diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | blue-mountains.txt | 25 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-06_aspens.txt | 44 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-08_canyonlands.txt | 36 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-16_on-the-road-again.txt | 27 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-19_zion.txt | 40 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-25_valley-of-fire.txt | 56 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-09-30_ghost-town.txt | 54 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-10-06_trains-hot-springs-and-broken-buses.txt | 65 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | published/2017-10-21_dialed-in.txt | 52 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | zion.txt | 1 |
10 files changed, 374 insertions, 26 deletions
diff --git a/blue-mountains.txt b/blue-mountains.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c3a341f..0000000 --- a/blue-mountains.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,25 +0,0 @@ -Our forest has eyes. All forests have eyes, really, but this one shows them off more than most. - -The eyes are places where early growth branches have dropped from the Aspen trees around us. - - -Aspens have always enchanted us. Greek warriors used Aspen to craft shields. The tree owes it's name to them, Aspis translates as "shield." Shield from enemies. Shield from tk Shield from tk. - -There are three species of shields left in the North America. Around us are quaking Aspen. - -These days Aspen grows 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 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 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 the day watching them back. I don't know what Aspens are saying exactly, but I know that they talk in the wind. 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. - - - - - - - diff --git a/published/2017-09-06_aspens.txt b/published/2017-09-06_aspens.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8e429f --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-06_aspens.txt @@ -0,0 +1,44 @@ +Our forest has eyes. + +All forests have eyes, really, but this one shows them off more than most. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-01_080007_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-792" class="picwide" /> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-05_162530_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-779" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-04_145717_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-785" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_080144_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-788" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-04_124512_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-786" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-01_165207_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-789" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-01_080555_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-791" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/20170906_164514.jpg" id="image-773" class="picwide" /> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-05_162130_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-783" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-05_162244_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-781" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-05_162328_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-780" class="picwide" /> + +<div class="cluster"> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-03_075206_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-787" class="picwide" /> +<span class="row2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170906_180857.jpg" id="image-772" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170831_184302.jpg" id="image-774" class="cluster pic5 caption" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-05_205715_buckboard-abajo-mnts_RrGeptu.jpg" id="image-778" class="picwide" /> +</div> diff --git a/published/2017-09-08_canyonlands.txt b/published/2017-09-08_canyonlands.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac29a91 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-08_canyonlands.txt @@ -0,0 +1,36 @@ +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_113125_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-815" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_112628_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-816" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_134729_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-814" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_134817_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-813" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_143313_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-812" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_144727_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-808" class="picwide" /> + +There were quite a few pictographs back near the springs as well, especially hand prints which the kids were big fans of. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_144657_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-809" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_144143_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-810" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_144128_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-811" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_145000_canyonlands-needles_BgJJsCX.jpg" id="image-807" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-02_145415_canyonlands-needles.jpg" id="image-803" class="picwide" /> + +Olivia is still a little disturbed that we only hike in the desert, but she came around at the memtion of ladders. + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170902_125205.jpg" id="image-820" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170902_140854_ISfy1iC.jpg" id="image-817" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170902_140210.jpg" id="image-819" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170902_140342.jpg" id="image-818" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +</div> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-06_153011-1_buckboard-abajo-mnts.jpg" id="image-821" class="picwide" /> diff --git a/published/2017-09-16_on-the-road-again.txt b/published/2017-09-16_on-the-road-again.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d22110 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-16_on-the-road-again.txt @@ -0,0 +1,27 @@ +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-08_133546_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-822" class="picwide caption" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-15_103350_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-824" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-15_103517_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-825" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-10_172904_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-823" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-15_184345_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-826" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-16_122205_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-827" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-16_122915_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-828" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-16_144849_ridgway-to-castle-rock.jpg" id="image-829" class="picwide" /> + +[1]: http://jamestransmission.com/ +[2]: https://www.amazon.com/Book-Motorcycle-Camping-Lonesome-Hillbilly/dp/1545062897 diff --git a/published/2017-09-19_zion.txt b/published/2017-09-19_zion.