Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
The latest on my prostate cancer journey
I’ve been researching different options for dealing with this prostate cancer and so far the one that appears the best is Proton Treatment. It has minimal side effects and is the least invasive. The downside is that available at only 5 places in the US. The nearest place is in Loma Linda, CA. It would entail staying down there about 2 months. Since I’ve always fancied myself as somewhat good at building things one of the first things I did was to look on eBay for plans on how to build a proton accelerator. Well, long story short, I bought the DVD but can't watch the it because I can't program our DVD player. I guess maybe I will have to go down to Loma Linda after all.
Hey, have you been downtown on the weekends lately? It seems like there’s a “recovery organization” washing cars on a regular basis lately. I’m not really clear what they’re recovering from, but they’re pulling out all the stops to get people in to get their cars washed. They have people holding signs, people yelling stuff, people gesturing and motioning somewhat wildly, heck, they even had an obese woman doing a ‘pole dance’ with the stop sign! There's probably some type of message there if you're of the psychology type. Lucky for me my pickup was already clean.
Hey, have you been downtown on the weekends lately? It seems like there’s a “recovery organization” washing cars on a regular basis lately. I’m not really clear what they’re recovering from, but they’re pulling out all the stops to get people in to get their cars washed. They have people holding signs, people yelling stuff, people gesturing and motioning somewhat wildly, heck, they even had an obese woman doing a ‘pole dance’ with the stop sign! There's probably some type of message there if you're of the psychology type. Lucky for me my pickup was already clean.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
New GPS
My GPS and I had a ‘falling out’ on one of our recent weekend outings. It fell off the back of the truck, and after it was run over, I was out a GPS. Anyway, after 2 weeks of research I bought the perfect different used GPS on eBay preloaded with a topo map of California. It’s a Garmin Vista HCx. I don’t know what HCx stands for, but I have to believe it’s some high-tech techie lingo that means something to someone somewhere. It all had all the features I wanted and more than a few that I had no idea what they are. What really drew me to this model was the Hunting and Fishing feature. The ad alluded to something about knowing when the best times to go hunting and fishing would be. I had no idea how they could figure that out, but I went with it.
When the package showed up at the front door I was somewhat disappointed as it was in a package about the size of a medium sized suitcase. I was really hoping for slightly smaller GPS, maybe about the size of a pack of cigarettes. By the time I got all the wrapping off I was much happier, it was about the size of a container of Altoids.
The first night I didn’t really progress too far getting it figured out. I gave up after about two hours of trying to get it to power up and look for directions on the Internet. The last thing I did before going to bed was to try to rescue the box that it came in from the fireplace before it was completely scorched while trying to think of good reasons for returning it. “I can’t use the California topo map. I live in the state of Jefferson,” “It came in such a huge box that by the time I got all the packing out I couldn’t locate the GPS,” “You didn’t say it wouldn’t come already turned on!” I was planning to send it back and see if I could get my money back. This thing was really stretching my intellectual abilities, and when a person’s brain (such as mine) is about the size of a Fig Newton and is stretched as far a mine usually is there really isn’t too much room for expansion. Something bad happens. Very bad.
The next evening the first thing I did was to put batteries in. It’s amazing how much I figured out after that. The first night my learning curve was pretty much flat-lining. The next night it actually had a slight curve to it. I still had to download some programs to make it work. After about an hour of trying to enter in data manually I finally figured out that this was a new model where data was inputted directly from the computer with a USB cord. What will they think of next?
Just like any other techie things, it has about 20 times more stuff that I’ll ever be able to use. Hell, all I really want to do is enter in some GPS coordinates and get off my ass and find them! I can play a game, I can balance my checkbook, I can even find out what time it is in Finland right now, but I'll be damned if I can put in coordinates to save my ass! Lucky for me the Hunting and Fishing feature is stuck on “Perfect fishing weather,” “Fish are on the bite,” “Even you can catch them anywhere.”
When the package showed up at the front door I was somewhat disappointed as it was in a package about the size of a medium sized suitcase. I was really hoping for slightly smaller GPS, maybe about the size of a pack of cigarettes. By the time I got all the wrapping off I was much happier, it was about the size of a container of Altoids.
The first night I didn’t really progress too far getting it figured out. I gave up after about two hours of trying to get it to power up and look for directions on the Internet. The last thing I did before going to bed was to try to rescue the box that it came in from the fireplace before it was completely scorched while trying to think of good reasons for returning it. “I can’t use the California topo map. I live in the state of Jefferson,” “It came in such a huge box that by the time I got all the packing out I couldn’t locate the GPS,” “You didn’t say it wouldn’t come already turned on!” I was planning to send it back and see if I could get my money back. This thing was really stretching my intellectual abilities, and when a person’s brain (such as mine) is about the size of a Fig Newton and is stretched as far a mine usually is there really isn’t too much room for expansion. Something bad happens. Very bad.
The next evening the first thing I did was to put batteries in. It’s amazing how much I figured out after that. The first night my learning curve was pretty much flat-lining. The next night it actually had a slight curve to it. I still had to download some programs to make it work. After about an hour of trying to enter in data manually I finally figured out that this was a new model where data was inputted directly from the computer with a USB cord. What will they think of next?
Just like any other techie things, it has about 20 times more stuff that I’ll ever be able to use. Hell, all I really want to do is enter in some GPS coordinates and get off my ass and find them! I can play a game, I can balance my checkbook, I can even find out what time it is in Finland right now, but I'll be damned if I can put in coordinates to save my ass! Lucky for me the Hunting and Fishing feature is stuck on “Perfect fishing weather,” “Fish are on the bite,” “Even you can catch them anywhere.”
Friday, August 14, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Fishing at Pebble Beach
I've never regretted taking the kayak out and going fishing or for that matter just going for a paddle. Monday, August 10, was a great day even though I didn't catch any fish, but Rick caught 4 black snappes. The ocean was flat and calm. Yesterday we went out for a few hours. I caught 9 and he caught 8. Today we went out and caught 9 between us.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, Alamosa, CO to Abiquiu, New Mexico to Moab, Utah
If you copy and paste the link below it will take you to pics of our trip.
http://picasaweb.google.com/jnshoop/62109IowaTrip02?authkey=Gv1sRgCLzw48mGo6yhJA&feat=directlink
Randy has had an interest in our family genealogy and has traced back the Garcia line to this aged town. He has traced it back through Catholic Church records that show Ben was born here. The records show that his parents like many of the people that populated the area were a mix of Mexicans of Spanish descent as well as the Native American tribes, the Apache and the Navajo. I believe that exact confirmation would only be established through a DNA test. Our first stop was at the ruins of a church by the name of La Santa Rosa DeLima. We couldn’t stop next to it so we parked the car and walked back. I’ll do a little internet research and fill in the blanks.
We stopped at the grocery store to buy some soft drinks and asked the directions to the local parish. The most recent parish, the one presently in use is called St. Thomas Apostle Parish. We were directed across the street and up the hill. Just above the road and behind some bushes an old part of the town opened up and of course was a place for tourist information. I knocked at the door and an older distinguished looking gentleman opened the door. He introduced himself as Napolean Garcia. He had lived in a Abiquiu his entire life, as his forefathers had. He was about 74 years old.
He gave us a little history on the area: It was established on the site of an old Indian pueblo in the mid-18th century. It became a settlement of Spaniards and Genizaros (Hispanicized Indians). In 1776, explorers Fray Francisco, Ataancio Dominguez, and Silvestre Velez de Escalante visited here. In 1839 the settlement became one of the stops
on the Spanish Trail that linked Sante Fe with Los Angeles, California..
He showed us a book that he had that listed the first settlers in the area. There were a few Garicas in the mix. I took pictures of the book.
It was easy to see what had attracted different groups of people to the area; it was an oasis in an otherwise very dry land. When you follow Rio Chama it is lush and green. Being in the river bottom there were ample opportunities to grow the produce that was needed. I would imagine any excess could be sold or traded to people traveling through the area.
I can’t say as I felt a connection with the area, but I did understand more the hardships that my ancestors had gone through and why Ben’s parents may have wanted to move.
We drove on to Four Corners past Ship Rock out one of those types of roads where they don’t spend too much money on mileage signs or highway signs. You’re basically going down this road that is getting worse and worse and you’re unsure where you’re going for miles on end. I expected it to turn into a gravel road and only hoped that they gave us some warning before we plunged headlong into Grand Canyon. I’m not saying I was nervous; it’s just that I could feel my sphincter muscle doing flip-flops whenever I had my eyes open.
You can see seemingly for thousands of miles and off visible in the distance is a house perched on a hill. Soon you come to a rutted dirt road that branches off the highway towards the house. The people must have lived there for generations because you can see the ‘migration of affluence’ with the newness of the houses. There are always at least three time periods represented in about a 150 foot area; it start with a broken down small little house that may be of dirt, logs, or boards as siding. It then progresses to either a more modern looking house that still is about 50 years old with the windows all broken out and the door (if there is one) hanging open or a single wide trailer listing over to one side because of its flattened tires and leaning forward on its tongue. Here again the windows are all broken out and the door is hanging open. Last is either a double wide trailer or a newer house with a yet unfinished lean-to on the side with about dozen vintage cars, trucks, or smaller trailers within spitting distance of the front door.
All the way to Four Corners was nothing but nothingness as far as you could see only interrupted by the glistening bits of glass from the thousands of broken beer bottles littering the roadside.
FYI. Four Corners is not a National Monument, a State Monument, or even a County Monument so don’t expect nice signs and smiling employees in Smokey Bear hats. It is administered by the local Native Americans that charge admission to stand on the monument. You can’t stand very long as (1) it’s really hot and (2) there are about 20 people waiting in line to act like a fool for digital posterity. For all your tourist needs they do sell jewelry, soda pop, fry bread, blankets (without smallpox, I hope), flutes, key chains, shot glasses, and overpriced T-Shirts that say, ‘I’ve been to Four Corners.’ Lucky for us we didn’t have any cash.
