels probed and none accept dogs--the fear begins again. Re-enter the town, two more denials in the fray of clostrophobic cobblestones, and I start gunning it up a road to higher ground again. We get stuck on a steep, I mean steep, hill, and I have to floor it and let of the clutch to try and escape a disastrous plummet--we make it, and my conscience is reminded that I need a new clutch sooner than later. We get to the Mirador plateau, a sweet tourist hub and there sits a hotel no in our guidebook. I walk in very much in need of acceptance and approval. I go through my mantra: I need a room for two and I have two dogs with me. "Well how big are they," she asks. I say they aren't small, more like medium--a bold faced lie on the subject of Chops, but I was desperate. She talks to her boss, comes back, says it will cost me, I say fine, she types up the total, and for about $55 US we are in one of the nicest rooms of our entire trip. There is a view of the whole city, french doors, a patio with table, huge bathroom, two beds, a ceiling fan, and a TV. I sort of feel like crying, but I smile instead and take one of the deepest naps of my life.
After naptime we descend the great mountain down a series of vertigo inducing stairs. We walk through a park and find our way to the big cathedral and central plaza. Marissa heads into the church for pics, and I sit with the dogs outside; a crowd forms immediately. Once again people want pictures with Chops. Flow is a gracious little bitch and tries not to snarl too much at the ninos jamming their grubby hands in her face.
We head back up the hill and have the altitude make its presence very aware--we all were panting and in need of water. We cool down, drop the dogs down, go eat some Lebanese food in a tiny cafe, see some fireworks, and done.
Looking forward to marching into Mexico City tomorrow.
Goodnight.
Pictures: UHG! I can't get them to load. I shall put them on facebook.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Day 7: The Refuge Continued
What did we do today? What day is it? Do the weekends really exist?
Currently, for me, myself, and I, the answer is no--the weekend is a figment of the working stiff life I will begin in less than a month.
Woke up at 9 and took my dogs to the Briarcreek clinic. Unfortunately my Doctor friend is not licensed in Texas, and could not write up my clear bill of health for the dogs. So instead we found ourselves in an old wood building next to a freeway. The genial receptionist greeted us, weighed the dogs and shoved us in a backroom. As the doctor entrance opened we overheard the following conversation prior to the vets entrance: "All ya gotta do is make sure them dogs are alive," grumbled the overweight underling from his roller chair. And then there it was, in shuffled the ancient head vet. His fore arms looked like weathered pigskin covered tree trunks, with shiny gold rings wedged onto two of his pork sausage fingers. He had a captain's hat on and coke bottle aviator bi-focals. As he gariactrically boot scooted into the room he garbled his greeting, "Dem' dogs bye-aight?" I responded that they were friendly, he spasmodically handled Chops' head, looked in his ears and pushed him aside. He then reached towards Flow, but she moved away, he took that as a sign his job was done, and he left the room. Danny and I turned to each other and chuckled inaudibly. He returned with two rabies shots, "Now hold dat der' big one's head," and he eased in the syringe with a lifetime of experience. He then repeated for Flow and he was gone again in dusty shuffle.
His underling came back later and did all the talking and paperwork. What a beautiful little place. Everyone was nice as hell, and after $250 for rabies shots, certificates, and Heartgaurd, I guess that was expected.
Danny and I swooped back home and picked up Gorlick for breakfast. We headed to Norteno's in downtown Bryan. The main street looked like a slice of the Universal back lot. We settled down in an ancient diner booth and ordered up. I ordered the breakfast taco and a single flapjack, and the waitress scoffed at my presumptuous large portion. She came and delivered the food and assured me that doggie bags were available. The breakfast taco amounts to an un-rolled breakfast burrito, and the flapjack was plate sized. After some razzing from Danny and Marissa, I opened up my gut and my mind and cleaned both plates. The waitress never came back after my finished effort, but I assume when she cleared the table she sat in awe--probably not, but that is how I will view my glory.
From there we stopped in a music shop and I bought a Hohnner harmonica entitled, "Fuego Azul". I sort of know how to play "Oh When the Saints". We then skedaddled home and beat the heat of the day in an air conditioned room watching movies and napping.
Around 5 pm we got ready for BBQ and Lake Bryan. Danny and Marissa prepared an immaculate feast, and the dogs salivated en delight.
Christina met us at the lake after her day at work and we got the coals going. The dogs frolicked in the water, the weeds, the forest, and the brush. They got a lot of their pent up energy out, and as I type this not a single dog has their eyes opened. We all jumped in the water and waded in the lake. Christina jumped on Danny's head and knocked him underwater, which knocked his glasses off. Danny became quite upset and immediately started crying about how much the glasses caught. Christina instead of getting fearful, got proactive. She dove deep scoured the bottom, and came up with the frames. Danny squealed in delight. He truly is, in the words of Andy Reynaga, a "Sweet Spirit".
The BBQ was amazing, and the weather was absolutely perfect. A nice breeze kept the dogs away, and the heat was not nearly as oppressive as the day before. We snacked, laughed, talked, and packed it up.
Bryan has been amazing. Bryan has been a home away from home. The beautiful time Danny and Christina showed us was absolutely splendid. They are great people. They are intending on settling in Chico, Ca. I think for the duration of my pets life, I will head to Chico for their yearly check-ups. Good people are a blessing, and they have rejuvenated my energy for the quest at hand.
My batteries died on my camera, so the photos will have to wait.
Cheers.
Currently, for me, myself, and I, the answer is no--the weekend is a figment of the working stiff life I will begin in less than a month.
Woke up at 9 and took my dogs to the Briarcreek clinic. Unfortunately my Doctor friend is not licensed in Texas, and could not write up my clear bill of health for the dogs. So instead we found ourselves in an old wood building next to a freeway. The genial receptionist greeted us, weighed the dogs and shoved us in a backroom. As the doctor entrance opened we overheard the following conversation prior to the vets entrance: "All ya gotta do is make sure them dogs are alive," grumbled the overweight underling from his roller chair. And then there it was, in shuffled the ancient head vet. His fore arms looked like weathered pigskin covered tree trunks, with shiny gold rings wedged onto two of his pork sausage fingers. He had a captain's hat on and coke bottle aviator bi-focals. As he gariactrically boot scooted into the room he garbled his greeting, "Dem' dogs bye-aight?" I responded that they were friendly, he spasmodically handled Chops' head, looked in his ears and pushed him aside. He then reached towards Flow, but she moved away, he took that as a sign his job was done, and he left the room. Danny and I turned to each other and chuckled inaudibly. He returned with two rabies shots, "Now hold dat der' big one's head," and he eased in the syringe with a lifetime of experience. He then repeated for Flow and he was gone again in dusty shuffle.
His underling came back later and did all the talking and paperwork. What a beautiful little place. Everyone was nice as hell, and after $250 for rabies shots, certificates, and Heartgaurd, I guess that was expected.
Danny and I swooped back home and picked up Gorlick for breakfast. We headed to Norteno's in downtown Bryan. The main street looked like a slice of the Universal back lot. We settled down in an ancient diner booth and ordered up. I ordered the breakfast taco and a single flapjack, and the waitress scoffed at my presumptuous large portion. She came and delivered the food and assured me that doggie bags were available. The breakfast taco amounts to an un-rolled breakfast burrito, and the flapjack was plate sized. After some razzing from Danny and Marissa, I opened up my gut and my mind and cleaned both plates. The waitress never came back after my finished effort, but I assume when she cleared the table she sat in awe--probably not, but that is how I will view my glory.
From there we stopped in a music shop and I bought a Hohnner harmonica entitled, "Fuego Azul". I sort of know how to play "Oh When the Saints". We then skedaddled home and beat the heat of the day in an air conditioned room watching movies and napping.
Around 5 pm we got ready for BBQ and Lake Bryan. Danny and Marissa prepared an immaculate feast, and the dogs salivated en delight.
Christina met us at the lake after her day at work and we got the coals going. The dogs frolicked in the water, the weeds, the forest, and the brush. They got a lot of their pent up energy out, and as I type this not a single dog has their eyes opened. We all jumped in the water and waded in the lake. Christina jumped on Danny's head and knocked him underwater, which knocked his glasses off. Danny became quite upset and immediately started crying about how much the glasses caught. Christina instead of getting fearful, got proactive. She dove deep scoured the bottom, and came up with the frames. Danny squealed in delight. He truly is, in the words of Andy Reynaga, a "Sweet Spirit".
The BBQ was amazing, and the weather was absolutely perfect. A nice breeze kept the dogs away, and the heat was not nearly as oppressive as the day before. We snacked, laughed, talked, and packed it up.
Bryan has been amazing. Bryan has been a home away from home. The beautiful time Danny and Christina showed us was absolutely splendid. They are great people. They are intending on settling in Chico, Ca. I think for the duration of my pets life, I will head to Chico for their yearly check-ups. Good people are a blessing, and they have rejuvenated my energy for the quest at hand.
My batteries died on my camera, so the photos will have to wait.
Cheers.
