From 84abb974c8fc4cf74e929d8497b29771e7d9c84a Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: luxagraf Date: Thu, 10 Oct 2024 15:18:00 -0500 Subject: deleted some old cruft --- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.html | 462 ---------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.txt | 51 -- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.html | 404 -------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.txt | 47 -- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.html | 436 ---------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.txt | 43 -- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.html | 448 ---------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.txt | 61 --- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/index.html | 122 ----- .../jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.html | 383 -------------- .../jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.txt | 34 -- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.html | 578 --------------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.txt | 63 --- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.html | 408 --------------- bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.txt | 47 -- 15 files changed, 3587 deletions(-) delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/index.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.txt delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.html delete mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.txt (limited to 'bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09') diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.html deleted file mode 100644 index 809ec68..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,462 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Aspens - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Aspens

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Abajo (Blue) Mountains, Utah, U.S.

- – Map -

- September 6, 2017 - -

Our forest has eyes.

All forests have eyes, really, but this one shows them off more than most.

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camping in aspen grove photographed by luxagraf

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Aspens have always fascinated me. I’m not alone in that. The Greeks obsessed over them as well, probably because they used Aspen to make shields. The tree owes its name to them, Aspis translates roughly as “shield.” Shields that watch you. Watch over you perhaps. There are three species of shields left in the North America. Around us are Quaking Aspen. The distinctive eyes are places where branches have dropped from the trunk.

These days Aspen grow mainly in the north — Montana, Idaho, Colorado and especially as one of the early succession species in the north arboreal forests of Canada. Some, like the stand we’re camped in here, still manage to succeed as far south as Southern Utah. Aspens have suffered over the last century or so, as humans have greatly decreased the number and size of forest fires. Aspens thrive after a burn and are later crowded out by pines, spruce and fir, which all outstretch the Aspens and steal their light. Aspens have only one real requirement — sunlight, lots of sunlight.

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Aspen grove midday light photographed by luxagraf

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Aspens are part of the forest succession cycle, not the beginning or the end, but somewhere in the middle. Interestingly though, Aspens don’t really go away even after they’ve been crowded out by the taller species like spruce and fir. They just stop existing above the soil.

A stand of Aspen is considerably different than most trees in a forest. Aspens are rarely individual trees. Instead they grow like rhizomes, like giant white asparagus. Aspens are not really trees, the trunks we see are not the soul of the plant. The truth of Aspens is under the ground. They are massive root systems, some as large as twenty acres, that send up white trunks, which then sprout leaves. But even the leaves aren’t necessary. Beneath the striking white bark is a there’s a thin photosynthetic green layer that allows the plant to continue synthesizing sugars even without leaves. Winter means little to an Aspen grove.

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Aspen grove evening light photographed by luxagraf

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All of this means that some Aspen groves have been around a very long time. I have no idea how long this one has been here, clinging to a remaining belt of land in the Abajo Mountains above Monticello Utah, but I do know that a few hundred miles west of here there is a stand of Aspens known as “Pando” in the Fishlake National Forest, just north of Bryce National Park that’s said to be 80,000 years old. This stand, being at the southern edge of the current range of Aspens, likely very old as well, Probably in the 10-20,000 thousand year old range. Possibly older. Either way that’s older than Sequoias, older than Bristlecone Pines, possibly older even than Creosote Bushes, which grow in a similar manner.

These eyes have been watching the world for longer than recorded human history, which is why I spent most of our days up in the Abajo mountains watching them back. I don’t know what Aspens are saying exactly, but I know that they talk in the wind. I know their song is different than most trees, their leaves move more, shimmering and quivering in breezes so slight you wouldn’t otherwise notice them. And I know that they stare in the night, in the day. I know that I have never felt an affinity of any plant like what I feel for the Aspen grove.

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watching the sunrise photographed by luxagraf

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We passed the better part of a week up here, watching the aspens, playing in the forest and getting a little work done. There was no bus to mess with, which, I’ll be honest, was a bit of a relief. The kids loved being a tent for a while and having some time to play in a forest wonderland.

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playing in the tent photographed by luxagraf

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Sunset through the trees photographed by luxagraf

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sitting around the fire photographed by luxagraf

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grab the rainbow photographed by luxagraf

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Thoughts?

Please leave a reply:

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All comments are moderated, so you won’t see it right away. And please remember Kurt Vonnegut's rule: “god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” You can use Markdown or HTML to format your comments. The allowed tags are <b>, <i>, <em>, <strong>, <a>. To create a new paragraph hit return twice.

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.txt deleted file mode 100644 index de1fcd5..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/aspen.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,51 +0,0 @@ -Aspens -====== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Wednesday, 06 September 2017 - -Our forest has eyes. - -All forests have eyes, really, but this one shows them off more than most. - -

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- -Aspens have always fascinated me. I'm not alone in that. The Greeks obsessed over them as well, probably because they used Aspen to make shields. The tree owes its name to them, *Aspis* translates roughly as "shield." Shields that watch you. Watch over you perhaps. There are three species of shields left in the North America. Around us are Quaking Aspen. The distinctive eyes are places where branches have dropped from the trunk. - -These days Aspen grow mainly in the north -- Montana, Idaho, Colorado and especially as one of the early succession species in the north arboreal forests of Canada. Some, like the stand we're camped in here, still manage to succeed as far south as Southern Utah. Aspens have suffered over the last century or so, as humans have greatly decreased the number and size of forest fires. Aspens thrive after a burn and are later crowded out by pines, spruce and fir, which all outstretch the Aspens and steal their light. Aspens have only one real requirement -- sunlight, lots of sunlight. - -

- -Aspens are part of the forest succession cycle, not the beginning or the end, but somewhere in the middle. Interestingly though, Aspens don't really go away even after they've been crowded out by the taller species like spruce and fir. They just stop existing above the soil. - -A stand of Aspen is considerably different than most trees in a forest. Aspens are rarely individual trees. Instead they grow like rhizomes, like giant white asparagus. Aspens are not really trees, the trunks we see are not the soul of the plant. The truth of Aspens is under the ground. They are massive root systems, some as large as twenty acres, that send up white trunks, which then sprout leaves. But even the leaves aren't necessary. Beneath the striking white bark is a there's a thin photosynthetic green layer that allows the plant to continue synthesizing sugars even without leaves. Winter means little to an Aspen grove. - -