I think I’ve found the perfect way to go on a road trip. I go through my closet and pick out all of the worn-out shirts, old shorts, and socks with holes in them. I wash them for the last time whether they need it or not. I carefully gauge how long we’re to be gone and take the appropriate amount of clothes. Whenever I need to change clothes on the trip I simply leave them wherever we are. I can now say I have left an article of clothing in about 10 different states, generally in a KOA bathroom. I then jump into a new set of old clothes and wear these until my traveling companions not so subtly bring it to my attention that my deodorant can no longer keep up with the maturity of the clothes. I then repeat the same process until either our trip is over or I’m out of clothes. A short visit to a Wal-Mart can easily extend the duration of the road trip. When I arrive back home I have an empty bag and no laundry to do.
http://picasaweb.google.com/jnshoop/62109IowaTrip02?authkey=Gv1sRgCLzw48mGo6yhJA&feat=directlink
Randy has had an interest in our family genealogy and has traced back the Garcia line to this aged town. He has traced it back through Catholic Church records that show Ben was born here. The records show that his parents like many of the people that populated the area were a mix of Mexicans of Spanish descent as well as the Native American tribes, the Apache and the Navajo. I believe that exact confirmation would only be established through a DNA test. Our first stop was at the ruins of a church by the name of La Santa Rosa DeLima. We couldn’t stop next to it so we parked the car and walked back. I’ll do a little internet research and fill in the blanks.
We stopped at the grocery store to buy some soft drinks and asked the directions to the local parish. The most recent parish, the one presently in use is called St. Thomas Apostle Parish. We were directed across the street and up the hill. Just above the road and behind some bushes an old part of the town opened up and of course was a place for tourist information. I knocked at the door and an older distinguished looking gentleman opened the door. He introduced himself as Napolean Garcia. He had lived in a Abiquiu his entire life, as his forefathers had. He was about 74 years old.
He gave us a little history on the area: It was established on the site of an old Indian pueblo in the mid-18th century. It became a settlement of Spaniards and Genizaros (Hispanicized Indians). In 1776, explorers Fray Francisco, Ataancio Dominguez, and Silvestre Velez de Escalante visited here. In 1839 the settlement became one of the stops
on the Spanish Trail that linked Sante Fe with Los Angeles, California..
He showed us a book that he had that listed the first settlers in the area. There were a few Garicas in the mix. I took pictures of the book.
It was easy to see what had attracted different groups of people to the area; it was an oasis in an otherwise very dry land. When you follow Rio Chama it is lush and green. Being in the river bottom there were ample opportunities to grow the produce that was needed. I would imagine any excess could be sold or traded to people traveling through the area.
I can’t say as I felt a connection with the area, but I did understand more the hardships that my ancestors had gone through and why Ben’s parents may have wanted to move.
We drove on to Four Corners past Ship Rock out one of those types of roads where they don’t spend too much money on mileage signs or highway signs. You’re basically going down this road that is getting worse and worse and you’re unsure where you’re going for miles on end. I expected it to turn into a gravel road and only hoped that they gave us some warning before we plunged headlong into Grand Canyon. I’m not saying I was nervous; it’s just that I could feel my sphincter muscle doing flip-flops whenever I had my eyes open.
You can see seemingly for thousands of miles and off visible in the distance is a house perched on a hill. Soon you come to a rutted dirt road that branches off the highway towards the house. The people must have lived there for generations because you can see the ‘migration of affluence’ with the newness of the houses. There are always at least three time periods represented in about a 150 foot area; it start with a broken down small little house that may be of dirt, logs, or boards as siding. It then progresses to either a more modern looking house that still is about 50 years old with the windows all broken out and the door (if there is one) hanging open or a single wide trailer listing over to one side because of its flattened tires and leaning forward on its tongue. Here again the windows are all broken out and the door is hanging open. Last is either a double wide trailer or a newer house with a yet unfinished lean-to on the side with about dozen vintage cars, trucks, or smaller trailers within spitting distance of the front door.
All the way to Four Corners was nothing but nothingness as far as you could see only interrupted by the glistening bits of glass from the thousands of broken beer bottles littering the roadside.
FYI. Four Corners is not a National Monument, a State Monument, or even a County Monument so don’t expect nice signs and smiling employees in Smokey Bear hats. It is administered by the local Native Americans that charge admission to stand on the monument. You can’t stand very long as (1) it’s really hot and (2) there are about 20 people waiting in line to act like a fool for digital posterity. For all your tourist needs they do sell jewelry, soda pop, fry bread, blankets (without smallpox, I hope), flutes, key chains, shot glasses, and overpriced T-Shirts that say, ‘I’ve been to Four Corners.’ Lucky for us we didn’t have any cash.
I think I’ve found the perfect way to go on a road trip. I go through my closet and pick out all of the worn-out shirts, old shorts, and socks with holes in them. I wash them for the last time whether they need it or not. I carefully gauge how long we’re to be gone and take the appropriate amount of clothes. Whenever I need to change clothes on the trip I simply leave them wherever we are. I can now say I have left an article of clothing in about 10 different states, generally in a KOA bathroom. I then jump into a new set of old clothes and wear these until my traveling companions not so subtly bring it to my attention that my deodorant can no longer keep up with the maturity of the clothes. I then repeat the same process until either our trip is over or I’m out of clothes. A short visit to a Wal-Mart can easily extend the duration of the road trip. When I arrive back home I have an empty bag and no laundry to do.
Tuesday
On our way into Limon, Colorado, our destination for the evening, we had been driving eastward heading into an ever darkening sky. Up to this point we had pretty much avoided any bad weather, but by the looks of the dark sky our luck was about to change. The thought of camping out at a KOA was starting to lose its appeal in direct proportion to how dark the sky was getting.
I’ve always thought of camping as sleeping in a tent at a place that doesn’t have running water, flush toilets, swimming pools, spas, miniature golf, internet service, and a convenience store right outside your tent flap. I guess I have to renegotiate my definition of camping to include that because when you’re on a road trip that’s what it is. Did I mention that meals you can buy on-site so you don’t even need to cook?
As the skies got darker and the lightening flashed, raindrops falling, and the wind starting to gust I thanked my lucky stars that we weren’t on a motorcycle. Up to this point I was drooling at every motorcycle that went by and considered stopping at a Harley Davidson dealership to see what kind of deal we could swing if we traded in a 2000 S40 Volvo. We pulled off the freeway to a convenience store and took cover in the lee of the wind as the storm blew over. There was a motel next to the store and I suggested that we stay for the night as I didn’t want to stay at a KOA, even if they did boast about their 9 hole miniature golf course. We didn’t stay we drove on.
About 5 minutes later we pulled into Limon and checked in to the first motel we came to. Bad choice. We were directed to a 2nd floor non-smoking room where the last patrons must not been able to read in English the clearly stated rule about it being a non-smoking room. I wish I could remember the name of the motel so anyone that reads this doesn’t stay there. Just to be on the safe side don’t stay at any motel in Limon, even if they do have a KOA with a 9-hole miniature golf course next door, as we found out when we opened up the tattered curtains to air out the room. It was one of those kinds of rooms where you pray that they replaced the sheets instead of just making the bed and try not to think how many people had sat on the bed in their shorts, or worse yet, without their shorts. Perhaps that’s the reason that rooms like this are so poorly lit.
Mental note to self: Upon entering a prospective room, check to see if light bulbs are at least 150 watt. If they’re anything less it suggests that they’re trying to hide something.
When we got up the next morning after not sleeping well my feet and ankles started itching. I think that there were fleas or some other ankle biting vermin in the room. It’s been two days later and I’m still itching. I’m just glad that we didn’t stay longer or they may have worked their way even higher up my torso. Granted, I have a high tolerance for embarrassment, but even I would have been embarrassed to being photographed standing at 4 Corners scratching places on my body that shouldn’t be scratched in public.
We had a nice scenic drive to Pueblo, Colorado where Sand’s aunts and uncles lived. Our first stop was at Aunt Mary’s house to visit her and her daughter, Nadine. The next stop was at Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Harvey’s house. Then about a 1-1/2 hour drive to Frieta and Roger’s house in Texas Creek. Our final destination was to be at a KOA in Alamosa, Colorado.
After we left Frieta’s house we drove on Hwy. 17 past the town of Hooper. The drive can only be described as beautiful mountains on both sides of the road going down through a looonnnggg flat valley. There were many extensively used pre-mobile home trailers seemingly placed haphazardly beside a number of cars, truck, tractors, and farm equipment on blocks down the entire valley. From the looks of them they may have been there when the pioneers were coming through the area. They weren’t sold then and they still haven’t sold. In case you’re interested in buying property there, judging by the number of for sale signs, there is quite a bit for sale. I dare say we saw more for sale signs along this stretch of road than anywhere on our trip. Some of these signs were so old and faded the phone number signs were written in Roman numerals.
I have to give some of the people there some credit for trying to make a go of it as some are trying to start businesses and pull people off the road. Just before we got to the town of Hooper we noticed a hand-painted sign advertising a local RV park to travelers. They had trailer spaces, RV spaces, tent spaces, and UFO viewing platforms for rent with no silly trees or anything green to get in the way or confuse any possible sightings with. While it was a very clear night we opted not to stay there.
To put it mildly, the town of Hooper has room for expansion. Like many small towns, I don’t think it was ever a boomtown or even had a heyday. It doesn’t have a gas station or convenience store, but it does have a store called Hooper Parts and Supply and a Post Office. I don’t know what they offer or who exactly they cater too, but the building was painted green and had a flashing light on top of it, but they can get their mail. Visitors must be down these days since the paint was fading on the building. The only other store in town was closed but struck me as kind of odd. The sign said Antique Store, but I lifted the front sign up and underneath was a sign that said, Second-Hand Store. I think that they must put the antique sign up during tourist season and the second-hand store up the rest of the year. Again, I think our country is suffering a proliferation of too many antique stores.