Day 7: Bryan, TX: A Refuge from the Road
Well we have finally arrived, and it feels great. We are staying with two of Texas' finest transplants, Danny and Christina. They are both veterinarians and Christina is finishing her last semester at Texas A&M. We arrived last night around 7pm, and the good doctors suggested we head to the local dog park to acclimate the dogs with one another on neutral territory--brilliant. I love people that understand dog culture.
We headed over a few miles to the park, which was tucked away in thicket of swampy forest. We entered the park and there were about 50 dogs frolicking on the grounds and the man made pond. We let all four of them off, and they took off running. Chops had a nervous high pitched squeal of excitement as 4 or 5 dogs came up to sniff his situation. Flow snuck off to the perimeter to sniff; when she was greeted by a dog, I watched her promptly lay down with a strong calming signal--things seemed good.
The dogs made nice and we headed home. After a quick little household introduction we headed out to BBQ. We drove through Bryan and ended in a strip mall next to a Walgreen's. You could smell the sweet meat in the heat of the evening air. We walked in and placed our orders. I am standing in line wearing argyle socks, New Balance running shoes, a pair of patched jean shorts (jorts!), and an LA County Fire Dept. shirt. Needles to say, I stood out. In order to combat my out of towner appearance I stepped right up and ordered, "I'll have the three meat/two sides combo. I'd like Jalapeno/Cheese Sausage, Brisket and Pork Ribs, and gimme some Mac' an' Cheese and some baked beans." I was still a tourist, but I was a tourist with a mission.
We washed our hands at the sinks provided next to the soft drink machine. We slathered on the BBQ sauce and dove in. Everything was tender and melted under the slightest touch. The ribs were without a doubt the heavy favorite in my book, but nothing was bad. We grubbed, cleaned our plates, and bounced out.
Back at the house we made nice with air conditioned room. I informed the good doctors that their house smelled like curry. Apparently they hadn't noticed, but I we have deduced the new neighbors in their complex must be Indian. There are shared air ducts in this building--shared air ducts mean shared smells--curry!
In any event we had a blast hanging out. Four dogs flopping on the floor, we popped in a movie, cracked a few beers, and my eyes were feeling quite heavy. Sprawled on the floor next to the pups, I was asleep before the climax of the plotline.
Danny, Marissa, and I lived with each other many moons ago when we were just young college studs. It has been nice to reconnect--all of us on our respective paths, a little older, a little pudgier, but better, healthier, stronger, and grounded. All that aside, there is a retroactive childishness that emerges when we sit in a room with another.
I believe we are one day from the border, 3 to 4 from Mexico City.
Godspeed.
We headed over a few miles to the park, which was tucked away in thicket of swampy forest. We entered the park and there were about 50 dogs frolicking on the grounds and the man made pond. We let all four of them off, and they took off running. Chops had a nervous high pitched squeal of excitement as 4 or 5 dogs came up to sniff his situation. Flow snuck off to the perimeter to sniff; when she was greeted by a dog, I watched her promptly lay down with a strong calming signal--things seemed good.
The dogs made nice and we headed home. After a quick little household introduction we headed out to BBQ. We drove through Bryan and ended in a strip mall next to a Walgreen's. You could smell the sweet meat in the heat of the evening air. We walked in and placed our orders. I am standing in line wearing argyle socks, New Balance running shoes, a pair of patched jean shorts (jorts!), and an LA County Fire Dept. shirt. Needles to say, I stood out. In order to combat my out of towner appearance I stepped right up and ordered, "I'll have the three meat/two sides combo. I'd like Jalapeno/Cheese Sausage, Brisket and Pork Ribs, and gimme some Mac' an' Cheese and some baked beans." I was still a tourist, but I was a tourist with a mission.
We washed our hands at the sinks provided next to the soft drink machine. We slathered on the BBQ sauce and dove in. Everything was tender and melted under the slightest touch. The ribs were without a doubt the heavy favorite in my book, but nothing was bad. We grubbed, cleaned our plates, and bounced out.
Back at the house we made nice with air conditioned room. I informed the good doctors that their house smelled like curry. Apparently they hadn't noticed, but I we have deduced the new neighbors in their complex must be Indian. There are shared air ducts in this building--shared air ducts mean shared smells--curry!
In any event we had a blast hanging out. Four dogs flopping on the floor, we popped in a movie, cracked a few beers, and my eyes were feeling quite heavy. Sprawled on the floor next to the pups, I was asleep before the climax of the plotline.
Danny, Marissa, and I lived with each other many moons ago when we were just young college studs. It has been nice to reconnect--all of us on our respective paths, a little older, a little pudgier, but better, healthier, stronger, and grounded. All that aside, there is a retroactive childishness that emerges when we sit in a room with another.
I believe we are one day from the border, 3 to 4 from Mexico City.
Godspeed.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Day 6 - Odessa to Bryan: An Early Morning Estimate
We have switched to Central Time. That is all fine and good, except we forgot to adjust our alarm clock, and well now we slept through the free continental breakfast! They had such a cute spread, with tiny coffee tables and nice white linen table cloths. Oh well, a shower and the road beckon us further along. Today the mission is to reach Bryan, TX and to cozy in for a two day stay with our friends Dr. Danny Gebhart DVM and his fiance Christina (DVM in training). This has been our U.S. destination. We will stay with them while I get the necessary paperwork for my dogs to successfully cross the border. Then from there we poke through Austin to see Marissa's soon to be home, and then on down to Laredo, TX to get ready for border crossing. The drive through Mexico will be a two to three day affair.
We are off.
We are off.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Day 5: Roswell to Odessa: The Cool of the Caverns
Today was a light day, comparatively. When all was said and done, we clicked in at 283 miles, and we hung our hat at a La Quinta in Odessa, TX. We initially paid for a room at another hotel down the street, but the clientele and the price did not line up. I believe when I saw our downstairs neighbor slap his bucolic beauty's ass, and scratch his goiter with glee after flinging a beer can into a trashcan...I believe that is when we asked for a refund. La Quinta has no extra charge for dogs, free continental breakfast, cable, fridge, and good vibes. Marissa and I learned our lesson from last night.
In any event, the highlight today was without a doubt Carlsbad Caverns in southern New Mexico. We rolled in, and I had a fear that the dogs were not going to be welcome, and I was mentally preparing myself to sit and wait while Marissa explored. Turns out, New Mexico is forward thinking with regards to their National Park patrons, and they offered a free Kennel. We brought the dogs into the back and they receive neighboring cages. It was a little tough on them but they made do.
The caverns were amazing, and I find it hard to describe the enormity of the caverns. That being said, this post is going to be a photo blog, to pictorially catch you up on Marissa, the dogs and me. I had intentions of starting with the beginning of the trip and ending with the caverns, but it takes for ever to load and things have gotten out of order. So these are a hodgepodge of pictures not necessarily in chronological order, mostly taken by Marissa.
Cheers
Day 4 - Cuba to Santa Fe to Roswell: A Delicate Fall to Hades
I write you from the comfort of a Budget Inn on Main St. in Roswell, NM. It is a nice place, with mini fridge, microwave, odd counters and mirrors--it is home for tonight. Tonight can be described as 2:45 am and I am fried, frantic, and frazzled--alliteration cannot do justice to the events at hand. However, I shall start from the beginning and work my way to the mêlée of sound and presence that has lead me here.
Back in Cuba, NM: Awoken by Marissa's alarm at 7am, we both fell asleep until 8. At that time, Chops, Flow, and I hit the highway for a morning stroll. We walked briskly and stopped for morning constitutionals on the side of the road. It brought me subtle joy to watch Chops belabor his morning ritual, as he attempted to push the bristles of my toothbrush out his Lower G.I. He decided to snack on things while Marissa and I headed to dinner the night before. In any event, after a quick round of chasing crickets and a pit stop at the Quick Stop to pick up a new toothbrush, we were back at the Hotel and packing.
We hit the road nice and early and made our way to Santa Fe. The road was majestic and colorful; mountainous and sprawling; dry and wet; it was a blast. We floated down the highway in a complete Zen-like state. There truly is something to seeing new countryside that can take the angst out of being car ridden for hours. We stopped briefly at a lake and hiked around some cliffs. Content with our inspection, we saddled back up, flipped the A/C to cold and roared forward. Marissa dropped face melting knowledge on the state of our food industry. She dissected the corruptions of subsidized corn and its insidious infiltration into all we eat (check your C14 levels). She called out the profit driven scandals of Mansanto and all the good work they do in the name of the all mighty dollar. It was intriguing to listen to a soul who chooses to not blindly eat meat, and actually has a reason for intelligently doing so. It was a great way to find our way to Santa Fe.
Santa Fe is an adobe lovers wet dream. Santa Fe is brown, beige, mauve, ivory, and burnt umber crimson. Santa Fe is a sweet little high altitude escape.