- -All of this means that some Aspen groves have been around a very long time. I have no idea how long this one has been here, clinging to a remaining belt of land in the Abajo Mountains above Monticello Utah, but I do know that a few hundred miles west of here there is a stand of Aspens known as "Pando" in the Fishlake National Forest, just north of Bryce National Park that's said to be 80,000 years old. This stand, being at the southern edge of the current range of Aspens, likely very old as well, Probably in the 10-20,000 thousand year old range. Possibly older. Either way that's older than Sequoias, older than Bristlecone Pines, possibly older even than Creosote Bushes, which grow in a similar manner. - -These eyes have been watching the world for longer than recorded human history, which is why I spent most of our days up in the Abajo mountains watching them back. I don't know what Aspens are saying exactly, but I know that they talk in the wind. I know their song is different than most trees, their leaves move more, shimmering and quivering in breezes so slight you wouldn't otherwise notice them. And I know that they stare in the night, in the day. I know that I have never felt an affinity of any plant like what I feel for the Aspen grove. - -

- -We passed the better part of a week up here, watching the aspens, playing in the forest and getting a little work done. There was no bus to mess with, which, I'll be honest, was a bit of a relief. The kids loved being a tent for a while and having some time to play in a forest wonderland. - -

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diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.html deleted file mode 100644 index 94fa7c8..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,404 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Breakdown - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Home → - -
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Breakdown

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Ridgway State Park, Colorado, U.S.

- – Map -

- September 1, 2017 - -

We planned to leave Ridgway and head back to Utah by going over the Dallas Divide, which, while somewhat high, was within what the bus had done previously. Alas it was one of those days that did not start well and then got worse from there. I was feeling a bit dizzy all morning, not bad really, just slightly off. Corrinne wanted to stay and leave the next day but I really wanted to go. I should have listened to her, but when I get it in my head to go I tend to plow forward like a tank, come hell or high water.

Things started to really go south when I got the dump station. I was emptying the tank when I noticed fluid leaking out the front of the bus. Quite a lot of fluid. I crawled under to investigate. Transmission fluid. Lots of transmission fluid. Leaking. Again. I had noticed a bit a transmission fluid leaking over the last few weeks, but it wasn’t leaking enough to even hit the ground, just a bit would dribble out on the suspension from time to time. This, however, was something else.

I finished up dumping and pulled over to the day use area to get a closer look. After a bit of digging around I found the problem — a flared compression fitting had cracked. It’s worth here noting that someone had already done a considerable amount of surgery and patching to the transmission cooler lines, which were not single tubes but several connected together, three different diameters and types of hose in fact, all cobbled together. It was a crap job, but it was working. Until now.

It so happens that I installed our propane system on the road, so I have flaring tools. What I needed was 5/8in tubing, but of course that’s pretty much impossible to find outside an auto supply store, which Ridgway lacks. So I rigged up a standard fuel hose with overtightened clamps that seemed like it would hold about five miles into town. And it did. Sort of. I managed to get to the one mechanic shop in town. I explained the situation and the mechanic was nice enough to just give me some 5/8in tubing.

Corrinne took the kids to the playground in the center of Ridgway and I sat down on the curb outside the shop and got to work with the flaring tools. About half an hour later I had it sealed up again. By now it was well past noon and I was hungry and the dizziness, which I attributed to not eating, was much worse. I decided to limp back to Ridgway State Park and try again the next day. Corrinne being right.

I made it back, found a site and parked. I wanted to see how my handiwork was holding up so I crawled under and goddamnit there was transmission fluid pouring out of the hose behind where I had fixed, which was some kind of bizarre flexible hose with a flare at one end and screw fitting at the other. I kicked the tailpipe in anger, while wearing flipflops, which as you can imagine was not a good idea. I instinctively tried to grab my foot where it was burned and sat up, hitting my head on the floor of the bus above me. This would probably have all been hilarious to watch.

Finally I rolled out from under the bus, staggered inside for some water, staggered back outside and lay down on the concrete around the picnic table. I was pretty much over it. I lay there waiting for Corrinne and the kids to be done at the park scheming ways to sell the bus, use the money to by plane tickets and just disappear into the far east somewhere to hide from my failure and shame. Eventually I fell asleep and that’s where I was when Corrinne and kids finally found me.

That’s when Corrinne took my temperature and I realized I was quite sick, with a fever of 103. I stumbled back in the bus, put up my bunk and was pretty much incoherent for the next 18 hours or so.

fever photographed by luxagraf — About 10 seconds after this was taken I fell asleep for about 18 hours.

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washing dishes photographed by luxagraf — Much to my wife’s chagrin, when I am sick the kids are helpful *and* let me sleep.

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When I finally felt up to it — two days later — I did a bit of research and discovered that the only place with the transmission cooler lines I needed was Summit Racing¹, which I needed to have shipped somewhere, which is one of the challenges of living on the road². I’ve also been wanting to put on shocks for about, oh, five thousand miles now.

A while back the speedometer and odometer broke and I tried putting in a new cable but that promptly got chewed up just like the first one. I pulled the speedometer and took it to a shop down in Montrose that was recommended by some friends. They weren’t able to tell me much, other than recommended a speedometer shop in Denver, but I liked the two mechanics I talked to so when the fever broke and I decided I was tried of spending my days under the bus I called the shop to see about fixing the transmission cooler lines, new shocks, and some other odds and ends I’d been wanting to do, but hadn’t had the time.

Unlike a lot of places I’ve called on this trip, Diamond G repair in Montrose was unfazed by the size of the bus and could start in on it the next day. The only question was — should I tow it or could I rig something up to get it twenty miles down the road?

I’d spent some time patching the black tank a week prior and had discovered this interesting a pretty cool stuff that starts as a flexible tap type material but dries hard as a rock. It gets sold to fix everything from leaky pipes to broken rake handles and in my experience it actually works pretty well. I went back to the hardware store in Ridgway. Again. And grabbed another roll to see what would happen on a flexible hose. I put it on and let it harden for a while. I fired it up and check underneath, no leaks.

I drove down to the dump station, still no leaks. I hit the road. I stopped to check the engine temps — no leaks doesn’t mean tightly sealed vacuum — but, while hot, nothing was over 200 degrees. I kept going and eventually made it to Diamond G without further incident.

We grabbed what we needed for a week’s worth of tent camping, somehow packed it all in the minivan and hit the road. We had mail waiting in Monticello, UT and wanted to get up in the high mountains, to some places the bus couldn’t go. I left a laundry list of fixes for the mechanic and we hit the road, Beverly hillbilly style in a packed-to-the-gills van.