It seems the valley would be a good place for solar panels, wind mills, and anything else that could make it look a little more modern. There were a few solar panels, but none too many. It appears to be situated in a natural wind tunnel and since there aren’t any trees to cut down on the wind and good place for wind mills.
The last business that we saw as we headed out of town was a sign just off the road that said, Reptile Farm. There were four metal buildings behind it looking pretty lonesome. I don’t know who exactly they sell their reptiles to, but I’ll bet they don’t worry about being broken in to.
I’ve always thought of camping as sleeping in a tent at a place that doesn’t have running water, flush toilets, swimming pools, spas, miniature golf, internet service, and a convenience store right outside your tent flap. I guess I have to renegotiate my definition of camping to include that because when you’re on a road trip that’s what it is. Did I mention that meals you can buy on-site so you don’t even need to cook?
As the skies got darker and the lightening flashed, raindrops falling, and the wind starting to gust I thanked my lucky stars that we weren’t on a motorcycle. Up to this point I was drooling at every motorcycle that went by and considered stopping at a Harley Davidson dealership to see what kind of deal we could swing if we traded in a 2000 S40 Volvo. We pulled off the freeway to a convenience store and took cover in the lee of the wind as the storm blew over. There was a motel next to the store and I suggested that we stay for the night as I didn’t want to stay at a KOA, even if they did boast about their 9 hole miniature golf course. We didn’t stay we drove on.
About 5 minutes later we pulled into Limon and checked in to the first motel we came to. Bad choice. We were directed to a 2nd floor non-smoking room where the last patrons must not been able to read in English the clearly stated rule about it being a non-smoking room. I wish I could remember the name of the motel so anyone that reads this doesn’t stay there. Just to be on the safe side don’t stay at any motel in Limon, even if they do have a KOA with a 9-hole miniature golf course next door, as we found out when we opened up the tattered curtains to air out the room. It was one of those kinds of rooms where you pray that they replaced the sheets instead of just making the bed and try not to think how many people had sat on the bed in their shorts, or worse yet, without their shorts. Perhaps that’s the reason that rooms like this are so poorly lit.
Mental note to self: Upon entering a prospective room, check to see if light bulbs are at least 150 watt. If they’re anything less it suggests that they’re trying to hide something.
When we got up the next morning after not sleeping well my feet and ankles started itching. I think that there were fleas or some other ankle biting vermin in the room. It’s been two days later and I’m still itching. I’m just glad that we didn’t stay longer or they may have worked their way even higher up my torso. Granted, I have a high tolerance for embarrassment, but even I would have been embarrassed to being photographed standing at 4 Corners scratching places on my body that shouldn’t be scratched in public.
We had a nice scenic drive to Pueblo, Colorado where Sand’s aunts and uncles lived. Our first stop was at Aunt Mary’s house to visit her and her daughter, Nadine. The next stop was at Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Harvey’s house. Then about a 1-1/2 hour drive to Frieta and Roger’s house in Texas Creek. Our final destination was to be at a KOA in Alamosa, Colorado.
After we left Frieta’s house we drove on Hwy. 17 past the town of Hooper. The drive can only be described as beautiful mountains on both sides of the road going down through a looonnnggg flat valley. There were many extensively used pre-mobile home trailers seemingly placed haphazardly beside a number of cars, truck, tractors, and farm equipment on blocks down the entire valley. From the looks of them they may have been there when the pioneers were coming through the area. They weren’t sold then and they still haven’t sold. In case you’re interested in buying property there, judging by the number of for sale signs, there is quite a bit for sale. I dare say we saw more for sale signs along this stretch of road than anywhere on our trip. Some of these signs were so old and faded the phone number signs were written in Roman numerals.
I have to give some of the people there some credit for trying to make a go of it as some are trying to start businesses and pull people off the road. Just before we got to the town of Hooper we noticed a hand-painted sign advertising a local RV park to travelers. They had trailer spaces, RV spaces, tent spaces, and UFO viewing platforms for rent with no silly trees or anything green to get in the way or confuse any possible sightings with. While it was a very clear night we opted not to stay there.
To put it mildly, the town of Hooper has room for expansion. Like many small towns, I don’t think it was ever a boomtown or even had a heyday. It doesn’t have a gas station or convenience store, but it does have a store called Hooper Parts and Supply and a Post Office. I don’t know what they offer or who exactly they cater too, but the building was painted green and had a flashing light on top of it, but they can get their mail. Visitors must be down these days since the paint was fading on the building. The only other store in town was closed but struck me as kind of odd. The sign said Antique Store, but I lifted the front sign up and underneath was a sign that said, Second-Hand Store. I think that they must put the antique sign up during tourist season and the second-hand store up the rest of the year. Again, I think our country is suffering a proliferation of too many antique stores.
It seems the valley would be a good place for solar panels, wind mills, and anything else that could make it look a little more modern. There were a few solar panels, but none too many. It appears to be situated in a natural wind tunnel and since there aren’t any trees to cut down on the wind and good place for wind mills.
The last business that we saw as we headed out of town was a sign just off the road that said, Reptile Farm. There were four metal buildings behind it looking pretty lonesome. I don’t know who exactly they sell their reptiles to, but I’ll bet they don’t worry about being broken in to.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Iowa Trip, Monday, July 6
Took off the from the West Omaha, Nebraska, KOA about 9:30. Sandi says I don’t know how to dance, but she doesn’t see me in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning trying to find my way to the bathroom. I may have to patent a dance I do during this call of nature time. It’s kind of a leaning ahead, forward-stepping, cross-legged chicken walk on my tip-toes kind of move. I just replicate the same moves all the way to the bathroom moving slightly quicker as I get closer to my goal. Sometimes I stop momentarily and breathe deep before resuming. I just disregard any odd looks I get from other people and just mutter to them, “Just perfecting a new dance step.” I don’t know why they put the tent sites so far away from the bathrooms. The pull-through trailers with bathrooms are right next to it. The tents sites are on the other side of the property from them.
I thought we would be going into the land of milk and honey but we’re still in the sea of corn. Miles and miles of corn on both sides of the road. We’re well south of Kevin Bacon Country; we’re in Dorothy of Wizard of Oz fame country now. All these wide open spaces make me convinced that Dorothy’s folks just built their house in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’re miles of wide open fields with nary a made-made thing in sight, then all of a sudden there will be a forlorn house just sitting there. The newer ones are brick and block, the older wooden ones are somewhat like a sway-back mule, kind of saggy in the middle. The brick ones are probably descendants of Dorothy. I guess they learned. I wouldn’t be scared to live here unless that inland sea thing is true is this reverts one day back to an ocean. Then you’d have to worry about Tsunamis, tidal waves, and tornadoes.
We passed more museums that we didn’t stop at; Orphan Train Museum (Concordia, Kansas), Cedarville Museum, Morrowville Museum, Tractor Museum, and about a dozen other ones that I can’t remember. I tell you, I think there’s something to this museum idea business I wrote about yesterday! It has the potential to supplant Wal-Mart.
I think that we’re going through the very heart of Kansas. It’s a beautiful day. No sign of any storm-chasers or whatever they chase out here.
By the way, I had an epiphany in the shower this morning; I think there’s a market for a 3 pocket zip lock bag. Just think, wouldn’t you like the ease of packing a BLT sandwich and not having a gooey mess when it comes time to eat it? All parts of the sandwich could be placed in its own separate pocket to be put together at the proper time. I hope NASA isn’t reading my blog and end up stealing my idea then lamely claim that astronauts invented it in space.
We went through Cuba, Kansas looking for cigars, but the only thing we saw was a sign that said their kids had the distinction of winning the 1987 State Championship for Little League. No cigars.
Calvin is schooling us on the pros and cons of different historical weapons and the proper time to use each of them, mainly of the Roman era. Education like posing the question, “Who do you think would win, soldiers using slingers or archers?” When he’s not doing that he’s perfecting his vocal guitar riff. So far he’s up to about 10 notes. He can’t seem to find that 11th magical note so we’ve been hearing the same 10 notes from Oregon to Omaha. I think he may forego writing any notes down or even any tablature. He’s going directly for the music contract, possibly with the Carpenters, or if that doesn’t work out the Jonas Brothers.
Remind me when we get home that Sandi needs to go to the eye doctor. It was her turn driving when she started calling out the road signs asking me if I wanted to stop at any of them. I do feel kind of guilty for not stopping more, but we would run out of money before we ran out of tourist traps, museums, and points of interest. Anyway, one that was interesting to hear since I had my eyes closed was ‘Old Fart Haze.’ Why, I asked myself, would anyone think that this would work as a tourist destination was beyond me? I couldn’t conjure up any kind of a business plan that a bank lending officer would approve with a name like this. I couldn’t believe it so I opened my eyes to read the sign as we went by and had to correct her. It actually read, ‘Old Fort Hays.’
For the last 100 miles there have been signs along the road say things like ‘World’s Largest Prairie Dog’ 100 miles. I can just hear the kids begging their dads to stop every time they pass one of these signs. “Come on dad, this will be the world’s best ‘Show and Tell’ at school. I’ll probably get an ‘A” for ‘Show and Tell.’ You’re always telling me to try my hardest and think outside the box. How many other kids can say that they’ve seen the world’s largest Prairie Dog?” Anyway, we happened to pull off at the off-ramp where this was at, but we didn’t notice until we were sitting in the restaurant and looking out the window. There it was, a sign that read, ‘World’s Largest 8,000 pound Prairie Dog,’
I have another epiphany to share. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I get these epiphanies right after I wake up from either a good night’s sleep or a SNAP (short nap). As you may imagine I feel very guilty for not stopping more often and taking advantage of these ‘merican sites. I can’t imagine how many museums, points of interest, historical signs, and Prairie Dog Museums we’ve driven by. I think I could save everyone a lot of time and money by just reading about all these sites. I’m going to propose an idea to Doubleday Press. I don’t want to tell them the idea or they may give it to someone else, but I’ll write it on my blog so I have proof of it. All I’ll ask for is an advance of say…$300 a day. Here’s the idea; I’ll just drive through and about “merica and take careful notes on what ALL of the attractions are. I’ll write it all down and they can sell a book. This way ‘mericans can read about this great country of ours without ever leaving their sofa. It’s a great way to save the environment too as they won’t be driving up and down the highway looking for museums and Prairie Dog museums.