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..debe43b --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-19_zion.txt @@ -0,0 +1,40 @@ +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-18_150107_zion.jpg" id="image-837" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_170220_zion.jpg" id="image-833" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_153120_zion.jpg" id="image-834" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-19_080850_zion.jpg" id="image-835" class="picwide caption" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-18_150136_zion.jpg" id="image-836" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_173428_zion.jpg" id="image-832" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_173855_zion.jpg" id="image-831" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_174641_zion.jpg" id="image-830" class="picwide" /> + +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*. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-18_150047_zion.jpg" id="image-838" class="picwide caption" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_174641_zion.jpg" id="image-830" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-20_173855_zion.jpg" id="image-831" class="picwide" /> diff --git a/published/2017-09-25_valley-of-fire.txt b/published/2017-09-25_valley-of-fire.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b32a86 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-25_valley-of-fire.txt @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-22_082038_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-839" class="picwide" /> + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170921_142834_NKU2cDX.jpg" id="image-864" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170921_143040.jpg" id="image-865" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/20170924_154856.jpg" id="image-866" class="cluster picwide" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170921_141029.jpg" id="image-862" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170920_080918.jpg" id="image-861" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +</div> + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_141035_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-847" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_133734_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-846" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_133621_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-845" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-22_143258_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-842" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-22_142539_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-841" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_142249_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-848" class="picwide caption" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_150035_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-851" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_150142_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-852" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_145702_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-849" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_150015_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-850" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_154156_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-853" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_160116_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-856" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_154500_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-854" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_155433_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-855" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-23_185507_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-857" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-24_182448_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-859" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-24_175457_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-858" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-24_184213_valley-of-fire.jpg" id="image-860" class="picwide" /> diff --git a/published/2017-09-30_ghost-town.txt b/published/2017-09-30_ghost-town.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..110f066 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-09-30_ghost-town.txt @@ -0,0 +1,54 @@ +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. + +<img src="images/2017/20170927_145259.jpg" id="image-877" class="picwide" /> + +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. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_155723_gold-point.jpg" id="image-870" class="picwide" /> + +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). + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_154819_gold-point.jpg" id="image-867" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_155344_gold-point.jpg" id="image-869" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_155118_gold-point.jpg" id="image-868" class="picwide" /> + +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. + + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_160053_gold-point.jpg" id="image-871" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_160320_gold-point.jpg" id="image-872" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_160344_gold-point.jpg" id="image-873" class="picwide" /> + + +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. + + +<div class="cluster"> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170927_150019.jpg" id="image-878" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170927_154532.jpg" id="image-879" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/20170928_092313.jpg" id="image-880" class="cluster picwide caption" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_175336_gold-point.jpg" id="image-875" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_180021_gold-point.jpg" id="image-876" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-27_165410_gold-point.jpg" id="image-874" class="picwide" /> +</div> diff --git a/published/2017-10-06_trains-hot-springs-and-broken-buses.txt b/published/2017-10-06_trains-hot-springs-and-broken-buses.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0310286 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-10-06_trains-hot-springs-and-broken-buses.txt @@ -0,0 +1,65 @@ +After a night in the middle of Gold Point we hit the road, continuing our somewhat random plan. I came up with something I thought was pretty good: take highway 266 west from Gold Point, grab highway 168, go over the White Mountains, drop down into Big Pine and follow 395 up to my aunt and uncle's house up in Wellington. It seems simple when you type it out. I bet it made the gods chuckle anyway. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-28_115350_bishop.jpg" id="image-881" class="picwide" /> + +Highway 266 was uneventful, a little climb up into the White Mountains, through a ghost town and down into a small town called Oasis. It was when we turned on 168 that we got some hints of what was to come. The signs read steep, winding roads ahead. Okay, no biggie, probably. Then there was a sign that said one lane road ahead, trucks not recommended. But we're on a two digit state highway in California, those don't narrow down to one lane. I thought maybe it meant there was no passing lane. It did not mean that. + +Up and over the second pass was not too bad either, though it was the windiest road we've been on. Down the back side despite my best efforts at downshifting the brakes started to smell. We took a break to let them rest and enjoy the view. Of absolute nothing. Excepting perhaps some portions of route 50 (the so-called loneliest highway) route 168 is the most remote road I've ever been on. There's no civilization for its entire run over the White Mountains. Just empty desert and one lone building set way back from the road with a huge sign that says "no telephone available." The only other vehicles we saw were a few empty hay trucks driving way too fast for the road. + +We had snack and a road work crew we'd passed up the mountain came down and pulled into the same turnout we were in. I took the opportunity to ask them about the next pass. They seemed to think we'd be fine, though one of them did say, "there's one part we call the narrows, it's only one lane through there." I just stared at him for a minute. "Seriously?" "Seriously." "Don't tell my wife that." + +We said goodbye and hit the road again. Climbing the third pass I started to smell that sweet smell of radiator fluid and pulled into the next turn out. The bus sat boiling over for a bit, maybe a quart, and then it stopped. We climbed out to sit for a while and consider our options. Except that there weren't any really. With no cell reception to call a tow truck, no real way to turn around, and no where else to go even if we did, we had to get over the pass. At one point an older gentleman on a Harley stopped at see if we were okay. We chatted for a bit and he told us the top of the pass was only about four or five miles ahead, which was encouraging. + +<img src="images/2017/20170928_121417.jpg" id="image-894" class="picwide caption" /> + +After an hour or so the bus, and I, had cooled enough to tackle the pass again. And the Harley guy turned out to be right. It wasn't that bad and we didn't overheat again. Shortly after the top of Westguard Pass though with very little warning the road did indeed become one lane. It turned out to be less than half a mile, just a stretch where they simply couldn't blast the cut any wider. Fortunately we didn't meet any hay trucks going through. + +The downhill grade on the other side of the pass was 10 percent all the way down which had us stopping to rest the brakes four or five times, but eventually, around dinner time, we finally made it to Big Pine. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-28_162100_bishop.jpg" id="image-884" class="picwide caption" /> + +We grabbed some gas and found a small county park with no one in it. Perfect way to end a long day. We parked for the night in the shadow of the High Sierra and ate dinner looking up at the mountains. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_090912_bishop.jpg" id="image-883" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170928_181253.jpg" id="image-896" class="picwide" /> + +Our plan for the next day was to check out the Laws Railroad Museum and then head to a local hot spring. Every morning while the bus warms up I walk around it and check things out, make sure all windows and vents are closed, no fluids are leaking and so on. This morning the rear wheel well caught my eye. It seemed someone closer to the wheels than I'd ever noticed. But that's virtually impossible, how often do axles move? Has to be my imagination. I walked around the other side. Not my imagination. I crawled under and saw this: + +<img src="images/2017/IMG_20170929_091850014.jpg" id="image-902" class="picwide" /> + +That's when I called my uncle. He's already helped me fix a few thing via the phone. I sent over some pictures and he told me what to do, but I had neither tools nor jack to do it so he offered to come down and help. A couple hours later had some bolts, some beer and something like a plan. Or at least he did. I had hope. + +And the next day we did it. Or my uncle did anyway. We lifted the bus with a grossly underpowered jack, pounded on the spring joint until it slowly slid back into place and then we put new bolts in. It was a long day, but we got it done. Thanks again Ron. + +The kids, generally oblivious to our breakdowns, found plenty of mud to get them through the day. + + +<div class="cluster"> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-30_161835_bishop.jpg" id="image-885" class="cluster picwide" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170930_143614.jpg" id="image-901" class="cluster pic5" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170930_143604.jpg" id="image-900" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-09-30_163026_bishop.jpg" id="image-882" class="picwide" /> +<span class="row-2"> +<img src="images/2017/20170928_180308.jpg" id="image-895" class="cluster pic5 caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170929_115229_Vbt4mZF.jpg" id="image-899" class="cluster pic5" /> +</span> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_090912_bishop.jpg" id="image-883" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/20170928_184719.jpg" id="image-897" class="picwide" /> +</div> + + +After that adventure we finally made it to the Laws Railroad Museum, which turned out to be a lot of fun for the kids, plenty of stuff to climb on, in and round and no one to tell them not to. Well, except for one old crone volunteering in the station house who proceeded to chastise the children before they were hardly in the door. I turned around and walked out because if I'd stayed I'd have involuntarily backhanded her. I sat on the porch listening to her tell visitors a completely false story about the origin of the Murphy bed. Some people I don't know, they won't leave you alone. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_140243_bishop.jpg" id="image-892" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_131818_bishop.jpg" id="image-886" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_132924_bishop.jpg" id="image-888" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_132207_bishop.jpg" id="image-887" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_133310_bishop.jpg" id="image-889" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_135524_bishop.jpg" id="image-890" class="picwide caption" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_140133_bishop.jpg" id="image-891" class="picwide" /> + +That afternoon we trekked over to Keough Hot Springs. There are a lot of hot springs in this part of the country, but not many of them have a really cool old pool. We ended up spending the night and the kids and I spent all afternoon in the pool. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-01_190450_bishop.jpg" id="image-893" class="picwide caption" /> diff --git a/published/2017-10-21_dialed-in.txt b/published/2017-10-21_dialed-in.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a7d3f49 --- /dev/null +++ b/published/2017-10-21_dialed-in.txt @@ -0,0 +1,52 @@ +We headed north from Bishop, up the Owens River Valley, over Montgomery Pass and back into Nevada. We stopped off to briefly see my cousin in Hawthorne before spending a very cold night out at Walker Lake. Walker Lake is one of those places that's probably not very nice in the high season, but it's really nice when you have it to yourself. It also has fun conspiracy theories about it which we accidentally discovered why searching for which campground had water (answer to our question: none of them). + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-02_185729_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-903" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-02_193122_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-904" class="picwide" /> + +We still don't have a heater in the bus so whatever the outside temp, the inside temp is about the same, maybe five or ten degrees warmer. One of my goals for this trip was for that to never be an issue because we would follow the weather. For the most part that's been true, but around here, this time of year, warmth is a rapidly fading thought. I even had to put on shoes. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-02_204113_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-905" class="picwide" /> + +We're up here to see my aunt and uncle for the first time in years and for my uncle to help me understand and dial in this engine. + +And that's exactly what we did for nearly three weeks. He and I pulled out the carburetor and reset the float where it should be. That alone solved about 70 percent of our problems. We were ready to leave with that, but then we got to talking and decided to do a few other things as well. The problem was that my uncle had already planned a trip to the California coast with a friend. So we ordered some parts, said goodbye and he headed west to California and we went north for a week. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-07_085231_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-906" class="picwide caption" /> + +The first night we stopped in Carson City. We spent the night in a Casino parking lot and walked around downtown. Carson City actually has one of those that's still functional and nice, with parks and business and such, unlike most American cities of its size these days. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-07_193304_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-907" class="picwide caption" /> + +The next day we headed north with the vague goal of seeing Reno and maybe checking out Pyramid Lake. That morning we met up with another cousin of mine and took all our kids to the children's museum in Carson City. After catching up for a couple hours, letting the kids play, we hit the road. But then we were hungry so we stopped at a really good Vietnamese restaurant. And then I spied a Harbor Freight and spent some time replenishing my toolkit with the cheapest, crappiest steel China has to offer. + +By the time we actually made it out of Carson City it was mid afternoon and none of us felt like going far. We made it about ten miles up over the hill to Washoe Lake State Park. It was a nice enough place and it had pretty good cell coverage, which is hard to come by in these parts. We ended up staying all week. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_110220_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-909" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-10_085532_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-908" class="picwide caption" /> + +With temps forecast down in the mid 20s we decided to pick up a little propane heater, which helps take the edge off mornings. + +Washoe Lake was host to some of the least appealing neighbors we've had -- someone stole my hatchet one night, along with beer, a chair and some other stuff from another person. Itried to tell the kids that whomever took it probably needed it more than we did and they seemed okay with that. I also tried to explain methamphetamines and what they do to you, but I don't think that sunk in as much. + +Despite that we enjoyed Washoe Lake. I got some work done, the kids played and we went for the occasional walk/bike ride to explore the park. Once we were walking over to another side of the lake when we spotted a sign that said, "Beach and Maze" with an arrow point to the shoreline. Maze? Really? Really. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_141812_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-911" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_141315_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-910" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_144023_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-912" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_144629_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-913" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_145238_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-914" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-13_152700_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-915" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-14_175745_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-916" class="picwide" /> +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-15_134728_carson-city-washoe-lake.jpg" id="image-917" class="picwide caption" /> + +After a week at Washoe we went back to my uncle's house and we got to work on the bus. We replaced the spark plugs, the plug wires and the exhaust manifold gaskets. Then we greased the suspension and I knocked a few interior fixes off my list. I installed an inverter, rehung some molding that had nearly come apart thanks to all the bumpy roads we've driven. I even finally got serious about fixing the oven. Unfortunately it does seem to be the thermocoupler and it's a serious pain to even get to it. I shelved that one again. You can't do it all. + +One night the sunset looked like this: + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-19_202446_rons-house.jpg" id="image-918" class="picwide" /> + +The next morning the mountains were covered in snow, though nothing stayed on the ground where we were. + +<img src="images/2017/2017-10-20_093419_rons-house.jpg" id="image-919" class="picwide" /> + +When we drove out of my uncle's house a week later the bus sounded and ran better than it has since I bought it and probably better than it has in decades. It's not perfect and something will still probably break soon -- since I'm writing from the future as it were, I can assure you something will break soon :) -- but for now it's driving better than I ever thought it would. Thanks Ron. diff --git a/zion.txt b/zion.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b1f3bf1..0000000 --- a/zion.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1 +0,0 @@ -Lines are degradding 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 adherance 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. |