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Could I have used some brake lines instead? Probably. A couple people on Facebook suggested that, but honestly I was tired of rigging things, I wanted the right parts and I wanted them installed properly. More than that, think less of my mechanical abilities if you will, but I wanted to spend time with my family, get some paying work done and not spend my days under the bus. ↩
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Some companies are fine with what’s called General Delivery, but far more online companies can’t make heads or tails of it. I never wrote about it, but getting our Engle fridge was a two week long exercise in frustration. Amazon is hit or miss, really depends on what you’re ordering. If it’s Amazon fulfillment you’re usually fine, if it’s not, anybody’s guess. ↩
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Thoughts?

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a5ca94e..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/breakdown.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,47 +0,0 @@ -Breakdown -========= - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Friday, 01 September 2017 - -We planned to leave Ridgway and head back to Utah by going over the Dallas Divide, which, while somewhat high, was within what the bus had done previously. Alas it was one of those days that did not start well and then got worse from there. I was feeling a bit dizzy all morning, not bad really, just slightly off. Corrinne wanted to stay and leave the next day but I really wanted to go. I should have listened to her, but when I get it in my head to go I tend to plow forward like a tank, come hell or high water. - -Things started to really go south when I got the dump station. I was emptying the tank when I noticed fluid leaking out the front of the bus. Quite a lot of fluid. I crawled under to investigate. Transmission fluid. Lots of transmission fluid. Leaking. Again. I had noticed a bit a transmission fluid leaking over the last few weeks, but it wasn't leaking enough to even hit the ground, just a bit would dribble out on the suspension from time to time. This, however, was something else. - -I finished up dumping and pulled over to the day use area to get a closer look. After a bit of digging around I found the problem -- a flared compression fitting had cracked. It's worth here noting that someone had already done a considerable amount of surgery and patching to the transmission cooler lines, which were not single tubes but several connected together, three different diameters and types of hose in fact, all cobbled together. It was a crap job, but it was working. Until now. - -It so happens that I installed our propane system on the road, so I have flaring tools. What I needed was 5/8in tubing, but of course that's pretty much impossible to find outside an auto supply store, which Ridgway lacks. So I rigged up a standard fuel hose with overtightened clamps that seemed like it would hold about five miles into town. And it did. Sort of. I managed to get to the one mechanic shop in town. I explained the situation and the mechanic was nice enough to just give me some 5/8in tubing. - -Corrinne took the kids to the playground in the center of Ridgway and I sat down on the curb outside the shop and got to work with the flaring tools. About half an hour later I had it sealed up again. By now it was well past noon and I was hungry and the dizziness, which I attributed to not eating, was much worse. I decided to limp back to Ridgway State Park and try again the next day. Corrinne being right. - -I made it back, found a site and parked. I wanted to see how my handiwork was holding up so I crawled under and goddamnit there was transmission fluid pouring out of the hose behind where I had fixed, which was some kind of bizarre flexible hose with a flare at one end and screw fitting at the other. I kicked the tailpipe in anger, while wearing flipflops, which as you can imagine was not a good idea. I instinctively tried to grab my foot where it was burned and sat up, hitting my head on the floor of the bus above me. This would probably have all been hilarious to watch. - -Finally I rolled out from under the bus, staggered inside for some water, staggered back outside and lay down on the concrete around the picnic table. I was pretty much over it. I lay there waiting for Corrinne and the kids to be done at the park scheming ways to sell the bus, use the money to by plane tickets and just disappear into the far east somewhere to hide from my failure and shame. Eventually I fell asleep and that's where I was when Corrinne and kids finally found me. - -That's when Corrinne took my temperature and I realized I was quite sick, with a fever of 103. I stumbled back in the bus, put up my bunk and was pretty much incoherent for the next 18 hours or so. - -

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- - -When I finally felt up to it -- two days later -- I did a bit of research and discovered that the only place with the transmission cooler lines I needed was Summit Racing[^1], which I needed to have shipped somewhere, which is one of the challenges of living on the road[^2]. I've also been wanting to put on shocks for about, oh, five thousand miles now. - -A while back the speedometer and odometer broke and I tried putting in a new cable but that promptly got chewed up just like the first one. I pulled the speedometer and took it to a shop down in Montrose that was recommended by some friends. They weren't able to tell me much, other than recommended a speedometer shop in Denver, but I liked the two mechanics I talked to so when the fever broke and I decided I was tried of spending my days under the bus I called the shop to see about fixing the transmission cooler lines, new shocks, and some other odds and ends I'd been wanting to do, but hadn't had the time. - -Unlike a lot of places I've called on this trip, Diamond G repair in Montrose was unfazed by the size of the bus and could start in on it the next day. The only question was -- should I tow it or could I rig something up to get it twenty miles down the road? - -I'd spent some time patching the black tank a week prior and had discovered this interesting a pretty cool stuff that starts as a flexible tap type material but dries hard as a rock. It gets sold to fix everything from leaky pipes to broken rake handles and in my experience it actually works pretty well. I went back to the hardware store in Ridgway. Again. And grabbed another roll to see what would happen on a flexible hose. I put it on and let it harden for a while. I fired it up and check underneath, no leaks. - -I drove down to the dump station, still no leaks. I hit the road. I stopped to check the engine temps -- no leaks doesn't mean tightly sealed vacuum -- but, while hot, nothing was over 200 degrees. I kept going and eventually made it to Diamond G without further incident. - -We grabbed what we needed for a week's worth of tent camping, somehow packed it all in the minivan and hit the road. We had mail waiting in Monticello, UT and wanted to get up in the high mountains, to some places the bus couldn't go. I left a laundry list of fixes for the mechanic and we hit the road, Beverly hillbilly style in a packed-to-the-gills van. - -[^1]: Could I have used some brake lines instead? Probably. A couple people on Facebook suggested that, but honestly I was tired of rigging things, I wanted the right parts and I wanted them installed properly. More than that, think less of my mechanical abilities if you will, but I wanted to spend time with my family, get some *paying* work done and not spend my days under the bus. -[^2]: Some companies are fine with what's called General Delivery, but far more online companies can't make heads or tails of it. I never wrote about it, but getting our Engle fridge was a two week long exercise in frustration. Amazon is hit or miss, really depends on what you're ordering. If it's Amazon fulfillment you're usually fine, if it's not, anybody's guess. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.html deleted file mode 100644 index 685d05f..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,436 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Canyonlands - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Canyonlands

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Needles District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah, U.S.

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- September 8, 2017 - -

Our camp in the Aspen trees was not far from one of my favorite national parks, Canyonlands. The portion near us is known as the Needles District is home to, among other things, Newspaper Rock, a huge collection of Petrogylphs. The somewhat better name is the direct translation of the Navajo name — rock that tells a story. It’s not a story that I understand exactly, but if you stare at it long enough you can get some it.