We’re going through eastern Kansas and just before we stopped for our evening nourishment at Oakley, Kansas I may have just witnessed the maximum exploitation of land use. In a ¼ mile stretch along the I-70 we saw cows grazing, oil wells pumping, corn growing, and wind turbines in use. At that rate when someone comes back here in 100 years there’ll just be a sunken dry wasteland with the air all sucked out of the sky because of these multiple uses all going on.
We’ve been driving in two-hour shifts, but we’ve been driving so long today I think I may have bunions on my bum. I just figured out something else I wouldn’t be good at; truck driving.
I thought we would be going into the land of milk and honey but we’re still in the sea of corn. Miles and miles of corn on both sides of the road. We’re well south of Kevin Bacon Country; we’re in Dorothy of Wizard of Oz fame country now. All these wide open spaces make me convinced that Dorothy’s folks just built their house in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’re miles of wide open fields with nary a made-made thing in sight, then all of a sudden there will be a forlorn house just sitting there. The newer ones are brick and block, the older wooden ones are somewhat like a sway-back mule, kind of saggy in the middle. The brick ones are probably descendants of Dorothy. I guess they learned. I wouldn’t be scared to live here unless that inland sea thing is true is this reverts one day back to an ocean. Then you’d have to worry about Tsunamis, tidal waves, and tornadoes.
We passed more museums that we didn’t stop at; Orphan Train Museum (Concordia, Kansas), Cedarville Museum, Morrowville Museum, Tractor Museum, and about a dozen other ones that I can’t remember. I tell you, I think there’s something to this museum idea business I wrote about yesterday! It has the potential to supplant Wal-Mart.
I think that we’re going through the very heart of Kansas. It’s a beautiful day. No sign of any storm-chasers or whatever they chase out here.
By the way, I had an epiphany in the shower this morning; I think there’s a market for a 3 pocket zip lock bag. Just think, wouldn’t you like the ease of packing a BLT sandwich and not having a gooey mess when it comes time to eat it? All parts of the sandwich could be placed in its own separate pocket to be put together at the proper time. I hope NASA isn’t reading my blog and end up stealing my idea then lamely claim that astronauts invented it in space.
We went through Cuba, Kansas looking for cigars, but the only thing we saw was a sign that said their kids had the distinction of winning the 1987 State Championship for Little League. No cigars.
Calvin is schooling us on the pros and cons of different historical weapons and the proper time to use each of them, mainly of the Roman era. Education like posing the question, “Who do you think would win, soldiers using slingers or archers?” When he’s not doing that he’s perfecting his vocal guitar riff. So far he’s up to about 10 notes. He can’t seem to find that 11th magical note so we’ve been hearing the same 10 notes from Oregon to Omaha. I think he may forego writing any notes down or even any tablature. He’s going directly for the music contract, possibly with the Carpenters, or if that doesn’t work out the Jonas Brothers.
Remind me when we get home that Sandi needs to go to the eye doctor. It was her turn driving when she started calling out the road signs asking me if I wanted to stop at any of them. I do feel kind of guilty for not stopping more, but we would run out of money before we ran out of tourist traps, museums, and points of interest. Anyway, one that was interesting to hear since I had my eyes closed was ‘Old Fart Haze.’ Why, I asked myself, would anyone think that this would work as a tourist destination was beyond me? I couldn’t conjure up any kind of a business plan that a bank lending officer would approve with a name like this. I couldn’t believe it so I opened my eyes to read the sign as we went by and had to correct her. It actually read, ‘Old Fort Hays.’
For the last 100 miles there have been signs along the road say things like ‘World’s Largest Prairie Dog’ 100 miles. I can just hear the kids begging their dads to stop every time they pass one of these signs. “Come on dad, this will be the world’s best ‘Show and Tell’ at school. I’ll probably get an ‘A” for ‘Show and Tell.’ You’re always telling me to try my hardest and think outside the box. How many other kids can say that they’ve seen the world’s largest Prairie Dog?” Anyway, we happened to pull off at the off-ramp where this was at, but we didn’t notice until we were sitting in the restaurant and looking out the window. There it was, a sign that read, ‘World’s Largest 8,000 pound Prairie Dog,’
I have another epiphany to share. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I get these epiphanies right after I wake up from either a good night’s sleep or a SNAP (short nap). As you may imagine I feel very guilty for not stopping more often and taking advantage of these ‘merican sites. I can’t imagine how many museums, points of interest, historical signs, and Prairie Dog Museums we’ve driven by. I think I could save everyone a lot of time and money by just reading about all these sites. I’m going to propose an idea to Doubleday Press. I don’t want to tell them the idea or they may give it to someone else, but I’ll write it on my blog so I have proof of it. All I’ll ask for is an advance of say…$300 a day. Here’s the idea; I’ll just drive through and about “merica and take careful notes on what ALL of the attractions are. I’ll write it all down and they can sell a book. This way ‘mericans can read about this great country of ours without ever leaving their sofa. It’s a great way to save the environment too as they won’t be driving up and down the highway looking for museums and Prairie Dog museums.
We’re going through eastern Kansas and just before we stopped for our evening nourishment at Oakley, Kansas I may have just witnessed the maximum exploitation of land use. In a ¼ mile stretch along the I-70 we saw cows grazing, oil wells pumping, corn growing, and wind turbines in use. At that rate when someone comes back here in 100 years there’ll just be a sunken dry wasteland with the air all sucked out of the sky because of these multiple uses all going on.
We’ve been driving in two-hour shifts, but we’ve been driving so long today I think I may have bunions on my bum. I just figured out something else I wouldn’t be good at; truck driving.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Iowa Trip, Sunday, June 5
We had a great time watching the fireworks with the ‘fam.’ It WAS a very good display, not long but strong, choreographed to patriotic music playing from.........somewhere. We watched from a hilltop on the campus where Wendy goes to school.
Took off this morning Cedar Rapids, Iowa, about 9:00 and drove on I-80 to Omaha, NB. We were leaving the land of corn and windmills and entering the land of milk and honey. Western Iowa is a drive-by state. You’ve seen the extent of what that there is to see after about the first 5 miles. Corn. Don’t get me wrong, I love corn, but I’ve seen much more than I could ever hope to eat, and it’s not ripe yet. It’s kind of like looking at chocolate being prepared, but being told it’s not ready yet leaves an odd taste in your mouth.
When we were in Blue Earth, Minnesota there is a 60” tall statue of the Jolly Green Giant. My question is though, if the Jolly Green Giant lives in Blue Earth, Minnesota, why isn’t he blue, or, even more perplexing, why aren’t the vegetables blue if they come from Blue Earth, Minnesota?
We stopped at a Cabela’s in Omaha while Sandi met a friend of hers at the Cracker Barrel Restaurant nearby. It’s a store where a man can shop for ‘man stuff,’ and if he can manage to take his wife along, to try to convince her that he “needs” that doe attractant for huntin’ season. Or, at least, buy stuff that has a Cabela’s label on it and show other people that he dresses like a ‘man.’ That doe attractant stuff comes in a 6 ounce bottle for $29.99. I don’t even want to know how they collect that stuff. My mind goes wild and none of it’s good. I tried to siddle up to the couple and listen to the plea (for some pointers), but I didn’t want to make myself too obvious so I only heard about the part where he was trying to convince her to let him buy it. It was kind of like this, “it’s made in the USA so it’s patriotic, it’ll keep me outta the bar, it’ll be final proof that I’m a real man’s man. No, honey, I don’t prefer men!” I moved on to the clothing section after that.
It seems that Cabela’s is not just a man’s store. It has women’s clothes too. I happened to walk by the women’s section and noticed that there were racks and racks of women’s swimming suits. One-piece, two piece, and everything in between, although there did seem to be quite an inordinate number of camouflage. Ah-ha!! Another chance to make some points, or at least catch up on some lost opportunities. There happened to be a swimming suit that I thought would look good on Sandi; a one-piece with, you guess it, a camouflage pattern. A very nice, low-key camouflage pattern, a green muted forest pattern if I remember right. Then I remembered something my dad told me, “Don’t buy a woman two things; a purse or a swimming suit, you’ll make the wrong decision every time.”
Have I mentioned museums yet? It seems that there are a lot of museums spread across this good country of ours. I guess that that’s the price to pay for white people living here for the last two-hundred years. They want to pass on to posterity the blight they’ve made on the landscape. Have you ever seen an Indian museum not made by white people trying to assuage there guilt for what they did to the Native Americans? We’ve passed lot of museums and stopped at a few. The National Spam Museum, John Wayne’s Birthplace Museum, Natural Living History Museum, their teaser, ‘Come watch grass grow,’ Czech and Slavic Museum, Propeller Museum, Danish Immigrant Museum and antique store, Mississippi River Museum, to name a few. We did manage to drive by the National Spam Museum without stopping, but I do have to admit, it did make me wonder if they would divulge the ingredients in Spam if we took the tour.
It really makes we wonder what the state of museums will be 100 years from now. Just think, the razor that I’ll purchase tomorrow will one day be under a glass case for others to view as an antiquity. I can see it now, museums and antique stores lining the streets for miles and miles helping people remember the ‘good ‘ole days.’ It has to be something like that. With the increasing number of people and the amount of garbage that we’re producing there must be at least a portion of this that ends up in either a landfill or a museum.
We're at a KOA and the fireflies are out in force.