Once again, the iphone guides us where Constance can't--we find an outdoor patio breakfast place. We saunter up, pups in hand and find a table outside. I settle the dogs as Marissa puts in the order for two large orange juices and two breakfast burritos. As I wait, an older gentleman resting in the shade, flanked by his walking stick and his elderly K9, enquires about Chops' background. I respond with the usual, "Oh, a little Irish Wolfhound and Great Pyrenees--I don't know, he is a pound puppy". The old man strokes his beard and I notice the slight wisps of grey that spray out from his hat--they remind me of duck feathers for some reason. We begin to continue to chat. He tells me about his dog standing down a bear. He asks me about where we are heading and where we are from. Turns out he walked from Santa Cruz to Monterey back in the 60's. He says it’s a beautiful coast, but he likes it here better. Yada yada yada, Marissa returns with the OJ and our order is on its way. A quick note about the OJ: a large, came in a full sized Coca-Cola glass. This is the first time in the history of my life that I have received more than a tiddlywink portion of juice...it was a good omen.
After breakfast,ca breakfast where the dogs were nothing short of statuesque perfection, we headed to the Capital Building (the only round capital building in the nation). We got there. We saw, and we walked away down some side streets.
The downtown area of Santa Fe is another tourist hub, just like Pacific Ave in Santa Cruz or Hollywood and Highland in Los Angeles. We were tourists, but who cared it was nice to walk for awhile. We let the dogs dip into a creek and then pressed on into the fray. We happened upon an arts market, but no dogs allowed. I hung back in the shade as Marissa continued on to explore. In retrospect I should have put out a tip jar. Given the constant flow of out of towners, the dogs and I became a street side attraction. Chops, with his oafish whiteness, and Flow, with her feral facial structure, were a goddamn hit! We were pulling a bigger crowd than the filthy hippy across the way playing very nice blues riffs. We had babies, and ladies, and grannies, and everyone in between, fawning over the two majestic beasts that lay silently on the sidewalk. One attractive young gal (unfortunately with her boyfriend) asked to take a picture with Chops. A very fun series of interactions played out as I waited for Marissa to return.
After a short walk back to our car, Marissa and I hit the Whole foods for tasty num nums, and then off to Best Buy for a Camera and Cable. Marissa tended to the animals while I went inside to scope the scene. I had about four different young gentlemen refer to me as “Boss”--apparently this “Dude” substitute has made a resurgence in New Mexico. In case you ever find your way down here, and you want to fit in, there is your heads up. Long story short, I took way too long to find what we needed, and if Marissa had been there to troubleshoot my dilemmas, we would have been in and out in 15 minutes...so it goes.
Marissa and I got a 21st Century burst of creativity for the next leg of our journey to Roswell: Her iphone needed to be charged, so we plugged it into my Macbook which had charged the previous night, we then plugged in my external harddrive, containing all my music files. We then, opened up iTunes and rocked a mix of music. We rocked that setup for at least 3 and 1/2 hours. We ran from Beck and the Beta Band to Al Green and Sage Francis. It was an eclectic mix for an eclectic landscape.
In the plains outside of Santa Fe, we got another opportunity to watch a rainstorm take shape on far off plots of land. So powerful were these storms, that the thunderbolts were snapping and cracking the sky with a fierce repetition. Collectively we must have snapped close to 50 pictures before Marissa caught not only a magnificent bolt of electrical current, but a bolt erupting in front of a rainbow. It was a triumph.
We stopped at a rest stop with 45 miles to go. I recently heard that Califnornia shut all of its rest stops to combat budget issues. Based on this roadside stop, New Mexico's infrastructure must be alive and well. There were immaculate bathroom facilities, sweet little grass fields, and a great view of farmland. Aside from the "Caution Rattlesnakes" sign, it was a perfect slice of heaven.
We pressed forth. My computer died, Marissa put in her iphone for some more tunes, and we bobbed and weaved down the asphalt teleport.
Arriving in Roswell was a relief. Much larger than anticipated (that's what she said), we rolled down Main St. We looked for all things Alien. Their streetlights are alien heads. A few billboards claiming to hold the true history of the crash, and some other odd alien placements, helped to round off the kitschy vibe. In all honesty there are more national chain stores in this town. It was hard to find a store claiming to have the truth or show you the truth. The aliens seem to be loosing their grip on the psyche of the do gooders in this town.
We road the entire strip, and then decided we should go camp it tonight. Marissa and I decided that we would alternate nights of hotel sleeping and camping, in an effort to cut costs of travel. After a quick stop at Albertson’s for dinner makings, we decided to drive 12 miles out of town to The Bottomless Lakes. The lakes are only 90 ft deep, but when the brain surgeons of the wild west found them back in the 1800's, they reeled down their cattle rope to investigate their new find, and never found bottom. In their minds, the lakes were bottomless, and for me, they might as well be.
We arrived after dark. We found the visitor center and paid our $10 entrance fee. We scoured the campsites for an open lot, but nothing could be found. We pulled into another campers plot, and they directed us to a place up the road. I was beginning to get the fear. The fears initial stages are always symptomatic of angst and annoyance.
We found our spot and unloaded our gear. Marissa made quick work of the tent, and I made a blunder of the stove. Too cocky this time to read the instructions as I went along, I wound up not pumping the fuel and the fire was sporadic and lame...a small tear began to form. Marissa chopped apples to try and save the positive vibe we had fostered through our day. I was less willing to leave my funk, for it did not feel good.
Sitting next to the bottomless lake afforded many wildlife opportunities, with the largest number being comprised of mosquitoes. Oh the joy of embracing blood suckers. Nothing was going smoothly. Yuck! I was beginning to fall into a foul mood, which is a first for this trip. As the high pitched buzzing swirled around us, we chowed down our dinner and made things ready for bed.
The dogs had been lying on the cool concrete floor, but I have read that when camping, leaving your dogs outside at night can be a dangerous choice. That being said, I decided to put them in the car, and leave the windows almost all down. The car was infinitely hotter, but I figured the dogs would be fine.
I hopped into the tent fully clothed in long pants, a long sleeved shirt, and socks--all of which were soaked in DEET and citronella. I blew up my Thermarest and left my sleeping bag in its bag, I was prepared for an uncomfortable night. Marissa and I made awkward small talk, both sensing each other’s tense emotions. We turned out the lights and began our odyssey.
Almost immediately after lights out, Chops began to bark. A whistle or two did not grab his attention and quiet him down. Feeling fairly restless I got out of the tent and went to the car. I hopped in my familiar spot, the driver seat, and sat there to quiet him down. As I sat in the odd grey and blue evening, the dogs panted with great vigor. I realized then that if I slept in the car, they would not bark, but if I slept in the car, all of the windows would remain open, and in this would leave me horribly exposed to my greatest agitator, the mosquito. Oh well, the hell with it, another layer of bug spray and a towel over my face, and I was ready to go. I politely told Marissa that I was staying in the car; her tone sounded less than excited. I was beginning to fear that we were heading to an odd emotional blowout.
I hopped in the car and sat oddly awake. Flow sat in the front passenger seat and continued to pant with her head out the window. Meanwhile Chops' panting had taken on such a cadence that he was rocking my seat with his heaving chest--this could not last the night. I hopped out into the night, and soaked a towel for Chops' neck. I put it around his collar and got back in the car. After another 20 minutes, the panting had not stopped, and I decided to move outside. At this point, the car was no real protection from the mosquito super highway we found ourselves immersed in.
I tied the dogs to a pole and they both sprawled out on the concrete. After about 10 minutes their panting slowed, and my nerves settled just long enough to fixate on the next unsettling fact: The mosquito population was getting frantic and frenetic.
As I sat wide eyed watching a far off lightening storm, which might I ad, for all of its ferocity NEVER made one peep of thunder (Roswell was beginning to feel strange), I could not separate myself from the gnarly noise of bugs constantly stopping to check my skin for blood. Mosquitoes carry that high pitch dentist drill with them like a sickening battle cry. I began to pace in the dark. The dogs sat quietly, and I wished that Marissa would pop out of the tent and say, "Let's get out of here!" Instead she tossed and turned, I could hear her, and I paced and pondered.
I sat at a bench; I leaned face first on to the hood of my car; I walked around and rolled the car windows up; I kneeled down to pet Chops. Then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, and I clued into a noise off in the not so distant distance. It was a slow hollow chuckle of a noise. It came and went, and then came and went. It was as if the wind was causing this great beast to growl and crackle. After about 5 minutes of distracting myself with this noise, I realized it was a lost piece of trash scraping the dessert rocks with each passing zephyr--back to my obsession with the bugs.
I paced more and more and became fixated on how to leave. The buzzing began to reach a fever's pitch and I started to swat violently around me. There was no escaping this madness, the fear of another 6 hours until day break began to send me into a violent spiral of insanity. I whirled about in the night air, shimmying and snapping away from the onslaught. When I noticed that the two dogs, who had been comfortably sleeping on the cool concrete, were now biting at the air and their own skin, I realized that these little winged bastards had kicked it up a notch and were now wing deep in bloodlust. Off in the distance something killed something else, and the noises ran through the canyon. ENOUGH!