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From there it was a couple miles further into the Needles district. It was hot, in the mid 90s I believe, but not unbearable so we decided to do a short hike out to see some springs, because nothing is quite so satisfying as walking through to hot dry sand and coming on a nice cool, shaded overhang with actual water running out of the rock.

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canyonlands, needles district photographed by luxagraf

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There were quite a few pictographs back near the springs as well, especially hand prints which the kids were big fans of.

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Ancient hands photographed by luxagraf — Ancient hands…

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modern hands photographed by luxagraf — …modern hands.

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Olivia is still a little disturbed that we only hike in the desert, but she came around at the memtion of ladders.

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The other best part of hiking through the hot dry desert all day is driving half and hour and ending up back, high in the cool depths on an Aspen grove.

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 54a4996..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/canyonlands.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,43 +0,0 @@ -Canyonlands -=========== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Friday, 08 September 2017 - -Our camp in the [Aspen trees](/jrnl/2017/09/aspen) was not far from one of my favorite national parks, Canyonlands. The portion near us is known as the Needles District is home to, among other things, Newspaper Rock, a huge collection of Petrogylphs. The somewhat better name is the direct translation of the Navajo name -- rock that tells a story. It's not a story that I understand exactly, but if you stare at it long enough you can get some it. - -

- -From there it was a couple miles further into the Needles district. It was hot, in the mid 90s I believe, but not unbearable so we decided to do a short hike out to see some springs, because nothing is quite so satisfying as walking through to hot dry sand and coming on a nice cool, shaded overhang with actual water running out of the rock. - -

- -There were quite a few pictographs back near the springs as well, especially hand prints which the kids were big fans of. - -

- -Olivia is still a little disturbed that we only hike in the desert, but she came around at the memtion of ladders. - -

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- -The other best part of hiking through the hot dry desert all day is driving half and hour and ending up back, high in the cool depths on an Aspen grove. - -

diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.html deleted file mode 100644 index 87aed6d..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,448 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Ghost Town - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Ghost Town

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Gold Point, Nevada, U.S.

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- September 30, 2017 - -

We were a wreck by the time we reached Las Vegas. And not in a good Hunter S. Thompson sort of way.

We’d somehow become a bus full of snot, Olivia and I being the primary sources, but Lilah and Elliott were contributing as well. At one point I don’t think we went more than five minutes without a sneeze. Except for Corrinne who somehow managed to avoid the head cold we all acquired, I think, on the trams of Zion. Our immune systems have been isolated for quite a while, going from that to international public transportation did not work out well.

In the end we went right through Vegas, spending one night in the city to say goodbye to Corrinne’s parents before moving on to Red Rock Canyon where we stopped to contemplate our next move and maybe try to drain our noses. We had talked about heading out to Death Valley, but temperatures there were in the triple digits and neither of us were that moved by Death Valley in the first place. Instead, for the first time in a long time, we decided to just drift for a while. North was about the most detailed plan we could commit to.

great basin desert photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson — image by Corrinne Gilbertson

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We took 95 north, out of Las Vegas and up through the Great Basin Desert. While we did not have any specific destination in mind, we did have some things we wanted to do in the desert. Like spend a night in a ghost town. Back at Valley Fire the ranger had given me a little map of Nevada and a couple brochures about stuff to do. Several things jumped out at us, like the creepy clown motel located right next to a graveyard in Tonopah, NV. Fun for the whole family. But the thing that really stuck with us, especially my wife, was the idea of camping in an abandoned town.

We hit the road on a Tuesday, not to early, not too late, heads still stuffed full of snot, pushing our way through a howling head wind, with no particular destination in mind other than North.

The Great Basin is an empty, desolate place just north of Vegas. I was driving through a fog of a cold and boredom and honestly I spent a good portion of the drive dreaming of trading the bus for the sunny beaches of Thailand. Or Mexico. Or really anywhere my head wasn’t full of snot. Corrinne on the other hand was researching ghost towns via the occasional pockets of 4G connection we’d pass through. One of the other things I noticed in the Nevada promotion brochure was that the Nevada State promo app for your phone works offline — this is telling you something about the area it covers. The Great Basic Desert is big and wild and empty, so empty telecom companies can’t be bothered to build towers.

It’s my kind of place really.

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gold point ghost town, nevada photographed by luxagraf

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Somewhere on the drive Corrinne started talking about some place called Gold Point, which was a ghost town but somehow also had a campground. Ordinarily we’re fine dry camping, boondocking, whatever you want to call it, but we had not filled our water tank in nearly a week so the campground part was compelling. The drive in was compelling too, the roads kept getting narrower and rougher, always a good sign, and they appeared to lead off into nothing but sagebrush and rabbit bush as far at the eye could see. And around here it can see quite a ways. But then you climb a little rise and next thing you know you’re in the middle of the ramshackle, broken down, mostly abandoned town of Gold Point, Nevada.

While not actually a ghost town in the traditional sense of the word — a dozen or some people do live somewhere around here — it’s sufficiently abandoned to make you feel like you’re in the ruins of the past century. We parked the bus amidst a wreckage of old cars and old fire engines (a couple of which were working and really used for fire fighting).

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Probably the best part of Gold Point is that it’s not “protected” so the kids could climb on things, explore and pick up stuff without fear of someone telling them to stop. That said, it was slightly confusing at times which building were occupied and which were abandoned. We saw some clueless people abuse the hospitality of the residents to the point that it would not surprise me to find quite a few more restriction a few years from now. For now though we had the run of the place.

We spent the afternoon wandering the abandoned streets, exploring the riding bikes and generally enjoying the absolute silence of the desert.

Gold Point has been through quite a few boom and bust cycles, since it was first settled in the 1880s. The initial round only last a couple years and it was abandoned for the better part of a decade. Then in 1908 there was a second round that saw it grow to house some 800 residents, which necessitated 11 saloons. but only lasted two years after which the silver was gone, or rather there wasn’t enough left to sustain 11 saloons. There was a third round in the 1930s that lasted a bit longer and even saw the Post Office show up. That lasted until 1968 after which the town was more or less abandoned for good until stabilization and restoration began in the 1980s.

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The result is a mishmash of artifacts spanning decades, building styles and what I would call differing views on just how permanent various structures were intended to be. We found glass in varying degrees of purple, most clearly from the more recent 1930s settlement, but a few pieces that were deep enough purple to probably date from the original 1880s settlement (for a while glass was made with manganese which causes the glass to turn a lavender color when exposed sunlight.) We also found quite a few bits of rock with various fossils in them.