Took off this morning Cedar Rapids, Iowa, about 9:00 and drove on I-80 to Omaha, NB. We were leaving the land of corn and windmills and entering the land of milk and honey. Western Iowa is a drive-by state. You’ve seen the extent of what that there is to see after about the first 5 miles. Corn. Don’t get me wrong, I love corn, but I’ve seen much more than I could ever hope to eat, and it’s not ripe yet. It’s kind of like looking at chocolate being prepared, but being told it’s not ready yet leaves an odd taste in your mouth.
When we were in Blue Earth, Minnesota there is a 60” tall statue of the Jolly Green Giant. My question is though, if the Jolly Green Giant lives in Blue Earth, Minnesota, why isn’t he blue, or, even more perplexing, why aren’t the vegetables blue if they come from Blue Earth, Minnesota?
We stopped at a Cabela’s in Omaha while Sandi met a friend of hers at the Cracker Barrel Restaurant nearby. It’s a store where a man can shop for ‘man stuff,’ and if he can manage to take his wife along, to try to convince her that he “needs” that doe attractant for huntin’ season. Or, at least, buy stuff that has a Cabela’s label on it and show other people that he dresses like a ‘man.’ That doe attractant stuff comes in a 6 ounce bottle for $29.99. I don’t even want to know how they collect that stuff. My mind goes wild and none of it’s good. I tried to siddle up to the couple and listen to the plea (for some pointers), but I didn’t want to make myself too obvious so I only heard about the part where he was trying to convince her to let him buy it. It was kind of like this, “it’s made in the USA so it’s patriotic, it’ll keep me outta the bar, it’ll be final proof that I’m a real man’s man. No, honey, I don’t prefer men!” I moved on to the clothing section after that.
It seems that Cabela’s is not just a man’s store. It has women’s clothes too. I happened to walk by the women’s section and noticed that there were racks and racks of women’s swimming suits. One-piece, two piece, and everything in between, although there did seem to be quite an inordinate number of camouflage. Ah-ha!! Another chance to make some points, or at least catch up on some lost opportunities. There happened to be a swimming suit that I thought would look good on Sandi; a one-piece with, you guess it, a camouflage pattern. A very nice, low-key camouflage pattern, a green muted forest pattern if I remember right. Then I remembered something my dad told me, “Don’t buy a woman two things; a purse or a swimming suit, you’ll make the wrong decision every time.”
Have I mentioned museums yet? It seems that there are a lot of museums spread across this good country of ours. I guess that that’s the price to pay for white people living here for the last two-hundred years. They want to pass on to posterity the blight they’ve made on the landscape. Have you ever seen an Indian museum not made by white people trying to assuage there guilt for what they did to the Native Americans? We’ve passed lot of museums and stopped at a few. The National Spam Museum, John Wayne’s Birthplace Museum, Natural Living History Museum, their teaser, ‘Come watch grass grow,’ Czech and Slavic Museum, Propeller Museum, Danish Immigrant Museum and antique store, Mississippi River Museum, to name a few. We did manage to drive by the National Spam Museum without stopping, but I do have to admit, it did make me wonder if they would divulge the ingredients in Spam if we took the tour.
It really makes we wonder what the state of museums will be 100 years from now. Just think, the razor that I’ll purchase tomorrow will one day be under a glass case for others to view as an antiquity. I can see it now, museums and antique stores lining the streets for miles and miles helping people remember the ‘good ‘ole days.’ It has to be something like that. With the increasing number of people and the amount of garbage that we’re producing there must be at least a portion of this that ends up in either a landfill or a museum.
We're at a KOA and the fireflies are out in force.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Iowa Trip Sat., June 27
Easter South Dakota is what you may call a drive-by state. You know they don’t have a lot to show when the highway construction signs say; Construction Zone Ahead, Fines Double, Slow Down to 70.
It was a very nice drive all the way to Minnesota. Perhaps the most interesting stop was a place called, ‘Eat at Bill’s Place.’ Sandi remembered a cartoon on TV where there was a sign in the background that said, ‘Eat at Bill’s Place,’ so we did. Have you ever had deep-fat fried macaroni? That was one of their hallmark dishes.
Eastern South Dakota was beautiful in a empty, old, flat, green, rolling, going on to forever, blue ‘Simpsons’ sky, sort of way.
When we got into Minnesota we started seeing wind turbines, big ones, perhaps 200’ tall with slow moving 3-bladed wheels spinning at about 22-1/2 RPM. They were quiet and evidently working as we saw probably 200 along the road. I don’t know how many KW they are producing but it sure seems like it has potential.
With the popularity of the wind turbines Minnesota may have to change the logo on its license plates. At present it is ‘Land of 10,000 Lakes.’ BTW, have you ever noticed what is below the logo? If you look really close, in small letters it says, ‘Breeding grounds of the state bird.’
We found a KOA in Albert Lea (?) but they didn’t have any camping cabins left. We kind of wanted one there too because they were expecting bad weather later on that evening. When we made the reservations they told us in a disparaging way to be prepared for some raucous blues music late into the evening by a Blues Festival next door. Wow, how lucky could we get? Anyway, after the tents were set up we walked down a side road to the festival and found a hole in a fence and made ourselves to home. The lightening was flashing in the distance, the guitarists were ripping the strings off their guitars, and the drums were thundering on the stage. It was a good evening to listen to some Blues, and they were good. It went on until about 1:30 in the morning, but we were in bed by then.
It was a very nice drive all the way to Minnesota. Perhaps the most interesting stop was a place called, ‘Eat at Bill’s Place.’ Sandi remembered a cartoon on TV where there was a sign in the background that said, ‘Eat at Bill’s Place,’ so we did. Have you ever had deep-fat fried macaroni? That was one of their hallmark dishes.
Eastern South Dakota was beautiful in a empty, old, flat, green, rolling, going on to forever, blue ‘Simpsons’ sky, sort of way.
When we got into Minnesota we started seeing wind turbines, big ones, perhaps 200’ tall with slow moving 3-bladed wheels spinning at about 22-1/2 RPM. They were quiet and evidently working as we saw probably 200 along the road. I don’t know how many KW they are producing but it sure seems like it has potential.
With the popularity of the wind turbines Minnesota may have to change the logo on its license plates. At present it is ‘Land of 10,000 Lakes.’ BTW, have you ever noticed what is below the logo? If you look really close, in small letters it says, ‘Breeding grounds of the state bird.’
We found a KOA in Albert Lea (?) but they didn’t have any camping cabins left. We kind of wanted one there too because they were expecting bad weather later on that evening. When we made the reservations they told us in a disparaging way to be prepared for some raucous blues music late into the evening by a Blues Festival next door. Wow, how lucky could we get? Anyway, after the tents were set up we walked down a side road to the festival and found a hole in a fence and made ourselves to home. The lightening was flashing in the distance, the guitarists were ripping the strings off their guitars, and the drums were thundering on the stage. It was a good evening to listen to some Blues, and they were good. It went on until about 1:30 in the morning, but we were in bed by then.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Iowa Trip Friday
First thing in the morning we went to the Crazy Horse Exhibit. It is a massive carving on a huge rock outcropping that was started in about 1950 to recognize the undying spirit of Crazy Horse and the Sioux people. It is somewhat like Mt. Rushmore but about 10 times larger. It was pretty impressive especially given the fact that it is totally supported by private revenues. Mt. Rushmore was our next stop. It too was very impressive. I think Calvin liked it.
We took off down I-90 again and started east again. We thought of staying around the area another day, but there were too many tourist trap attractions. So, on down the road to Wall Drug, the ultimate tourist trap. Sandi says, “where you go to buy your rubber tomahawks and rubber chickens.” We started seeing Wall Drug highway signs just after leaving Yellowstone and they became progressively more common. They were inviting you to stop in for 5 cent cups of coffee, viewing things like world class bottle-cap collections, Sturgis T-Shirts, and bumper stickers that said, “Where the hell is Wall Drug?” So, of course, we had to stop.
I managed to fend off all the vendors and elbow my way to what my ultimate goal was in stopping. I walked past the rubber chickens hanging in the window, past the Wall Drug shot glasses, raccoon skin hats, and walked into drug store and bought a stick of deodorant.
We proceeded east on I-90 again only to interrupted by more roadside attraction signs. A Minute Man Missile Site, an actual 1880 Sod House tourist trap (with the only place in United States with white Prairie Dogs and the largest white Prairie Dog city), and yet another sign asking if we were sure we didn’t want to turn around and visit Wall Drug. We stopped at the Sod House. It was actually pretty cool. I have an idea the location was chosen for the missile site because of all the ground around the area had been softened up by the prairie dogs
We drove through the Badlands of desperado fame and were amazed at the forms that the earth has taken. I’m not sure if it was uplift or the ground sinking around it. It appeared that the ground had been worn away and the mountains were left in various shapes that were ‘bad.’ We stayed the night at a KOA and got there just in time for the pool to be closed because of an impending lightening and thunder show. Just as I was planning to dive in the pool the manager was getting everyone out. In fact I was in the middle of a beautiful swan dive just ready to slice the water in a clean knife-like dive when I felt this shepherd’s hook looking thing hook me by the neck and yank me over to the pool and set me upright on my feet in one smooth movement.
“Not now, son, thar’s a lightnen’ storm a-coming,” the manager said. (Not really, I just made that up.)
We took off down I-90 again and started east again. We thought of staying around the area another day, but there were too many tourist trap attractions. So, on down the road to Wall Drug, the ultimate tourist trap. Sandi says, “where you go to buy your rubber tomahawks and rubber chickens.” We started seeing Wall Drug highway signs just after leaving Yellowstone and they became progressively more common. They were inviting you to stop in for 5 cent cups of coffee, viewing things like world class bottle-cap collections, Sturgis T-Shirts, and bumper stickers that said, “Where the hell is Wall Drug?” So, of course, we had to stop.
I managed to fend off all the vendors and elbow my way to what my ultimate goal was in stopping. I walked past the rubber chickens hanging in the window, past the Wall Drug shot glasses, raccoon skin hats, and walked into drug store and bought a stick of deodorant.