I ran to Gorlick's tent and called her name in increasing decibel levels until she responded, "Hey Marissa, I'm getting out of here". She was in a daze, exhausted from her own battles with heat, odd noises, and bugs. "Marissa, I can't do this anymore, the mosquitoes are incessant, and now they are eating biting the dogs. I can't keep them in the car, because it is too hot. I am miserable and I need to leave." I waited for a response, and I anticipated this would be the beginning of a great void between the two of us. This request to leave was going to a annoying request and affirm my meager status in her eyes. Marissa chimed back, "I was just about to text you and say the same thing, LET'S GO!"
We threw the food and cooking utensils in the back. We quickly took out the tent poles, left all bags and pads in the tent, rolled it up in a giant mess and shoved in the read of the car. When I turned on the lights, there were millions of mosquitoes dancing in the heat of the night. We fired my engine and tore the fuck out of there (I apologize for the vulgarity, but this situation requires such a word). We flew down the 12 miles stretch out of the park. Initially we left the windows open in an attempt to blow all winged travelers out of the car. Eventually we shut the window and cranked the A/C.
On the dark road back to Roswell proper, Marissa and I laughed in excitement at the choice we had just made. It was 2 am and we were giddy. "We are never going to do this again. We cannot fight the Chi of the moment. We knew it didn't feel right! We must listen to the vibe," I metaphysically protested, as we hurled down the lonesome highway. "Yes! Yes," Marissa continued, "I am so happy that we are out of there. I don't care if we don't camp for the rest of the trip. That was so awful and I am so happy now."
The lightening lit up our faces as we shared a few rejoicing laughs and sped into town. Some poor soul sat pulled over about a mile from Main St. Undoubtedly his lat night (morning) was ending poorly, unlike ours.
So there it is. The first true trial and tribulation handled with grace and a retrospective realization, that this trip is not about suffering, but rather conquering all obstacles with a tenacious passion for life. Last night we chose life, and to choose life, you must live life, and if you live life, you love life.
I love life.
P.S. First, I can’t bring myself to fully check this entry for typos, so I apologize. Second, a photo post will happen later today. We have much to share, and undoubtedly we will be in a hotel to night that carries WiFi.
Blessings.
Back in Cuba, NM: Awoken by Marissa's alarm at 7am, we both fell asleep until 8. At that time, Chops, Flow, and I hit the highway for a morning stroll. We walked briskly and stopped for morning constitutionals on the side of the road. It brought me subtle joy to watch Chops belabor his morning ritual, as he attempted to push the bristles of my toothbrush out his Lower G.I. He decided to snack on things while Marissa and I headed to dinner the night before. In any event, after a quick round of chasing crickets and a pit stop at the Quick Stop to pick up a new toothbrush, we were back at the Hotel and packing.
We hit the road nice and early and made our way to Santa Fe. The road was majestic and colorful; mountainous and sprawling; dry and wet; it was a blast. We floated down the highway in a complete Zen-like state. There truly is something to seeing new countryside that can take the angst out of being car ridden for hours. We stopped briefly at a lake and hiked around some cliffs. Content with our inspection, we saddled back up, flipped the A/C to cold and roared forward. Marissa dropped face melting knowledge on the state of our food industry. She dissected the corruptions of subsidized corn and its insidious infiltration into all we eat (check your C14 levels). She called out the profit driven scandals of Mansanto and all the good work they do in the name of the all mighty dollar. It was intriguing to listen to a soul who chooses to not blindly eat meat, and actually has a reason for intelligently doing so. It was a great way to find our way to Santa Fe.
Santa Fe is an adobe lovers wet dream. Santa Fe is brown, beige, mauve, ivory, and burnt umber crimson. Santa Fe is a sweet little high altitude escape.
Once again, the iphone guides us where Constance can't--we find an outdoor patio breakfast place. We saunter up, pups in hand and find a table outside. I settle the dogs as Marissa puts in the order for two large orange juices and two breakfast burritos. As I wait, an older gentleman resting in the shade, flanked by his walking stick and his elderly K9, enquires about Chops' background. I respond with the usual, "Oh, a little Irish Wolfhound and Great Pyrenees--I don't know, he is a pound puppy". The old man strokes his beard and I notice the slight wisps of grey that spray out from his hat--they remind me of duck feathers for some reason. We begin to continue to chat. He tells me about his dog standing down a bear. He asks me about where we are heading and where we are from. Turns out he walked from Santa Cruz to Monterey back in the 60's. He says it’s a beautiful coast, but he likes it here better. Yada yada yada, Marissa returns with the OJ and our order is on its way. A quick note about the OJ: a large, came in a full sized Coca-Cola glass. This is the first time in the history of my life that I have received more than a tiddlywink portion of juice...it was a good omen.
After breakfast,ca breakfast where the dogs were nothing short of statuesque perfection, we headed to the Capital Building (the only round capital building in the nation). We got there. We saw, and we walked away down some side streets.
The downtown area of Santa Fe is another tourist hub, just like Pacific Ave in Santa Cruz or Hollywood and Highland in Los Angeles. We were tourists, but who cared it was nice to walk for awhile. We let the dogs dip into a creek and then pressed on into the fray. We happened upon an arts market, but no dogs allowed. I hung back in the shade as Marissa continued on to explore. In retrospect I should have put out a tip jar. Given the constant flow of out of towners, the dogs and I became a street side attraction. Chops, with his oafish whiteness, and Flow, with her feral facial structure, were a goddamn hit! We were pulling a bigger crowd than the filthy hippy across the way playing very nice blues riffs. We had babies, and ladies, and grannies, and everyone in between, fawning over the two majestic beasts that lay silently on the sidewalk. One attractive young gal (unfortunately with her boyfriend) asked to take a picture with Chops. A very fun series of interactions played out as I waited for Marissa to return.
After a short walk back to our car, Marissa and I hit the Whole foods for tasty num nums, and then off to Best Buy for a Camera and Cable. Marissa tended to the animals while I went inside to scope the scene. I had about four different young gentlemen refer to me as “Boss”--apparently this “Dude” substitute has made a resurgence in New Mexico. In case you ever find your way down here, and you want to fit in, there is your heads up. Long story short, I took way too long to find what we needed, and if Marissa had been there to troubleshoot my dilemmas, we would have been in and out in 15 minutes...so it goes.
Marissa and I got a 21st Century burst of creativity for the next leg of our journey to Roswell: Her iphone needed to be charged, so we plugged it into my Macbook which had charged the previous night, we then plugged in my external harddrive, containing all my music files. We then, opened up iTunes and rocked a mix of music. We rocked that setup for at least 3 and 1/2 hours. We ran from Beck and the Beta Band to Al Green and Sage Francis. It was an eclectic mix for an eclectic landscape.
In the plains outside of Santa Fe, we got another opportunity to watch a rainstorm take shape on far off plots of land. So powerful were these storms, that the thunderbolts were snapping and cracking the sky with a fierce repetition. Collectively we must have snapped close to 50 pictures before Marissa caught not only a magnificent bolt of electrical current, but a bolt erupting in front of a rainbow. It was a triumph.
We stopped at a rest stop with 45 miles to go. I recently heard that Califnornia shut all of its rest stops to combat budget issues. Based on this roadside stop, New Mexico's infrastructure must be alive and well. There were immaculate bathroom facilities, sweet little grass fields, and a great view of farmland. Aside from the "Caution Rattlesnakes" sign, it was a perfect slice of heaven.
We pressed forth. My computer died, Marissa put in her iphone for some more tunes, and we bobbed and weaved down the asphalt teleport.
Arriving in Roswell was a relief. Much larger than anticipated (that's what she said), we rolled down Main St. We looked for all things Alien. Their streetlights are alien heads. A few billboards claiming to hold the true history of the crash, and some other odd alien placements, helped to round off the kitschy vibe. In all honesty there are more national chain stores in this town. It was hard to find a store claiming to have the truth or show you the truth. The aliens seem to be loosing their grip on the psyche of the do gooders in this town.
We road the entire strip, and then decided we should go camp it tonight. Marissa and I decided that we would alternate nights of hotel sleeping and camping, in an effort to cut costs of travel. After a quick stop at Albertson’s for dinner makings, we decided to drive 12 miles out of town to The Bottomless Lakes. The lakes are only 90 ft deep, but when the brain surgeons of the wild west found them back in the 1800's, they reeled down their cattle rope to investigate their new find, and never found bottom. In their minds, the lakes were bottomless, and for me, they might as well be.
We arrived after dark. We found the visitor center and paid our $10 entrance fee. We scoured the campsites for an open lot, but nothing could be found. We pulled into another campers plot, and they directed us to a place up the road. I was beginning to get the fear. The fears initial stages are always symptomatic of angst and annoyance.
We found our spot and unloaded our gear. Marissa made quick work of the tent, and I made a blunder of the stove. Too cocky this time to read the instructions as I went along, I wound up not pumping the fuel and the fire was sporadic and lame...a small tear began to form. Marissa chopped apples to try and save the positive vibe we had fostered through our day. I was less willing to leave my funk, for it did not feel good.