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gold point ghost town, nevada photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson

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Thoughts?

Please leave a reply:

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fa01937..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/ghost-town.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,61 +0,0 @@ -Ghost Town -========== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Saturday, 30 September 2017 - -We were a wreck by the time we reached Las Vegas. And not in a good Hunter S. Thompson sort of way. - -We'd somehow become a bus full of snot, Olivia and I being the primary sources, but Lilah and Elliott were contributing as well. At one point I don't think we went more than five minutes without a sneeze. Except for Corrinne who somehow managed to avoid the head cold we all acquired, I think, on the trams of Zion. Our immune systems have been isolated for quite a while, going from that to international public transportation did not work out well. - -In the end we went right through Vegas, spending one night in the city to say goodbye to Corrinne's parents before moving on to Red Rock Canyon where we stopped to contemplate our next move and maybe try to drain our noses. We had talked about heading out to Death Valley, but temperatures there were in the triple digits and neither of us were that moved by Death Valley in the first place. Instead, for the first time in a long time, we decided to just drift for a while. North was about the most detailed plan we could commit to. - -

- -We took 95 north, out of Las Vegas and up through the Great Basin Desert. While we did not have any specific destination in mind, we did have some things we wanted to do in the desert. Like spend a night in a ghost town. Back at Valley Fire the ranger had given me a little map of Nevada and a couple brochures about stuff to do. Several things jumped out at us, like the [creepy clown motel](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/clown-motel) located right next to a graveyard in Tonopah, NV. Fun for the whole family. But the thing that really stuck with us, especially my wife, was the idea of camping in an abandoned town. - -We hit the road on a Tuesday, not to early, not too late, heads still stuffed full of snot, pushing our way through a howling head wind, with no particular destination in mind other than North. - -The Great Basin is an empty, desolate place just north of Vegas. I was driving through a fog of a cold and boredom and honestly I spent a good portion of the drive dreaming of trading the bus for the sunny beaches of Thailand. Or Mexico. Or really anywhere my head wasn't full of snot. Corrinne on the other hand was researching ghost towns via the occasional pockets of 4G connection we'd pass through. One of the other things I noticed in the Nevada promotion brochure was that the Nevada State promo app for your phone works offline -- this is telling you something about the area it covers. The Great Basic Desert is big and wild and empty, so empty telecom companies can't be bothered to build towers. - -It's my kind of place really. - -

- -Somewhere on the drive Corrinne started talking about some place called Gold Point, which was a ghost town but somehow also had a campground. Ordinarily we're fine dry camping, boondocking, whatever you want to call it, but we had not filled our water tank in nearly a week so the campground part was compelling. The drive in was compelling too, the roads kept getting narrower and rougher, always a good sign, and they appeared to lead off into nothing but sagebrush and rabbit bush as far at the eye could see. And around here it can see quite a ways. But then you climb a little rise and next thing you know you're in the middle of the ramshackle, broken down, mostly abandoned town of Gold Point, Nevada. - -While not actually a ghost town in the traditional sense of the word -- a dozen or some people do live somewhere around here -- it's sufficiently abandoned to make you feel like you're in the ruins of the past century. We parked the bus amidst a wreckage of old cars and old fire engines (a couple of which were working and really used for fire fighting). - -

- -Probably the best part of Gold Point is that it's not "protected" so the kids could climb on things, explore and pick up stuff without fear of someone telling them to stop. That said, it was slightly confusing at times which building were occupied and which were abandoned. We saw some clueless people abuse the hospitality of the residents to the point that it would not surprise me to find quite a few more restriction a few years from now. For now though we had the run of the place. - - -We spent the afternoon wandering the abandoned streets, exploring the riding bikes and generally enjoying the absolute silence of the desert. - -Gold Point has been through quite a few boom and bust cycles, since it was first settled in the 1880s. The initial round only last a couple years and it was abandoned for the better part of a decade. Then in 1908 there was a second round that saw it grow to house some 800 residents, which necessitated 11 saloons. but only lasted two years after which the silver was gone, or rather there wasn't enough left to sustain 11 saloons. There was a third round in the 1930s that lasted a bit longer and even saw the Post Office show up. That lasted until 1968 after which the town was more or less abandoned for good until stabilization and restoration began in the 1980s. - - -

- - -The result is a mishmash of artifacts spanning decades, building styles and what I would call differing views on just how permanent various structures were intended to be. We found glass in varying degrees of purple, most clearly from the more recent 1930s settlement, but a few pieces that were deep enough purple to probably date from the original 1880s settlement (for a while glass was made with manganese which causes the glass to turn a lavender color when exposed sunlight.) We also found quite a few bits of rock with various fossils in them. - - -

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diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/index.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/index.html deleted file mode 100644 index 77eb87f..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/index.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,122 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Luxagraf - Topografical Writings: Archive - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Home →
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September

Archive: September 2017

Ghost Town - Sep 30, 2017 -
Valley of Fire - Sep 25, 2017 -
Zion - Sep 19, 2017 -
On The Road, Again - Sep 16, 2017 -
Canyonlands - Sep 08, 2017 -
Aspens - Sep 06, 2017 -
Breakdown - Sep 01, 2017 -

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- - - - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.html deleted file mode 100644 index f2b65a1..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,383 +0,0 @@ - - - - - On The Road, Again - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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On The Road, Again

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Castle Rock, Utah, U.S.

- – Map -

- September 16, 2017 - -

From the Abajo Mountains we headed back across the high desert plateau, up into the mountains, over Dallas divide and down the canyon to Montrose where the bus was nearly ready. We got back a day before it was done and stopped by to drop a few things off and… the car died on us in the parking lot. And from the minute it happened I knew exactly what was wrong — the transmission was dead. I knew this because the Honda’s transmission had died two years earlier and we put a new one in.

The techs were less convinced and I can’t say I blame them — what kind of transmission doesn’t last two years? I’ll tell you want kind the piece of crap transmissions they sell at James’ transmission in Athens GA. You know what else you won’t get with the worst transmission you can buy, at James’s transmission in Athens GA? A warranty that works anywhere outside of Athens. He actually said to me on the phone after I told him I was in Colorado, “well, even if you got it here, warranty is only a two years.”

So yeah, me being cheap and going with the worst transmission you can buy (at James’s transmission in Athens GA) eventually came back to haunt me. And yes, in addition to those inbound links, I left some reviews on Google.

eating peanut butter photographed by luxagraf — Eating peanut butter and wondering, is the bus ready yet?