We proceeded east on I-90 again only to interrupted by more roadside attraction signs. A Minute Man Missile Site, an actual 1880 Sod House tourist trap (with the only place in United States with white Prairie Dogs and the largest white Prairie Dog city), and yet another sign asking if we were sure we didn’t want to turn around and visit Wall Drug. We stopped at the Sod House. It was actually pretty cool. I have an idea the location was chosen for the missile site because of all the ground around the area had been softened up by the prairie dogs
We drove through the Badlands of desperado fame and were amazed at the forms that the earth has taken. I’m not sure if it was uplift or the ground sinking around it. It appeared that the ground had been worn away and the mountains were left in various shapes that were ‘bad.’ We stayed the night at a KOA and got there just in time for the pool to be closed because of an impending lightening and thunder show. Just as I was planning to dive in the pool the manager was getting everyone out. In fact I was in the middle of a beautiful swan dive just ready to slice the water in a clean knife-like dive when I felt this shepherd’s hook looking thing hook me by the neck and yank me over to the pool and set me upright on my feet in one smooth movement.
“Not now, son, thar’s a lightnen’ storm a-coming,” the manager said. (Not really, I just made that up.)
Friday, June 26, 2009
Iowa Trip Thursday
All along the way so far there’s a lot of history. It amazes me the transformations the land and people have gone through. I’ve always said that I would like to see a speeded-up version of the things that have gone on in the last million years. I know, it’s asking a lot isn’t it? Everything returns to the earth to start the cycle over again. I believe that what we refer as God is really a master scientist allowing humans to have choices. I believe that Earth is a grand series of successive experiments of free choice. The fossil record certainly suggests something has gone on before the Biblical history of around 6,000 years.
We drove to Little Bighorn National Monument and happened to be there on the anniversary of when it really happened. I am very impressed to what extent the Park Service preserves the historical, cultural, and natural resources. It is better to error on the side of conservatism than to have rules that are too lax.
A portrayal such as Little Bighorn is especially poignant because it is a human experience, and in all human experiences there are always differing points of view. I would imagine that it took many hours of careful negotiations on the correct explanations as to what went into the pamphlets, signage, and talks. No matter the outcome of the battle, ultimately, there were no winners.It was a powerful place, much like Gettysburg.
We then drove as far as Mt. Rushmore and stayed in the small city of KOA Central. On the way we went by Devil’s Postpile. It was a landmark that people on wagon trains would use as a progress monitor. If they reached this point before June 1 they had a good chance of getting across the Great Plains and over the Rocky Mountains before the first snows of fall. I actually felt kind of guilty since we could cover the same distance in about 8 hours…but I got over it.
We drove to Little Bighorn National Monument and happened to be there on the anniversary of when it really happened. I am very impressed to what extent the Park Service preserves the historical, cultural, and natural resources. It is better to error on the side of conservatism than to have rules that are too lax.
A portrayal such as Little Bighorn is especially poignant because it is a human experience, and in all human experiences there are always differing points of view. I would imagine that it took many hours of careful negotiations on the correct explanations as to what went into the pamphlets, signage, and talks. No matter the outcome of the battle, ultimately, there were no winners.It was a powerful place, much like Gettysburg.
We then drove as far as Mt. Rushmore and stayed in the small city of KOA Central. On the way we went by Devil’s Postpile. It was a landmark that people on wagon trains would use as a progress monitor. If they reached this point before June 1 they had a good chance of getting across the Great Plains and over the Rocky Mountains before the first snows of fall. I actually felt kind of guilty since we could cover the same distance in about 8 hours…but I got over it.
Iowa Trip Wednesday June 25
The next morning I saw a huge dog poking around one of our neighbor’s tents. It wasn’t making a sound, just sniffing around. Upon closer examination and opening both of my eyes it turned out that it was an elk. Not just one, but four elk wandering around through the campsites. The rangers told us about a bear that had been wandering out the campsites looking for food, but they hadn’t said anything about elks trying to mooch a free meal. Anyway, it was pretty cool to see them nosing around as long as they weren’t eating up our food.
This morning we drove by Yellowstone Lake. It’s a huge lake with 140 miles of shoreline, and it’s cold too so there were no beaches to swim at. I did manage to keep Sandi out of the water in spite of that though. We drove up the eastern side of the park to Mammoth Hot Springs. While we didn’t see any Wooly Mammoths on the way we did see some of their shirttail relatives. We saw probably 200 Rib Eyes on the hoof in the form of American Bison. Also, we saw about 100 Rib Roasts in the form of Elk. We even saw a Black Bear and quite a few Antelope and a Dall Sheep. While we saw some moose droppings we didn’t see any of the droppees.
We took the NE exit out of the park and it very pretty again. Yellowstone holds such a varied tapestry of biomes it’s hard to take it all in. I guess large catastrophic events are not always a bad thing. On the way out of the park we followed the Yellowstone River (surprise) and it must have been quite a steep gradient as it was a very swift flowing river. Soon we started climbing again and the river fell away below us. There were snow covered mountains and rock spires all around us. The views went from “beautiful” to “wow” to “ .” Yes, soon we were just speechless. The speed limit in Montana on roads like this are posted as 75 MPH, but I was holding on to the steering wheel with both hands watching as the rear of the car came around a corner that I had just steered the front wheels around. Yes, there were hair-pin corners on every corner and we weren’t going 75 MPH. The alpine lakes still had snow on, in, and around them. It was a beautiful sight to see….from a distance. Later as we crested the summit there was a sign that said the elevation was 10, 849 feet. I felt on top of the world and a very sporting to be up there just wearing my T-Shirt until I saw a guy just cresting the hill on his bike. It was by accident that we took this road and we found out later that it was voted as “one of the most beautiful drives in the United States.” I’m not sure who was in on the voting but I’d have to agree with them.
Stayed the night at a KOA in Billings, Montana. Nothing really exciting until we heard the orchestra get tuned up for the evening. The bullfrogs were calling to each other. They sounded like they were just in front of our tent. It sounded like a bunch of Whoopee Cushions calling to each from all sides of the lake.
By the way, I have to take back everything I previously said about guys that ride Harleys. I saw a young bald-headed guy with only a goatee camping beside us.
This morning we drove by Yellowstone Lake. It’s a huge lake with 140 miles of shoreline, and it’s cold too so there were no beaches to swim at. I did manage to keep Sandi out of the water in spite of that though. We drove up the eastern side of the park to Mammoth Hot Springs. While we didn’t see any Wooly Mammoths on the way we did see some of their shirttail relatives. We saw probably 200 Rib Eyes on the hoof in the form of American Bison. Also, we saw about 100 Rib Roasts in the form of Elk. We even saw a Black Bear and quite a few Antelope and a Dall Sheep. While we saw some moose droppings we didn’t see any of the droppees.
We took the NE exit out of the park and it very pretty again. Yellowstone holds such a varied tapestry of biomes it’s hard to take it all in. I guess large catastrophic events are not always a bad thing. On the way out of the park we followed the Yellowstone River (surprise) and it must have been quite a steep gradient as it was a very swift flowing river. Soon we started climbing again and the river fell away below us. There were snow covered mountains and rock spires all around us. The views went from “beautiful” to “wow” to “ .” Yes, soon we were just speechless. The speed limit in Montana on roads like this are posted as 75 MPH, but I was holding on to the steering wheel with both hands watching as the rear of the car came around a corner that I had just steered the front wheels around. Yes, there were hair-pin corners on every corner and we weren’t going 75 MPH. The alpine lakes still had snow on, in, and around them. It was a beautiful sight to see….from a distance. Later as we crested the summit there was a sign that said the elevation was 10, 849 feet. I felt on top of the world and a very sporting to be up there just wearing my T-Shirt until I saw a guy just cresting the hill on his bike. It was by accident that we took this road and we found out later that it was voted as “one of the most beautiful drives in the United States.” I’m not sure who was in on the voting but I’d have to agree with them.
Stayed the night at a KOA in Billings, Montana. Nothing really exciting until we heard the orchestra get tuned up for the evening. The bullfrogs were calling to each other. They sounded like they were just in front of our tent. It sounded like a bunch of Whoopee Cushions calling to each from all sides of the lake.
By the way, I have to take back everything I previously said about guys that ride Harleys. I saw a young bald-headed guy with only a goatee camping beside us.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Iowa Trip Tuesday
The next morning we packed up and went to West Yellowstone to get some supplies and have breakfast. The one thing that I didn’t bring along was a light vest and I think that it would’ve made my sleeping situation a little warmer. While Sandi was at the grocery store I drove all the side-streets that I could find looking for a 2nd hand store to no avail. We stopped at a gas station to get gas and they happened to have some clothes there. No, I didn’t buy a vest there. I wasn’t going to spend $70 for a vest with a Yellowstone logo on it.
Upon entering the park we had to wait about 15 minutes to go through the entry point. It seems that everyone else wanted to go into the park about the same time that we did. We drove about 2 miles into the park and joined another line of people. There was a bald eagle nest visible from the road and everyone wanted to stop, get out, and take pictures even though the signs said ‘Study Area, Don’t stop, Don’t get out, Don’t scare the eagles.’ We drove on and stopped at the places that we hadn’t got to the evening before. At the southern end of the park we found a tent site. Actually, Sandi stood in line for about 2 hours to get a tent site. We set up the tent then went to see some more hot springs. In case you’re wondering, I did not get into any hot springs. I followed all of the rules set forth by the park. I didn’t step off the trails, I didn’t go anywhere a person wasn’t supposed to, I used the outhouses and not the trees, I didn’t cut down any trees for firewood. In fact, we bought a box of wood. That hurt. The rangers said that we could gather wood around the campsite for fires. Since this was in part of the area that burned in the fire of ’98 I guess they want to clean things up a little after Mother Nature did such a poor job of burning it all completely.