Sitting next to the bottomless lake afforded many wildlife opportunities, with the largest number being comprised of mosquitoes. Oh the joy of embracing blood suckers. Nothing was going smoothly. Yuck! I was beginning to fall into a foul mood, which is a first for this trip. As the high pitched buzzing swirled around us, we chowed down our dinner and made things ready for bed.
The dogs had been lying on the cool concrete floor, but I have read that when camping, leaving your dogs outside at night can be a dangerous choice. That being said, I decided to put them in the car, and leave the windows almost all down. The car was infinitely hotter, but I figured the dogs would be fine.
I hopped into the tent fully clothed in long pants, a long sleeved shirt, and socks--all of which were soaked in DEET and citronella. I blew up my Thermarest and left my sleeping bag in its bag, I was prepared for an uncomfortable night. Marissa and I made awkward small talk, both sensing each other’s tense emotions. We turned out the lights and began our odyssey.
Almost immediately after lights out, Chops began to bark. A whistle or two did not grab his attention and quiet him down. Feeling fairly restless I got out of the tent and went to the car. I hopped in my familiar spot, the driver seat, and sat there to quiet him down. As I sat in the odd grey and blue evening, the dogs panted with great vigor. I realized then that if I slept in the car, they would not bark, but if I slept in the car, all of the windows would remain open, and in this would leave me horribly exposed to my greatest agitator, the mosquito. Oh well, the hell with it, another layer of bug spray and a towel over my face, and I was ready to go. I politely told Marissa that I was staying in the car; her tone sounded less than excited. I was beginning to fear that we were heading to an odd emotional blowout.
I hopped in the car and sat oddly awake. Flow sat in the front passenger seat and continued to pant with her head out the window. Meanwhile Chops' panting had taken on such a cadence that he was rocking my seat with his heaving chest--this could not last the night. I hopped out into the night, and soaked a towel for Chops' neck. I put it around his collar and got back in the car. After another 20 minutes, the panting had not stopped, and I decided to move outside. At this point, the car was no real protection from the mosquito super highway we found ourselves immersed in.
I tied the dogs to a pole and they both sprawled out on the concrete. After about 10 minutes their panting slowed, and my nerves settled just long enough to fixate on the next unsettling fact: The mosquito population was getting frantic and frenetic.
As I sat wide eyed watching a far off lightening storm, which might I ad, for all of its ferocity NEVER made one peep of thunder (Roswell was beginning to feel strange), I could not separate myself from the gnarly noise of bugs constantly stopping to check my skin for blood. Mosquitoes carry that high pitch dentist drill with them like a sickening battle cry. I began to pace in the dark. The dogs sat quietly, and I wished that Marissa would pop out of the tent and say, "Let's get out of here!" Instead she tossed and turned, I could hear her, and I paced and pondered.
I sat at a bench; I leaned face first on to the hood of my car; I walked around and rolled the car windows up; I kneeled down to pet Chops. Then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, and I clued into a noise off in the not so distant distance. It was a slow hollow chuckle of a noise. It came and went, and then came and went. It was as if the wind was causing this great beast to growl and crackle. After about 5 minutes of distracting myself with this noise, I realized it was a lost piece of trash scraping the dessert rocks with each passing zephyr--back to my obsession with the bugs.
I paced more and more and became fixated on how to leave. The buzzing began to reach a fever's pitch and I started to swat violently around me. There was no escaping this madness, the fear of another 6 hours until day break began to send me into a violent spiral of insanity. I whirled about in the night air, shimmying and snapping away from the onslaught. When I noticed that the two dogs, who had been comfortably sleeping on the cool concrete, were now biting at the air and their own skin, I realized that these little winged bastards had kicked it up a notch and were now wing deep in bloodlust. Off in the distance something killed something else, and the noises ran through the canyon. ENOUGH!
I ran to Gorlick's tent and called her name in increasing decibel levels until she responded, "Hey Marissa, I'm getting out of here". She was in a daze, exhausted from her own battles with heat, odd noises, and bugs. "Marissa, I can't do this anymore, the mosquitoes are incessant, and now they are eating biting the dogs. I can't keep them in the car, because it is too hot. I am miserable and I need to leave." I waited for a response, and I anticipated this would be the beginning of a great void between the two of us. This request to leave was going to a annoying request and affirm my meager status in her eyes. Marissa chimed back, "I was just about to text you and say the same thing, LET'S GO!"
We threw the food and cooking utensils in the back. We quickly took out the tent poles, left all bags and pads in the tent, rolled it up in a giant mess and shoved in the read of the car. When I turned on the lights, there were millions of mosquitoes dancing in the heat of the night. We fired my engine and tore the fuck out of there (I apologize for the vulgarity, but this situation requires such a word). We flew down the 12 miles stretch out of the park. Initially we left the windows open in an attempt to blow all winged travelers out of the car. Eventually we shut the window and cranked the A/C.
On the dark road back to Roswell proper, Marissa and I laughed in excitement at the choice we had just made. It was 2 am and we were giddy. "We are never going to do this again. We cannot fight the Chi of the moment. We knew it didn't feel right! We must listen to the vibe," I metaphysically protested, as we hurled down the lonesome highway. "Yes! Yes," Marissa continued, "I am so happy that we are out of there. I don't care if we don't camp for the rest of the trip. That was so awful and I am so happy now."
The lightening lit up our faces as we shared a few rejoicing laughs and sped into town. Some poor soul sat pulled over about a mile from Main St. Undoubtedly his lat night (morning) was ending poorly, unlike ours.
So there it is. The first true trial and tribulation handled with grace and a retrospective realization, that this trip is not about suffering, but rather conquering all obstacles with a tenacious passion for life. Last night we chose life, and to choose life, you must live life, and if you live life, you love life.
I love life.
P.S. First, I can’t bring myself to fully check this entry for typos, so I apologize. Second, a photo post will happen later today. We have much to share, and undoubtedly we will be in a hotel to night that carries WiFi.
Blessings.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Day 2 and 3 - North Rim: A Job Well Done and Exodus: A Long Road to Cleanliness
North Rim: A Job Well Done
St. George Retrospective:
Woke up at eight in the morning; I felt rested and ready. Fed the dogs and Marissa and I walked 30 ft through the lobby to the free continental breakfast. It seems as though not many made the breakfast hour, so we had our run of the lush spread: a little toasted bagel and cream cheese, three glasses of OJ, a hard boiled egg while waiting for said bagel to toast, two mini chocolate chip muffins, and an apple. We sat and dined in an air conditioned haven; at eight a.m. the temperature was already quickly rising. While throwing away trash I snagged hot cocoa for the road. Marissa decided to pilfer two apples, some instant oatmeal, and utensils. We escaped back to our pad.
After loading the car I schemed on how to get the dogs to the car. Hiren, the manager at the helm, decided to give us a room in which his office window peered directly at our front door. I plotted, I waited, and I moved. "Okay", I prophesized. "I will walk Flow to the car now, wait 40 seconds after you hear the car door shut, and then walk Chops to the car. This should give me enough time to get Hiren out of his little Peeping Tom room.” The first phase went swimmingly: Flow was in the car and I jetted to the lobby to beckon the almighty Hiren. When I arrived in the A/C oasis of a lobby, Hiren was at the continental spread stuffing his face. I dropped the key on the counter, skedaddled back to the room, grabbed Marissa and Chops and we steam boated out of there. Presumably Hiren only needed my key and I didn't need to talk to him face to face...my credit card bill will eventually answer that question.
One thing learned from that endeavor: I am not going to lie about how many dogs I have, just to save a buck; the stress is not worth it.
In any event, after a quick stop at Albertsons, Marissa and I pressed forth on the long road North. We charged, we rocked, we continued to gain altitude. The temperature was stifling and the A/C ran long and hard (that's what she said) the whole run through Utah. However, entering into Arizona's highlands, the road to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon began to amaze. As we neared the Kaibab National Forest, we were greeted with rain showers, an insane drop in temperature, and the barren dessert began to fade into lush green forest. If I were more of a botanist, or just a better human being, I would tell you the names of the trees I saw, but instead I will just say they were beautiful.
I had initially envisioned the Grand Canyon's North Rim to be much like the South: hot, desolate, and touristy. I visited the south rim when I was in my 16th year. The North reminded me of Yosemite; though I have never been, I have seen pictures and listened to many people discuss its natural beauty. The Kaibab National Forest encompasses Grand Canyon National Park. As we rolled through Kaibab, we found ourselves descending from winding forest roads into long prairie meadow straight-aways. The views were breathtaking both on their own, and because they were so unexpected. We hurled forward taking it all in at 50mph.
We arrived to a moderate line at the Park entrance. The rain was thick and we continued to thank the skies. As we waited a lady with a sweet A line hair cut and dark eye liner approached us in her shiny new SUV. We both rolled down the window, and she gave us her entrance ticket: pay it forward $25 at a time. We entered the park on a high note. Upon arriving, there were no signs of other dogs, so we decided to leave the pooches in the car. The canyon was breathtaking: a myriad of colors and textures so vast, one wonders how deep the human spirit truly runs.