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Since the techs weren’t convinced it was actually the transmission we decided to hang around for the weekend so they could give it through going over the following Monday. We rented a car to run some errands and moved everything into the bus because I already knew and, come Monday, I was right. We left the van in Montrose to donate to a charity and hit the road with everyone and everything in the bus, which was running better than it had in a long time and, get ready for this head scratcher — the new transmission cooler lines have largely solved our overheating problems. Yeah I don’t really get it either.

Once we hit the road we put in some serious miles, much more than we normally do. Towns flew by, Grand Junction, Fruita, Green River and finally, our only two night stop in a place called Castle Rock that’s really just a little canyon off I-70, but was nice enough that we stayed to check out the nearby state park’s petrogylphs.

san rafeal swell photographed by luxagraf — San Rafeal Swell. Wish we could have stayed a while out here.

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Castle Rock was also where I got to meet and talk to the Lonesome Hillbilly, a motorcycle traveler who wrote a book on it, called, naturally, The Book On Motorcycle Camping. And yes, he goes by Lonesome Hillbilly. Before I knew who he was, when we were talking, he left and I told him my name was Scott and he said his was Lone. Which made sense after a little Googling. Unfortunately, while I wanted to chat more with Lone I never got a chance to, but we did take one piece of advice from him that has already, and will more so in the future, work out well for us.

The next day we did a little hiking, saw some petrogylphs, learned how to roast pine nuts from some Paiute volunteers and the kids got to play in a little pithouse. Not bad for a random, let’s stop here, destination.

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7882ec0..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/on-the-road-again.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,34 +0,0 @@ -On The Road, Again -================== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Saturday, 16 September 2017 - -From the Abajo Mountains we headed back across the high desert plateau, up into the mountains, over Dallas divide and down the canyon to Montrose where the bus was nearly ready. We got back a day before it was done and stopped by to drop a few things off and... the car died on us in the parking lot. And from the minute it happened I knew exactly what was wrong -- the transmission was dead. I knew this because the Honda's transmission had died two years earlier and we put a new one in. - -The techs were less convinced and I can't say I blame them -- what kind of transmission doesn't last two years? I'll tell you want kind the [piece of crap transmissions they sell at James' transmission in Athens GA][1]. You know what else you won't get with [the worst transmission you can buy, at James's transmission in Athens GA][1]? A warranty that works anywhere outside of Athens. He actually said to me on the phone after I told him I was in Colorado, "well, even if you got it here, warranty is only a two years." - -So yeah, me being cheap and going with [the worst transmission you can buy (at James's transmission in Athens GA)][1] eventually came back to haunt me. And yes, in addition to those inbound links, I left some reviews on Google. - -

- -Since the techs weren't convinced it was actually the transmission we decided to hang around for the weekend so they could give it through going over the following Monday. We rented a car to run some errands and moved everything into the bus because I already knew and, come Monday, I was right. We left the van in Montrose to donate to a charity and hit the road with everyone and everything in the bus, which was running better than it had in a long time and, get ready for this head scratcher -- the new transmission cooler lines have largely solved our overheating problems. Yeah I don't really get it either. - -Once we hit the road we put in some serious miles, much more than we normally do. Towns flew by, Grand Junction, Fruita, Green River and finally, our only two night stop in a place called Castle Rock that's really just a little canyon off I-70, but was nice enough that we stayed to check out the nearby state park's petrogylphs. - -

- -Castle Rock was also where I got to meet and talk to the Lonesome Hillbilly, a motorcycle traveler who wrote a book on it, called, naturally, [The Book On Motorcycle Camping][2]. And yes, he goes by Lonesome Hillbilly. Before I knew who he was, when we were talking, he left and I told him my name was Scott and he said his was Lone. Which made sense after a little Googling. Unfortunately, while I wanted to chat more with Lone I never got a chance to, but we did take one piece of advice from him that has already, and will more so in the future, work out well for us. - -The next day we did a little hiking, saw some petrogylphs, learned how to roast pine nuts from some Paiute volunteers and the kids got to play in a little pithouse. Not bad for a random, let's stop here, destination. - -

- -[1]: http://jamestransmission.com/ -[2]: https://www.amazon.com/Book-Motorcycle-Camping-Lonesome-Hillbilly/dp/1545062897 diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.html deleted file mode 100644 index db303fe..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,578 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Valley Of Fire - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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- - jrnl - - -

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Valley of Fire

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Valley of Fire, Nevada, U.S.

- – Map -

- September 25, 2017 - -

The forecast for Zion turned cold about half way through Corrinne’s parents visit. Since our guest room is a tent, and since Zion wasn’t to our taste anyway, we decamped for Valley of Fire, a strange collection of red rock piles an hour outside of Las Vegas. A few thousand feet lower Valley of Fire was warmer and, as it turned out, a whole lot more fun.

Valley of Fire is basically the largest playground we’ve been to. Wind and occasional water have combined forces with time to produce piles of red orange rock pocked with holes perfect for climbing. We found a great couple of sites tucked back in the rocks and made ourselves at home.

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Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf

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climbing, valley of fire photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson

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hole in the rocks, valley of fire photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson

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In the rocks, valley of fire photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson

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reading, valley of fire photographed by Corrinne Gilbertson

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tent, Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf — If you plan to visit us, this is the guest house.

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snack time photographed by luxagraf — Snack time.

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Valley of Fire is perhaps best known for something called the wave, or the wave or fire, something like that. It looks far better in postcards than it does in person, but the hike out to it was nice and in keeping with our running joke — we only hike in deserts.

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The Wave, Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf

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John is up on that rock trying to find the desert bighorn sheep we thought we’d seen. Eventually he did find them in the maze of rock, shrub and canyons.

The next day we saw them again right next to the road (naturally we saw them the day I decided, the 300mm zoom is too heavy, not bringing it). I’ve spent a lot of time in the desert and never caught much more than a glimpse of these creatures, which are far smaller and more secretive than their mountain cousins.

Desert Big Horn Sheep, Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf — Desert Big Horn Sheep are relatively rare and elusive, except apparently in Valley of Fire.

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A couple of days later we did another hike down a canyon filled with petroglyphs that eventually led to one of the most important things in the desert — a natural water tank. I had a renewed interest in petroglyphs thanks to a book I’d been reading which suggests they might be mnemonic devices used as part of what Australian Aborigine tribes call songlines and what Giordano Bruno famously called Ars Memorative.

If you don’t have writing to store data, your memory has to be much better. That’s why, for instance, many oral cultures can sing songs that race genealogical lines through centuries, sometimes millennia.