The road through the park goes over the Continental Divide a couple of times and I am always entranced and amazed by it. Call me an amateur geologist. I have to ponder to think that two little drops of water can actually go down a different drainage and end up in different oceans thousands of miles apart. Or if the drop of water hits in just the right place it can split and become two half of drops of water and end up in oceans thousands of miles apart. Anyway, you get my drift. There’s a place in the Rockies where the mountains are such that 3 drops of water can actually go into the Pacific, Atlantic, and the Arctic. Of course I had to test the theory out. Now, to figure out a way to prove it.
We drove down to Grand Teton National Park. To save on signage costs the entrance signs are backed up to each other. That was so they can have ‘Entering Yellowstone’ on one side of the sign and ‘Entering Grand Teton’ on the other side. We kept saying that this high country reminded us of Alaska. Not that we’ve seen a lot of Alaska, it’s just that it that it has this look that says it’s only free of snow about 3 months of the year. The Tetons of course were magnificent in their beauty jutting up from a high mountain lake. Seems they were named by some poor hapless French fur trapper sitting around a campfire by himself looking up at the large mountain peaks missing his wife after spending too many days and nights away from the home-front.
When we got back we had hot dogs over the fire and Smores in the fire. It was a really clear (read cold) evening and Sandi and I walked out in a clearing to see the stars. It was stellar. It doesn’t happen often enough to be able to see the night sky without the ambient light of a town or city. It didn’t hurt that we were at about 7,000 feet either.
Upon entering the park we had to wait about 15 minutes to go through the entry point. It seems that everyone else wanted to go into the park about the same time that we did. We drove about 2 miles into the park and joined another line of people. There was a bald eagle nest visible from the road and everyone wanted to stop, get out, and take pictures even though the signs said ‘Study Area, Don’t stop, Don’t get out, Don’t scare the eagles.’ We drove on and stopped at the places that we hadn’t got to the evening before. At the southern end of the park we found a tent site. Actually, Sandi stood in line for about 2 hours to get a tent site. We set up the tent then went to see some more hot springs. In case you’re wondering, I did not get into any hot springs. I followed all of the rules set forth by the park. I didn’t step off the trails, I didn’t go anywhere a person wasn’t supposed to, I used the outhouses and not the trees, I didn’t cut down any trees for firewood. In fact, we bought a box of wood. That hurt. The rangers said that we could gather wood around the campsite for fires. Since this was in part of the area that burned in the fire of ’98 I guess they want to clean things up a little after Mother Nature did such a poor job of burning it all completely.
The road through the park goes over the Continental Divide a couple of times and I am always entranced and amazed by it. Call me an amateur geologist. I have to ponder to think that two little drops of water can actually go down a different drainage and end up in different oceans thousands of miles apart. Or if the drop of water hits in just the right place it can split and become two half of drops of water and end up in oceans thousands of miles apart. Anyway, you get my drift. There’s a place in the Rockies where the mountains are such that 3 drops of water can actually go into the Pacific, Atlantic, and the Arctic. Of course I had to test the theory out. Now, to figure out a way to prove it.
We drove down to Grand Teton National Park. To save on signage costs the entrance signs are backed up to each other. That was so they can have ‘Entering Yellowstone’ on one side of the sign and ‘Entering Grand Teton’ on the other side. We kept saying that this high country reminded us of Alaska. Not that we’ve seen a lot of Alaska, it’s just that it that it has this look that says it’s only free of snow about 3 months of the year. The Tetons of course were magnificent in their beauty jutting up from a high mountain lake. Seems they were named by some poor hapless French fur trapper sitting around a campfire by himself looking up at the large mountain peaks missing his wife after spending too many days and nights away from the home-front.
When we got back we had hot dogs over the fire and Smores in the fire. It was a really clear (read cold) evening and Sandi and I walked out in a clearing to see the stars. It was stellar. It doesn’t happen often enough to be able to see the night sky without the ambient light of a town or city. It didn’t hurt that we were at about 7,000 feet either.
Iowa Trip Monday
We drove as far as West Yellowstone. Not too far, but far enough. The roads up here were awesome. Tall mountains that started in fertile plains that go on forever. Hey, I forgot to add something about Pickles Restaurant. I thought it was kind of odd that on their Specials Menu they had Fish and Chips for $7.99 and Prime Rib for $14.99. Call me odd, but I can’t figure out how they can sell fish and chips for that price and it’s cheaper than the prime rib and we’re in the middle of “Beef Central.” There’s a herd of cows in every field, but not a single fish in sight.
We checked into a KOA just west of West Yellowstone. When Sandi called for a cabin site they were all filled up except for the “Deluxe Model” of which we didn’t even ask the price. We settled for a tent site even though Sandi said that she had been cold all day. Actually, I think it was just a case of looking at the elevation signs of the towns we were going through, 5,000’, 6,000’, 7,000’. They kept getting higher and higher and the road temperature on the dash was getting lower and lower. When we got to the KOA to check in they ‘happened’ to have a regular cabin available, so we took it. I didn’t even mention that they stated that if we canceled our reservation after we arrived we would only get 10% of the credit card charge that we were assessed before we were assured of our reservation. It diminished my view of mankind (and womankind).
After we were all settled in we went into the Yellowstone Park and went to Old Faithful. We were there at the perfect time; all the people were coming out (OK, that’s an overstatement, many of the people were coming out) and we were going in. The evening shadows on the hills were special, and going up the Yellowstone River was not able to be captured on film (digital media). I looked at the pictures I took and anything I do to the image doesn’t do it justice. Of course, our destination for the evening was Old Faithful and we were not disappointed. To get a “feet shot” and a good vantage point I had to take off my shoes and socks to clear the crowd away, so we ended up with a very large viewing area.
On the way back to West Yellowstone I stopped at as many of the hot springs, viewing points, and turnouts as possible, but I still missed some.
We checked into a KOA just west of West Yellowstone. When Sandi called for a cabin site they were all filled up except for the “Deluxe Model” of which we didn’t even ask the price. We settled for a tent site even though Sandi said that she had been cold all day. Actually, I think it was just a case of looking at the elevation signs of the towns we were going through, 5,000’, 6,000’, 7,000’. They kept getting higher and higher and the road temperature on the dash was getting lower and lower. When we got to the KOA to check in they ‘happened’ to have a regular cabin available, so we took it. I didn’t even mention that they stated that if we canceled our reservation after we arrived we would only get 10% of the credit card charge that we were assessed before we were assured of our reservation. It diminished my view of mankind (and womankind).
After we were all settled in we went into the Yellowstone Park and went to Old Faithful. We were there at the perfect time; all the people were coming out (OK, that’s an overstatement, many of the people were coming out) and we were going in. The evening shadows on the hills were special, and going up the Yellowstone River was not able to be captured on film (digital media). I looked at the pictures I took and anything I do to the image doesn’t do it justice. Of course, our destination for the evening was Old Faithful and we were not disappointed. To get a “feet shot” and a good vantage point I had to take off my shoes and socks to clear the crowd away, so we ended up with a very large viewing area.
On the way back to West Yellowstone I stopped at as many of the hot springs, viewing points, and turnouts as possible, but I still missed some.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Iowa trip Sunday
Sunday.
Our route from Caldwell, Idaho to where we ended up tonight in Arco, Idaho follows the Oregon Trail or alternate branches of it. Of course we had to stop and read as many information signs as we could. Because of that we really didn’t drive very far. At this rate we should arrive in Iowa just before the first freeze. All of the road signs pointed out the difficulties that these early pioneers endured as they traveled west. The Oregon Trail travelers were brave people. I think that even the women were studs. Imagine telling your kids that you’re going to be moving and going to a new home and the only thing we have to do is walk 2,o00 miles and if they were lucky it would only take 6 months. The only dangers were blisters, cholera, Indian attacks, rainstorms, flooded rivers, no water, no food, sunburn, lightening, tornadoes, rough trails, being lost, extreme weather, long daily hikes that ended within sight of where they started, and death. 12-15 miles was a good day. There was one story of this guy that was looking for a better route and he covered 80 miles in 17 days. I think he probably just stayed on the main trail after that foray.
Just think, if they would only have had the electric power transmission towers to guide them they probably could have really cut down their travel time. The Indians had traveled trails for 1,000s of years, but as soon as the white men came they stole that land from the Native Americans. They set up a toll road and exacted a toll to all the settlers that followed. Capitalism finds its way west. The next guy that bought him out set up what we would call the first Mini Mart. Of course they didn’t call it a Mini Mart they called it a General Store. There were quite a few old decrepit building that show the changes to what we know now as progress and the Mini Mart. I guess in a 100 years or so there will be more empty building falling down beside the existing falling down buildings. Ahhh, progress.
Have you ever noticed there aren’t any nature trails at places with names like Rattlesnake Junction or Rattlesnake Canyon? In fact, there aren’t even any turnouts. Of course if there were this is one person that would drive right on by. If I ever own a ranch I’m going to called it something like ‘Rattlesnake Haven’ or maybe ‘Rattlesnake Ranch.’ They have kind of an uninviting feeling to them don’t they? Fashionable and elegant, but yet understated.
We keep seeing a lot of old rough looking guys riding Harley Davidson motorcycles. They all have long wispy beards whipping behind them with helmets that have points on the top. It makes me understand why the salesmen wouldn’t sell me a Harley the last time I went in and drooled on the bikes in the showroom. I even offered to buy one of those fake white and gray beards hanging behind the counter. They had fake pony tails too, but even I have my limits. There were about six different styles of beards. The short dark bushy ones were called “Bad Beards.” There were varying degrees of lengths and colors down to the very end. The longest and whitest were the most expensive and were called “Baddest Ass Beards.” I wonder if they throw in a beard based on how much you pay for the new Harley?
The guys riding these Harleys travel pretty light. I think they must lay out on the dirt beside their bike at the end of the day and sleep until there just short of being too stiff to stand up and get up and ride some more. We’ve never seen any of them camping overnight where we’ve camped so I’m just guessing that they just pull in behind gravel piles at night.