Meandering through the sea of cabin bound tourists, we found a sweet young intern fresh off his B.S. in Geology. He answered our questions swiftly. "First, there are no dogs allowed on any trails in the park. Second, camping is up the road, but if I were you I would go here." The young sporty spice drew us a map that took us back out of the park and back into the Kaibab National Forest. From what I can tell is this: National Parks are for humans who want to spend money; National Forests are for all of the Earth's creatures and you don't have to spend a dime. The intern guide had us backtrack 5 miles out of the park, and then hit fire road 611, which took us 15 miles to the north tip of the Grand Canyon. There we were allowed to camp for free right off the road. We promptly exited the park, meandered back through the prairies, dropped the 4runner into 4x4 and barged through the forest.
Winding down the dirt road we found ourselves questioning the validity of the information that was given to us; the road seemed to go forever. Finally we began to see a clearing. At the clearing we were greeted with spectacular views of the northern tip of the Grand Canyon, as we pulled up we found a fire pit necked up to an old pine and a perfect clearing to park the car. There was one other couple present, they too had two dogs. We unpacked our gear, pitched a tent and fortified our fire pit, which came with a pre-scavenged horde of wood: pay it forward.
We grabbed a couple of packs, water, and the dogs and headed out to explore the rim. It was as if we had been dropped upon a secret. No tourists or guides, no yuppies and whining babies, just flora, fauna, and unadulterated views of a world wonder. We hiked for about an hour up to a lone ridgeline. The mountain dropped into a serious plateau, but there was no need to be a hero that day, so we proudly snapped the requisite photos and sauntered back to camp.
With evening came food, fire, music, and exploration. We fired up the primus stove and quickly boiled up some chicken noodle soup. After the initial feast we tended to our campfire. With a little effort (we wound up shaving dry wood flakes with a pocket knife to create kindling), we got the fire to catch, and Marissa quickly went to work and stoked the fire to its fullest. After awhile we were down on wood; we needed something more substantial. A large log provided a fulcrum upon which another log was laid perpendicularly, and I proceeded to drop a large rock on its mid point. Success! Large pieces of wood were at our fire’s disposal--Marissa pressed on with her pyrotechnics.
The dogs found there way over to our only neighbors camp and made friends with their pups. They spent the better part of sunset exploring the woods and playing tag through the tree line. I found myself noodling on the guitar and singing songs to the night air. Around dusk we settled the coals down, loaded the dogs into the car, and hopped into the tent; we were so ready for sleep.
With nightfall came the howling winds. They were birthed at the canyon floor; a small hickup on the Earth's breath. Through the lower rock cliffs they took to their adolescence, learning the trade of dancing and laughing. As they reached the crest of the canyon their teenage precociousness rifled the trees with an intensity of giggles and angst. Across the valley on the open plains they found solitude in their journey and retired to old age, making way for the next generation of midnight marauders.
The trees did their best to shelter us, but the wind was something of a cosmic chorus that ceased to crescendo and decrescendo, and so we sat in silence letting our minds run through their own symphonies of thought. I found myself imagining far off lands, lost moments with old lovers, bad politics and strange faces--I found myself wondering why my mind wanders. At the time I had no idea, but Marissa spent her night doing the same. We lay head to toe wishing for sleep, and instead embracing the ferocity of the night. Although I was tired, there was an excitement to the whole event, and I felt blessed to be there.
5:00am we awoke for the sunset. Our clocks were off, so we were an hour early, but we stood there and took in the rise of the sun from across the canyon. Majestic will be what I will call this moment.
Exodus: A Long Road to Cleanliness
Breakfast was quick, packing was even quicker, and we were off at 7:30am. Back through the fire road we went, bobbing and weaving our way to open meadows. We were ten miles into the ride when we came across a young buffalo bull. He stood in the road statuesque and curious. I had been flying down the road at 40mph kicking up dust in all directions, and this was such a contrast to all that we had created. He stood there. I honked. He puffed. I rolled forward he trotted in the same direction. Suddenly, with no real provocation, he jump and kicked his was into the forest. Marissa caught the whole thing in digital pictures.
We pressed out of the woods into the meadows. We stopped and ran up the hill sides. It was amazing to see the natural tree line that had formed on both ends of the prairie. It was as if skyscrapers had taken their cues from pines and ponderosas, and city blocks had sharpened their edge with the river rocks the dried stream left; in the silence of the meadow, we sat in an odd parallel of city life and the natural.. The dogs ran free, chased lizards and crickets, and we meandered before embarking on the journey of journeys.
We rip roared down the road as Constance our navigator barked left and rights at us. Today's trip was through the heart of Navajo country. We dipped down a huge plateau into what seemed to be an endless valley flanked by high rise mesas.
My petal never left the metal and we jetted at 75mph (4cyl carrying a load—it’s fast to me). As Marissa caught Z's, we hurdled through long stretches of sun soaked land. We took a pit stop before the Navajo Bridge over the Colorado River. The dogs ran into the store and I had to wrangle them back to the car, but it was a welcomed stop. From there we pushed forth cutting through what seemed to be an endless backdrop of dessert and a depraved nation of forgotten people.
I found myself commenting in odd ways about the faces and places I saw. Dark skin and long hair huddling beneath dilapidated trailers, barns, shacks, and air conditioned wigwams. I didn't know how to feel, and sometimes my commentary seemed bigoted. I saw an aged Indigenous man holding up a thumb, and I thought to myself, "No way in hell would I pick up that man. These people are desperate". OUCH! Why? Sociological commentary and realizations swam against the current of my inner fear, sorrow, and angst at all I saw. How could these people survive out here? How can selling crafts on the side of an under traveled road, yield an income? How come I never knew this is what it was like? Why has their way of living been made obsolete by another people? The power lines, run down cars, and poorly built houses were monuments in their own way. They were the chokehold of modernity, and as silent as they stood, the death they caused was quieter.
This continued for hours. We went to the 4 corners, but you had to pay, so we turned around and pressed forth. We filled up with gas, drove through continued poverty, and after 480miles we called a quits in Cuba...Cuba, New Mexico.
So here I am, showered, stuffed, and connected to the internet. I am about to sign off and hand over the world to Marissa--she is going to download the audiobook of "All the Pretty Horses". My Aunt suggested the read, and it was also $10 cheaper than "Blood Meridian", which my friend Professor Fletcher recommended. Cormac McCarthy seems fitting in these desolate Southwest stretches.
To the American Dream within us all, I solute you.
P.S. Pictures courtesy of Marissa coming soon.
St. George Retrospective:
Woke up at eight in the morning; I felt rested and ready. Fed the dogs and Marissa and I walked 30 ft through the lobby to the free continental breakfast. It seems as though not many made the breakfast hour, so we had our run of the lush spread: a little toasted bagel and cream cheese, three glasses of OJ, a hard boiled egg while waiting for said bagel to toast, two mini chocolate chip muffins, and an apple. We sat and dined in an air conditioned haven; at eight a.m. the temperature was already quickly rising. While throwing away trash I snagged hot cocoa for the road. Marissa decided to pilfer two apples, some instant oatmeal, and utensils. We escaped back to our pad.
After loading the car I schemed on how to get the dogs to the car. Hiren, the manager at the helm, decided to give us a room in which his office window peered directly at our front door. I plotted, I waited, and I moved. "Okay", I prophesized. "I will walk Flow to the car now, wait 40 seconds after you hear the car door shut, and then walk Chops to the car. This should give me enough time to get Hiren out of his little Peeping Tom room.” The first phase went swimmingly: Flow was in the car and I jetted to the lobby to beckon the almighty Hiren. When I arrived in the A/C oasis of a lobby, Hiren was at the continental spread stuffing his face. I dropped the key on the counter, skedaddled back to the room, grabbed Marissa and Chops and we steam boated out of there. Presumably Hiren only needed my key and I didn't need to talk to him face to face...my credit card bill will eventually answer that question.
One thing learned from that endeavor: I am not going to lie about how many dogs I have, just to save a buck; the stress is not worth it.
In any event, after a quick stop at Albertsons, Marissa and I pressed forth on the long road North. We charged, we rocked, we continued to gain altitude. The temperature was stifling and the A/C ran long and hard (that's what she said) the whole run through Utah. However, entering into Arizona's highlands, the road to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon began to amaze. As we neared the Kaibab National Forest, we were greeted with rain showers, an insane drop in temperature, and the barren dessert began to fade into lush green forest. If I were more of a botanist, or just a better human being, I would tell you the names of the trees I saw, but instead I will just say they were beautiful.
I had initially envisioned the Grand Canyon's North Rim to be much like the South: hot, desolate, and touristy. I visited the south rim when I was in my 16th year. The North reminded me of Yosemite; though I have never been, I have seen pictures and listened to many people discuss its natural beauty. The Kaibab National Forest encompasses Grand Canyon National Park. As we rolled through Kaibab, we found ourselves descending from winding forest roads into long prairie meadow straight-aways. The views were breathtaking both on their own, and because they were so unexpected. We hurled forward taking it all in at 50mph.