It’s not just oral cultures though, both the Greeks and Roman schools taught some forms of it. The most common techniques in western traditions is to memorize the insides of large buildings according to certain rules, dividing the space into specific loci or “places” and then using those as triggers for whatever information you want to remember. Then you take a mental tour of the place and recall whatever information you need. First nations tend to use outdoor spaces rather than indoor and may in fact be some of the driving force behind many of the roads that used to criss cross the Americas.

In the case of petroglyphs one theory is that they are markers of both the physical — water tank this way, ten people live down that canyon, and so on — and those directions or stories (or song, or dance) have another layer that encodes some very important knowledge that helps cultures survive in environments like this, for example, where the bighorn go to feed in the evenings. In other words, petroglyphs probably have several layers of function and meaning, most of which — without knowing the story or song — is gone forever. Whatever the case the canyon in Valley of Fire was filled with petroglyphs, far more than we’ve seen anywhere else.

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Petroglyphs, Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf

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Lizard, Valley of Fire State Park photographed by luxagraf

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textures, Valley of Fire photographed by luxagraf

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Cholla cactus, Valley of Fire photographed by luxagraf

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We also spent plenty of time just climbing and exploring the rocks around the campground. I’m pretty sure you could spend your entire life in this campground and not explore all the gulleys, holes and side canyons in these rocks. It really was a kind of wonderland for kids, young and older.

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camp, valley of fire photographed by luxagraf

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4 Comments

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- Gwen - October 16, 2017 at 8:14 a.m. -

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Wow! This place looks amazing! Love all the pics of your cute little people in the holes in the rocks.

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- Drew - October 16, 2017 at 9:07 a.m. -

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That last photo is so good. My only question is who hit the timer button and had to run to their spot?

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- Mikeandpatsywall - October 16, 2017 at 9:33 a.m. -

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Love it❤️

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- Scott - October 16, 2017 at 11:48 a.m. -

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@Drew-

I have a timer app on my phone, but of course it didn’t work so Corrinne hit the button and ran.

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cccc221..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/valley-fire.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,63 +0,0 @@ -Valley of Fire -============== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Monday, 25 September 2017 - -The forecast for Zion turned cold about half way through Corrinne's parents visit. Since our guest room is a tent, and since Zion wasn't to our taste anyway, we decamped for Valley of Fire, a strange collection of red rock piles an hour outside of Las Vegas. A few thousand feet lower Valley of Fire was warmer and, as it turned out, a whole lot more fun. - -Valley of Fire is basically the largest playground we've been to. Wind and occasional water have combined forces with time to produce piles of red orange rock pocked with holes perfect for climbing. We found a great couple of sites tucked back in the rocks and made ourselves at home. - -

- -

- -Valley of Fire is perhaps best known for something called the wave, or the wave or fire, something like that. It looks far better in postcards than it does in person, but the hike out to it was nice and in keeping with our running joke -- we only hike in deserts. - -

- -John is up on that rock trying to find the desert bighorn sheep we thought we'd seen. Eventually he did find them in the maze of rock, shrub and canyons. - -The next day we saw them again right next to the road (naturally we saw them the day I decided, the 300mm zoom is too heavy, not bringing it). I've spent a lot of time in the desert and never caught much more than a glimpse of these creatures, which are far smaller and more secretive than their mountain cousins. - -

- -A couple of days later we did another hike down a canyon filled with petroglyphs that eventually led to one of the most important things in the desert -- a natural water tank. I had a renewed interest in petroglyphs thanks to a book I'd been reading which suggests they might be mnemonic devices used as part of what Australian Aborigine tribes call songlines and what Giordano Bruno famously called *Ars Memorative*. - -If you don't have writing to store data, your memory has to be much better. That's why, for instance, many oral cultures can sing songs that race genealogical lines through centuries, sometimes millennia. - -It's not just oral cultures though, both the Greeks and Roman schools taught some forms of it. The most common techniques in western traditions is to memorize the insides of large buildings according to certain rules, dividing the space into specific loci or "places" and then using those as triggers for whatever information you want to remember. Then you take a mental tour of the place and recall whatever information you need. First nations tend to use outdoor spaces rather than indoor and may in fact be some of the driving force behind many of the roads that used to criss cross the Americas. - -In the case of petroglyphs one theory is that they are markers of both the physical -- water tank this way, ten people live down that canyon, and so on -- and those directions or stories (or song, or dance) have another layer that encodes some very important knowledge that helps cultures survive in environments like this, for example, where the bighorn go to feed in the evenings. In other words, petroglyphs probably have several layers of function and meaning, most of which -- without knowing the story or song -- is gone forever. Whatever the case the canyon in Valley of Fire was filled with petroglyphs, far more than we've seen anywhere else. - -

- -We also spent plenty of time just climbing and exploring the rocks around the campground. I'm pretty sure you could spend your entire life in this campground and not explore all the gulleys, holes and side canyons in these rocks. It really was a kind of wonderland for kids, young and older. - -

diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.html deleted file mode 100644 index 4f14ccd..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,408 +0,0 @@ - - - - - Zion - by Scott Gilbertson - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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Zion

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Zion National Park, Utah, U.S.

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- September 19, 2017 - -

After moving pretty fast for a few days we were ready for a break. While it’s not exactly secluded, quiet or anything of things we generally like, the logical place to stop in this area is Zion National Park. I have some history in Zion, my family spent many a spring break camping here, hiking up the canyon walls. It, along with Canyonlands and Sequoia, are among the places I remember best.

The Zion of today is so different from the Zion I grew up with they may as well be entirely different places.

Zion National Park photographed by luxagraf — The view from the Hidden Valley trail.

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When my family came here in the 1980s few other people did. We’d leave Los Angeles around noon on the Friday before spring break, drive all afternoon (in a 1969 truck and camper by the way) show up at Zion late in the evening and get a campsite no problem. No one went to Zion.

Today, everyone goes to Zion. Well, actually Americans don’t from what I could tell, but everyone else does, especially impossibly hip European couples in rental vans. These days not only can you not just show up on a Friday and get a campsite, you’ll need to get in line at about 5:00 AM even in the off season to even think about getting a campsite. Which, after spending a night in the nearby hotel, I did. The longer I sat in line, the more irritated I got. About what I’m not sure — too many people? That’s sort of a strange thing to be irritated about.

Sunrise, Zion National Park photographed by luxagraf — Sunrise from the campground line.

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Perhaps it was the lines I thought. Lines are degrading to the human spirit, they ask that we do something totally counter to all of biology, which freely mingles, exchanges information and materials. Lines are a purely economic performance, an adherence to an outdated idea of how the world works, an idea that no longer matches the facts on the ground, so to speak. This is perhaps why the entire concept of waiting in line, or queueing as the British would have it, is a purely western phenomena. Travel anywhere in Asia and you find that things get done, tickets are sold, events entered into, all without anyone lining up.