We arrived to a moderate line at the Park entrance. The rain was thick and we continued to thank the skies. As we waited a lady with a sweet A line hair cut and dark eye liner approached us in her shiny new SUV. We both rolled down the window, and she gave us her entrance ticket: pay it forward $25 at a time. We entered the park on a high note. Upon arriving, there were no signs of other dogs, so we decided to leave the pooches in the car. The canyon was breathtaking: a myriad of colors and textures so vast, one wonders how deep the human spirit truly runs.
Meandering through the sea of cabin bound tourists, we found a sweet young intern fresh off his B.S. in Geology. He answered our questions swiftly. "First, there are no dogs allowed on any trails in the park. Second, camping is up the road, but if I were you I would go here." The young sporty spice drew us a map that took us back out of the park and back into the Kaibab National Forest. From what I can tell is this: National Parks are for humans who want to spend money; National Forests are for all of the Earth's creatures and you don't have to spend a dime. The intern guide had us backtrack 5 miles out of the park, and then hit fire road 611, which took us 15 miles to the north tip of the Grand Canyon. There we were allowed to camp for free right off the road. We promptly exited the park, meandered back through the prairies, dropped the 4runner into 4x4 and barged through the forest.
Winding down the dirt road we found ourselves questioning the validity of the information that was given to us; the road seemed to go forever. Finally we began to see a clearing. At the clearing we were greeted with spectacular views of the northern tip of the Grand Canyon, as we pulled up we found a fire pit necked up to an old pine and a perfect clearing to park the car. There was one other couple present, they too had two dogs. We unpacked our gear, pitched a tent and fortified our fire pit, which came with a pre-scavenged horde of wood: pay it forward.
We grabbed a couple of packs, water, and the dogs and headed out to explore the rim. It was as if we had been dropped upon a secret. No tourists or guides, no yuppies and whining babies, just flora, fauna, and unadulterated views of a world wonder. We hiked for about an hour up to a lone ridgeline. The mountain dropped into a serious plateau, but there was no need to be a hero that day, so we proudly snapped the requisite photos and sauntered back to camp.
With evening came food, fire, music, and exploration. We fired up the primus stove and quickly boiled up some chicken noodle soup. After the initial feast we tended to our campfire. With a little effort (we wound up shaving dry wood flakes with a pocket knife to create kindling), we got the fire to catch, and Marissa quickly went to work and stoked the fire to its fullest. After awhile we were down on wood; we needed something more substantial. A large log provided a fulcrum upon which another log was laid perpendicularly, and I proceeded to drop a large rock on its mid point. Success! Large pieces of wood were at our fire’s disposal--Marissa pressed on with her pyrotechnics.
The dogs found there way over to our only neighbors camp and made friends with their pups. They spent the better part of sunset exploring the woods and playing tag through the tree line. I found myself noodling on the guitar and singing songs to the night air. Around dusk we settled the coals down, loaded the dogs into the car, and hopped into the tent; we were so ready for sleep.
With nightfall came the howling winds. They were birthed at the canyon floor; a small hickup on the Earth's breath. Through the lower rock cliffs they took to their adolescence, learning the trade of dancing and laughing. As they reached the crest of the canyon their teenage precociousness rifled the trees with an intensity of giggles and angst. Across the valley on the open plains they found solitude in their journey and retired to old age, making way for the next generation of midnight marauders.
The trees did their best to shelter us, but the wind was something of a cosmic chorus that ceased to crescendo and decrescendo, and so we sat in silence letting our minds run through their own symphonies of thought. I found myself imagining far off lands, lost moments with old lovers, bad politics and strange faces--I found myself wondering why my mind wanders. At the time I had no idea, but Marissa spent her night doing the same. We lay head to toe wishing for sleep, and instead embracing the ferocity of the night. Although I was tired, there was an excitement to the whole event, and I felt blessed to be there.
5:00am we awoke for the sunset. Our clocks were off, so we were an hour early, but we stood there and took in the rise of the sun from across the canyon. Majestic will be what I will call this moment.
Exodus: A Long Road to Cleanliness
Breakfast was quick, packing was even quicker, and we were off at 7:30am. Back through the fire road we went, bobbing and weaving our way to open meadows. We were ten miles into the ride when we came across a young buffalo bull. He stood in the road statuesque and curious. I had been flying down the road at 40mph kicking up dust in all directions, and this was such a contrast to all that we had created. He stood there. I honked. He puffed. I rolled forward he trotted in the same direction. Suddenly, with no real provocation, he jump and kicked his was into the forest. Marissa caught the whole thing in digital pictures.
We pressed out of the woods into the meadows. We stopped and ran up the hill sides. It was amazing to see the natural tree line that had formed on both ends of the prairie. It was as if skyscrapers had taken their cues from pines and ponderosas, and city blocks had sharpened their edge with the river rocks the dried stream left; in the silence of the meadow, we sat in an odd parallel of city life and the natural.. The dogs ran free, chased lizards and crickets, and we meandered before embarking on the journey of journeys.
We rip roared down the road as Constance our navigator barked left and rights at us. Today's trip was through the heart of Navajo country. We dipped down a huge plateau into what seemed to be an endless valley flanked by high rise mesas.
My petal never left the metal and we jetted at 75mph (4cyl carrying a load—it’s fast to me). As Marissa caught Z's, we hurdled through long stretches of sun soaked land. We took a pit stop before the Navajo Bridge over the Colorado River. The dogs ran into the store and I had to wrangle them back to the car, but it was a welcomed stop. From there we pushed forth cutting through what seemed to be an endless backdrop of dessert and a depraved nation of forgotten people.
I found myself commenting in odd ways about the faces and places I saw. Dark skin and long hair huddling beneath dilapidated trailers, barns, shacks, and air conditioned wigwams. I didn't know how to feel, and sometimes my commentary seemed bigoted. I saw an aged Indigenous man holding up a thumb, and I thought to myself, "No way in hell would I pick up that man. These people are desperate". OUCH! Why? Sociological commentary and realizations swam against the current of my inner fear, sorrow, and angst at all I saw. How could these people survive out here? How can selling crafts on the side of an under traveled road, yield an income? How come I never knew this is what it was like? Why has their way of living been made obsolete by another people? The power lines, run down cars, and poorly built houses were monuments in their own way. They were the chokehold of modernity, and as silent as they stood, the death they caused was quieter.
This continued for hours. We went to the 4 corners, but you had to pay, so we turned around and pressed forth. We filled up with gas, drove through continued poverty, and after 480miles we called a quits in Cuba...Cuba, New Mexico.
So here I am, showered, stuffed, and connected to the internet. I am about to sign off and hand over the world to Marissa--she is going to download the audiobook of "All the Pretty Horses". My Aunt suggested the read, and it was also $10 cheaper than "Blood Meridian", which my friend Professor Fletcher recommended. Cormac McCarthy seems fitting in these desolate Southwest stretches.
To the American Dream within us all, I solute you.
P.S. Pictures courtesy of Marissa coming soon.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Day 1 - A Voyage North: Four States One Car
Let me give you the background: Yesterday night was spent drilling holes and stretching cargo nets to create an interior roof top storage system (After 300mi I am very pleased with the results). This morning was spent packing, packing, packing, pausing to think, packing, stressing, packing, breathing...repeat. It was a three hour mission that left a few things forgotten, but all and all, the good stuff made it in.
I met Marissa in Los Feliz around 12:30pm (that would be three and half hours late, yet it felt right on time). Marissa and I had planned a route for months, and with a few key strokes we changed our course. A route to Flagstaff, AZ was swapped for a route to St. George, UT. Since we are thinking days in advance here, St. George was closer to our starting point and closer to our ultimate destination, The North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
We left Los Feliz at 1pm and headed inland and south to Riverside. Our navigator, Constance (She has a sweet little crumpets and tea British Accent) guided us on our way. When we missed our exit she "recalculated" in a matter of seconds. In any event, an old compatriot of mine, currently studying Social Psychology at UC Riverside had us as brief guests. The dogs were only too happy to get out of the car. Mr. Fletcher, as his students most likely call him, lives on campus. As with most UC facilities this equals a blanketed no pets policy. As soon as we stepped out of the vehicle and on to UC property, we were law breakers. He opened his door and greeted us in a gentile manor. The trip had barely begun and it felt good.
We walked around to the back of his aging palatial estate. Outback sat a rusted close line, an oak tree and some grass. All the houses in the Family/Student housing section were necked up back to back with no fences, and a sloping grassy ravine connecting the thruway. Flow was swinging about the leash in a nervous frenzy, so I let her off and she tore through the grass like a Thoroughbred seeking a ribbon.
As Flow meandered Chops hung close, and Jesse, or rather Maestro Fletcher, showed us the amazing beehive that made a home on the side of the oak. Beautiful yet scary, since after not being stung for 10 years, I discovered two summers ago that I had developed a sweet little allergic reaction to the bee's defense. Flow came back, I tied them both up under the tree and we stepped inside for some water.
Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher (Preeta) brought us a glass of water and there we sat. We talked art; we talked old friends; we talked music theory; we talked past, present, and future; we talked academics; and we exchanged hugs. The good professor gave us a parting word and gifted us a journey.
With a snap and flash we were back on the road. Constance combined with Marissa's iphone skills, had us locked on an In-N-Out about 10 miles north. We stopped, we ate, we bathroomed, we moved on.
This is where the road got long and the trip set in. The Inland Empire reminds me of old vinyl: it sounds good if it is taken care of, but when it is scratched it just annoying and redundant. So it is, with much of the first half spent on the 215 and 15, the southern interior of California is a place I shall not need a second look at.
We pressed on and the AC blew ice crystals, while the temperature outside read 105. We pressed forth until we saw the vast megalopolis of Las Vegas. Now I have never been, but my first trip was breathtaking: The Luxor, The Whim, Trump Tower, The Belagio, Harrah's, Caesar's Palace, and so forth. All of these gems gleamed at me as we whipped through in a furry of dust and smoke. They looked great from the freeway, but I feel as if these casinos, with their gaudy exteriors and whorish interiors really don't show one the true side of Las Vegas--they are simply a facade. However, upon reading the local gun shop billboard in which an automatic assault rifle was displayed with the tagline, "Try One!", Ls Vegas reered its freaky little face. Fake breasts and free drinks have nothing on the pure unadulterated power of a fully automatic deathstick.
Las Vegas gave us the time to refuel and allow the dogs to run briskly through a trash strewn vacant lot. I peed, then they peed, then Chops pooped, and then we got back on the road.
North: Through the tundra, the further from Vegas the more the beauty filtered in. Perhaps it was the setting sun that brought an angelic hue to the surrounding hills, but all seemed to be new and breathtaking. Northern Nevada gave way into the red rocks of Arizona. Arizona's plateaus became blurs beneath the far off landslides of rain that fell out of mountainous skies. Marissa snapped away as the rain fell further on the horizon. At 65mph, our sightseeing takes on panoramic qualities.
The Mountains of Arizona gave way the Canyon of the Vaginas. No this is not the real name, but Even Cowgirls Get the Blues when they try to remember the name of passing natural wonders. In any event we hooked around a lightening storm and feel into an an ancient canyon carved by the thunderous rapids of a river long over due, The Virgin River. The wonder of the enormous mountainsides closing in around us, could make you remember how small you might be, but it made me think of the enormity of this trip, and how we have set a series of amazing things in front of us. YES!
The Canyon of the Virgin River lead us out of Arizona and into Utah. Mormon country thus far has been friendly and beautiful; I have talked to two people and they seemed nice. St. George gives us a hotel that accepts pets, has free WiFi and solid showers. This hotel, although tolerant of pets asks many questions such as: How many pets? How much do they way? Do they shed a lot? I answered: One pet; 70lbs; Definitely not. Another useless lie, but this one saved me an extra $20, so I feel it was justified.
Marissa and I traipsed through the dark across a vacant lot; the dogs scuttled off to smell the smells of new lands. We walked the dogs through a drive through, ordered a sub, came home, ate, watched Seinfeld, and sat in silence. Typing this entry has proven to be lengthy and odd, and yet I feel strong about its accuracy.
As Marissa thumbs through a book, Flow and Chops twitch in epileptic sleep REM, and I sit typing, ready to spellcheck, shower, sleep, amen.
The blessings of the road continue to abound.
After proof reading this, I believe I slipped into two different verb tenses of past and present in an effort to sound interesting. I think it is incorrect and I would like to change it, but I am tired.
Blessings from Utah.
I met Marissa in Los Feliz around 12:30pm (that would be three and half hours late, yet it felt right on time). Marissa and I had planned a route for months, and with a few key strokes we changed our course. A route to Flagstaff, AZ was swapped for a route to St. George, UT. Since we are thinking days in advance here, St. George was closer to our starting point and closer to our ultimate destination, The North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
We left Los Feliz at 1pm and headed inland and south to Riverside. Our navigator, Constance (She has a sweet little crumpets and tea British Accent) guided us on our way. When we missed our exit she "recalculated" in a matter of seconds. In any event, an old compatriot of mine, currently studying Social Psychology at UC Riverside had us as brief guests. The dogs were only too happy to get out of the car. Mr. Fletcher, as his students most likely call him, lives on campus. As with most UC facilities this equals a blanketed no pets policy. As soon as we stepped out of the vehicle and on to UC property, we were law breakers. He opened his door and greeted us in a gentile manor. The trip had barely begun and it felt good.
We walked around to the back of his aging palatial estate. Outback sat a rusted close line, an oak tree and some grass. All the houses in the Family/Student housing section were necked up back to back with no fences, and a sloping grassy ravine connecting the thruway. Flow was swinging about the leash in a nervous frenzy, so I let her off and she tore through the grass like a Thoroughbred seeking a ribbon.
As Flow meandered Chops hung close, and Jesse, or rather Maestro Fletcher, showed us the amazing beehive that made a home on the side of the oak. Beautiful yet scary, since after not being stung for 10 years, I discovered two summers ago that I had developed a sweet little allergic reaction to the bee's defense. Flow came back, I tied them both up under the tree and we stepped inside for some water.
Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher (Preeta) brought us a glass of water and there we sat. We talked art; we talked old friends; we talked music theory; we talked past, present, and future; we talked academics; and we exchanged hugs. The good professor gave us a parting word and gifted us a journey.
With a snap and flash we were back on the road. Constance combined with Marissa's iphone skills, had us locked on an In-N-Out about 10 miles north. We stopped, we ate, we bathroomed, we moved on.
This is where the road got long and the trip set in. The Inland Empire reminds me of old vinyl: it sounds good if it is taken care of, but when it is scratched it just annoying and redundant. So it is, with much of the first half spent on the 215 and 15, the southern interior of California is a place I shall not need a second look at.
We pressed on and the AC blew ice crystals, while the temperature outside read 105. We pressed forth until we saw the vast megalopolis of Las Vegas. Now I have never been, but my first trip was breathtaking: The Luxor, The Whim, Trump Tower, The Belagio, Harrah's, Caesar's Palace, and so forth. All of these gems gleamed at me as we whipped through in a furry of dust and smoke. They looked great from the freeway, but I feel as if these casinos, with their gaudy exteriors and whorish interiors really don't show one the true side of Las Vegas--they are simply a facade. However, upon reading the local gun shop billboard in which an automatic assault rifle was displayed with the tagline, "Try One!", Ls Vegas reered its freaky little face. Fake breasts and free drinks have nothing on the pure unadulterated power of a fully automatic deathstick.
Las Vegas gave us the time to refuel and allow the dogs to run briskly through a trash strewn vacant lot. I peed, then they peed, then Chops pooped, and then we got back on the road.
North: Through the tundra, the further from Vegas the more the beauty filtered in. Perhaps it was the setting sun that brought an angelic hue to the surrounding hills, but all seemed to be new and breathtaking. Northern Nevada gave way into the red rocks of Arizona. Arizona's plateaus became blurs beneath the far off landslides of rain that fell out of mountainous skies. Marissa snapped away as the rain fell further on the horizon. At 65mph, our sightseeing takes on panoramic qualities.
The Mountains of Arizona gave way the Canyon of the Vaginas. No this is not the real name, but Even Cowgirls Get the Blues when they try to remember the name of passing natural wonders. In any event we hooked around a lightening storm and feel into an an ancient canyon carved by the thunderous rapids of a river long over due, The Virgin River. The wonder of the enormous mountainsides closing in around us, could make you remember how small you might be, but it made me think of the enormity of this trip, and how we have set a series of amazing things in front of us. YES!
The Canyon of the Virgin River lead us out of Arizona and into Utah. Mormon country thus far has been friendly and beautiful; I have talked to two people and they seemed nice. St. George gives us a hotel that accepts pets, has free WiFi and solid showers. This hotel, although tolerant of pets asks many questions such as: How many pets? How much do they way? Do they shed a lot? I answered: One pet; 70lbs; Definitely not. Another useless lie, but this one saved me an extra $20, so I feel it was justified.
Marissa and I traipsed through the dark across a vacant lot; the dogs scuttled off to smell the smells of new lands. We walked the dogs through a drive through, ordered a sub, came home, ate, watched Seinfeld, and sat in silence. Typing this entry has proven to be lengthy and odd, and yet I feel strong about its accuracy.
As Marissa thumbs through a book, Flow and Chops twitch in epileptic sleep REM, and I sit typing, ready to spellcheck, shower, sleep, amen.
The blessings of the road continue to abound.
After proof reading this, I believe I slipped into two different verb tenses of past and present in an effort to sound interesting. I think it is incorrect and I would like to change it, but I am tired.
Blessings from Utah.
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