Still, that’s probably not what was irritating me. In the end I decided that what was irritating to me was that the Zion of my childhood is gone and no one can get it back. It’s just gone. Forever. So for that matter are the bluffs along the bay where I grew up, the hills along the coast and myriad other things that don’t really bother me, for whatever reason Zion does.

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Weeping rock, Zion photographed by luxagraf

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The last day we were there I took the bus up to the end of the canyon and speed hiked to the entrance to the narrows (3 miles round trip in 45 minutes, not bad for an old man). On the way back it finally hit me what irritates me about Zion — my kids will never get to experience the place as I did.

Virgin River, Zion photographed by luxagraf — The narrows, just me and 300 of my closest friends.

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It’s too late for my kids to see the Zion I saw. That was then. That is gone. That is past. They will never get to hear the silences up on the rim of the canyon, listen to the strafing whines of Rufus hummingbirds, the wind in the junipers, the quiet thunk of boot soles on sandstone.. Silence in Zion is a thing of the past.

As Kurt Vonnegut would say, and so it goes.

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One afternoon Lilah and Elliott and I hiked part way up the Hidden Valley trail. I would guess that, in the mile and half or so that we hiked, we saw probably 80 people. A steady stream of people in fact, most of them seemingly startled to see a man in flipflops with a boy on his shoulders and girl holding his hand attempting the same trail none of them embarked on without half of REI adorning their persons. The looks made me laugh. As politely and discreetly as I could. I have never seen so much hiking gear in my life. All for people hiking on paved trails. Irony doesn’t even begin to cover it. Several times in Zion I considered buying some stock in REI, before remembering that, as a co-op member, in effect, I already own it.

It’s too bad Zion isn’t a co-op. But alas, I do not own Zion. I have no more claim to it — or every bit as much depending on how you want to look at it — than anyone else. It’s too bad it has become what it is, and let’s face we’re dancing around the real issue — overpopulation, but whew is that whole other post — but at this point Zion is what it is and it will probably continue to be that for my lifetime. Maybe in my next life, after the oil is used up and things settle back down I can follow some strange, half-remembered dream of red rock canyons and end up here again, alone, in silence and stillness.

The second day Corrinne’s parents joined us and, despite what the above might sound like, we enjoyed the park. Crowded though it may be, Zion is still a beautiful place. After three nights though, we were definitely ready to move on.

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Thoughts?

Please leave a reply:

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- - - - - - - diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0aa1b22..0000000 --- a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2017/09/zion.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,47 +0,0 @@ -Zion -==== - - by Scott Gilbertson - - Tuesday, 19 September 2017 - -After moving pretty fast for a few days we were ready for a break. While it's not exactly secluded, quiet or anything of things we generally like, the logical place to stop in this area is Zion National Park. I have some history in Zion, my family spent many a spring break camping here, hiking up the canyon walls. It, along with Canyonlands and Sequoia, are among the places I remember best. - -The Zion of today is so different from the Zion I grew up with they may as well be entirely different places. - -

- -When my family came here in the 1980s few other people did. We'd leave Los Angeles around noon on the Friday before spring break, drive all afternoon (in a 1969 truck and camper by the way) show up at Zion late in the evening and get a campsite no problem. No one went to Zion. - -Today, everyone goes to Zion. Well, actually Americans don't from what I could tell, but everyone else does, especially impossibly hip European couples in rental vans. These days not only can you not just show up on a Friday and get a campsite, you'll need to get in line at about 5:00 AM even in the off season to even think about getting a campsite. Which, after spending a night in the nearby hotel, I did. The longer I sat in line, the more irritated I got. About what I'm not sure -- too many people? That's sort of a strange thing to be irritated about. - -

- -Perhaps it was the lines I thought. Lines are degrading to the human spirit, they ask that we do something totally counter to all of biology, which freely mingles, exchanges information and materials. Lines are a purely economic performance, an adherence to an outdated idea of how the world works, an idea that no longer matches the facts on the ground, so to speak. This is perhaps why the entire concept of waiting in line, or queueing as the British would have it, is a purely western phenomena. Travel anywhere in Asia and you find that things get done, tickets are sold, events entered into, all without anyone lining up. - -Still, that's probably not what was irritating me. In the end I decided that what was irritating to me was that the Zion of my childhood is gone and no one can get it back. It's just gone. Forever. So for that matter are the bluffs along the bay where I grew up, the hills along the coast and myriad other things that don't really bother me, for whatever reason Zion does. - -

- -The last day we were there I took the bus up to the end of the canyon and speed hiked to the entrance to the narrows (3 miles round trip in 45 minutes, not bad for an old man). On the way back it finally hit me what irritates me about Zion -- my kids will never get to experience the place as I did. - -

- -It's too late for my kids to see the Zion I saw. That was then. That is gone. That is past. They will never get to hear the silences up on the rim of the canyon, listen to the strafing whines of Rufus hummingbirds, the wind in the junipers, the quiet thunk of boot soles on sandstone.. Silence in Zion is a thing of the past. - -As Kurt Vonnegut would say, *and so it goes*. - -

- -One afternoon Lilah and Elliott and I hiked part way up the Hidden Valley trail. I would guess that, in the mile and half or so that we hiked, we saw probably 80 people. A steady stream of people in fact, most of them seemingly startled to see a man in flipflops with a boy on his shoulders and girl holding his hand attempting the same trail none of them embarked on without half of REI adorning their persons. The looks made me laugh. As politely and discreetly as I could. I have never seen so much hiking gear in my life. All for people hiking on paved trails. Irony doesn't even begin to cover it. Several times in Zion I considered buying some stock in REI, before remembering that, as a co-op member, in effect, I already own it. - -It's too bad Zion isn't a co-op. But alas, I do not own Zion. I have no more claim to it -- or every bit as much depending on how you want to look at it -- than anyone else. It's too bad it has become what it is, and let's face we're dancing around the real issue -- overpopulation, but whew is that whole other post -- but at this point Zion is what it is and it will probably continue to be that for my lifetime. Maybe in my next life, after the oil is used up and things settle back down I can follow some strange, half-remembered dream of red rock canyons and end up here again, alone, in silence and stillness. - -The second day Corrinne's parents joined us and, despite what the above might sound like, we enjoyed the park. Crowded though it may be, Zion is still a beautiful place. After three nights though, we were definitely ready to move on. - -

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