We pulled into Craters of the Moon National Park at about 2:00. It was really pretty cool. The guy at the entrance booth was complaining that they had already received 6 inches of rain there this year. I didn’t tell him that we were most likely responsible for bringing the rain. Speaking of weather, we’ve managed to avoid the hot searing heat of summer so far. In fact, we’ve managed to bring some of Crescent City’s weather with us. We hiked some short trails in the park and took some pictures. It’s been either wind and rainy, or rainy and windy. We’ve seen blue sky in front of us and blue sky in back of us, but it’s kind of like Moses, it’s never over the top of us, just ahead of us, or just behind us.
It’s amazing how things work out when you least expect them. After we left the park We were planning to drive to Pocatell, Idaho, a distance of about 150 miles so we called a KOA to see if they had room. They were all filled up. Just after I hung up the phone we noticed a billboard for a KOA in the town we were coming in to. It was the town of Arco, Idaho. Its claim to fame was the fact that it was the first town in America to be lit up by nuclear energy, or rather use nuclear energy to produce electricity. By the looks of the empty storefronts it didn’t really do a whole lot of good to propel the town into the 21st century. Judging by the people in town I don’t think I’d want to lay claim to that logo either.The only advantage I see is that the town doesn't need street lights. All the people walking around at night serves the light up the place pretty well.
We had dinner at a place called ‘Pickles.’ It was actually a pretty simple choice since there were only two eateries in town. Mom had deep fried pickles and thought they were pretty good. I had a Pickle Hamburger, without the pickles, and thought it was pretty average. After dinner we drove around to get a better vantage point to this hillside where evidently each year the graduating seniors paint their year onto the side of the mountain on the rocks. It was very impressive and visible from a long way off. I had to take a hike to the top of the hill just to see the view from the top. It took me about 40 minutes to walk to the top and I found why the numbers were so visible. Mountains are even bigger once you start climbing/crawling your way to the top. There was a lot of ‘mass wasting’ going on as it was pretty steep. Some of the numbers were an easy 20’ tall on a sheer rock wall. I have an idea the ones who had to paint these on lost some kind of bet, probably in a drinking game. It’s one thing to be able to do it now with climbing equipment, spray paint, and cell phones it’s another to do it in 1930. Lucky for whoever has to do it each year though, the town Medical Clinic is at the bottom of the hill.
The only things that will be left after man is gone are cell phone towers (that still don’t work) and mosquitoes.
Our route from Caldwell, Idaho to where we ended up tonight in Arco, Idaho follows the Oregon Trail or alternate branches of it. Of course we had to stop and read as many information signs as we could. Because of that we really didn’t drive very far. At this rate we should arrive in Iowa just before the first freeze. All of the road signs pointed out the difficulties that these early pioneers endured as they traveled west. The Oregon Trail travelers were brave people. I think that even the women were studs. Imagine telling your kids that you’re going to be moving and going to a new home and the only thing we have to do is walk 2,o00 miles and if they were lucky it would only take 6 months. The only dangers were blisters, cholera, Indian attacks, rainstorms, flooded rivers, no water, no food, sunburn, lightening, tornadoes, rough trails, being lost, extreme weather, long daily hikes that ended within sight of where they started, and death. 12-15 miles was a good day. There was one story of this guy that was looking for a better route and he covered 80 miles in 17 days. I think he probably just stayed on the main trail after that foray.
Just think, if they would only have had the electric power transmission towers to guide them they probably could have really cut down their travel time. The Indians had traveled trails for 1,000s of years, but as soon as the white men came they stole that land from the Native Americans. They set up a toll road and exacted a toll to all the settlers that followed. Capitalism finds its way west. The next guy that bought him out set up what we would call the first Mini Mart. Of course they didn’t call it a Mini Mart they called it a General Store. There were quite a few old decrepit building that show the changes to what we know now as progress and the Mini Mart. I guess in a 100 years or so there will be more empty building falling down beside the existing falling down buildings. Ahhh, progress.
Have you ever noticed there aren’t any nature trails at places with names like Rattlesnake Junction or Rattlesnake Canyon? In fact, there aren’t even any turnouts. Of course if there were this is one person that would drive right on by. If I ever own a ranch I’m going to called it something like ‘Rattlesnake Haven’ or maybe ‘Rattlesnake Ranch.’ They have kind of an uninviting feeling to them don’t they? Fashionable and elegant, but yet understated.
We keep seeing a lot of old rough looking guys riding Harley Davidson motorcycles. They all have long wispy beards whipping behind them with helmets that have points on the top. It makes me understand why the salesmen wouldn’t sell me a Harley the last time I went in and drooled on the bikes in the showroom. I even offered to buy one of those fake white and gray beards hanging behind the counter. They had fake pony tails too, but even I have my limits. There were about six different styles of beards. The short dark bushy ones were called “Bad Beards.” There were varying degrees of lengths and colors down to the very end. The longest and whitest were the most expensive and were called “Baddest Ass Beards.” I wonder if they throw in a beard based on how much you pay for the new Harley?
The guys riding these Harleys travel pretty light. I think they must lay out on the dirt beside their bike at the end of the day and sleep until there just short of being too stiff to stand up and get up and ride some more. We’ve never seen any of them camping overnight where we’ve camped so I’m just guessing that they just pull in behind gravel piles at night.
We pulled into Craters of the Moon National Park at about 2:00. It was really pretty cool. The guy at the entrance booth was complaining that they had already received 6 inches of rain there this year. I didn’t tell him that we were most likely responsible for bringing the rain. Speaking of weather, we’ve managed to avoid the hot searing heat of summer so far. In fact, we’ve managed to bring some of Crescent City’s weather with us. We hiked some short trails in the park and took some pictures. It’s been either wind and rainy, or rainy and windy. We’ve seen blue sky in front of us and blue sky in back of us, but it’s kind of like Moses, it’s never over the top of us, just ahead of us, or just behind us.
It’s amazing how things work out when you least expect them. After we left the park We were planning to drive to Pocatell, Idaho, a distance of about 150 miles so we called a KOA to see if they had room. They were all filled up. Just after I hung up the phone we noticed a billboard for a KOA in the town we were coming in to. It was the town of Arco, Idaho. Its claim to fame was the fact that it was the first town in America to be lit up by nuclear energy, or rather use nuclear energy to produce electricity. By the looks of the empty storefronts it didn’t really do a whole lot of good to propel the town into the 21st century. Judging by the people in town I don’t think I’d want to lay claim to that logo either.The only advantage I see is that the town doesn't need street lights. All the people walking around at night serves the light up the place pretty well.
We had dinner at a place called ‘Pickles.’ It was actually a pretty simple choice since there were only two eateries in town. Mom had deep fried pickles and thought they were pretty good. I had a Pickle Hamburger, without the pickles, and thought it was pretty average. After dinner we drove around to get a better vantage point to this hillside where evidently each year the graduating seniors paint their year onto the side of the mountain on the rocks. It was very impressive and visible from a long way off. I had to take a hike to the top of the hill just to see the view from the top. It took me about 40 minutes to walk to the top and I found why the numbers were so visible. Mountains are even bigger once you start climbing/crawling your way to the top. There was a lot of ‘mass wasting’ going on as it was pretty steep. Some of the numbers were an easy 20’ tall on a sheer rock wall. I have an idea the ones who had to paint these on lost some kind of bet, probably in a drinking game. It’s one thing to be able to do it now with climbing equipment, spray paint, and cell phones it’s another to do it in 1930. Lucky for whoever has to do it each year though, the town Medical Clinic is at the bottom of the hill.
The only things that will be left after man is gone are cell phone towers (that still don’t work) and mosquitoes.
Iowas Trip Saturday
Saturday
Yes, it didn’t rain. It was a cool night, but not a cold night. I woke up and walked to the top of a nearby bluff. This area begs to have me take a walk-about to the top of these ridges just to show off the sights. We packed up and left by about 7:00. On the way out we saw, what I think was the same Pronghorn antelope that we saw coming in near the road. We took off on a well-maintained gravel road 49 miles to the nearest paved road. It was pretty neat. It is a barren high desert environment complete with varied wildlife. We saw about 5 more pronghorns on the way out. We drove down a really pretty river canyon on our way to Idaho. We stayed at an RV park in Caldwell, ID. There is a pretty little lake in the middle of the park. It blew and rained pretty hard at night but we didn't get picked up and dropped in the lake or get wet so it was a pretty good night. I'll bet Lewis and Clark or the Oregon Trail pioneers would have given a lot of money for a nyon tent like ours with a good rainfly.
Yes, it didn’t rain. It was a cool night, but not a cold night. I woke up and walked to the top of a nearby bluff. This area begs to have me take a walk-about to the top of these ridges just to show off the sights. We packed up and left by about 7:00. On the way out we saw, what I think was the same Pronghorn antelope that we saw coming in near the road. We took off on a well-maintained gravel road 49 miles to the nearest paved road. It was pretty neat. It is a barren high desert environment complete with varied wildlife. We saw about 5 more pronghorns on the way out. We drove down a really pretty river canyon on our way to Idaho. We stayed at an RV park in Caldwell, ID. There is a pretty little lake in the middle of the park. It blew and rained pretty hard at night but we didn't get picked up and dropped in the lake or get wet so it was a pretty good night. I'll bet Lewis and Clark or the Oregon Trail pioneers would have given a lot of money for a nyon tent like ours with a good rainfly.
Iowa Trip Thursday / Friday
If you copy and paste this link it will take you to the pics of our trip.
http://picasaweb.google.com/jnshoop/62109IowaTrip02?authkey=Gv1sRgCLzw48mGo6yhJA&feat=directlink
Thursday
We got to Sandi’s appointment, the car servicing, and my doctor appointment and still made it as far as Shady Cove (just above Medford)) before dark. Talked to a guy that was waiting at the Volvo dealership that had an ACER computer and found that he really liked it. We stayed at a trailer park/campground by the name of ………. It was threatening to rain with a heavy overcast but no rain.
Friday
We got up and hit the road driving up the upper Rogue River. We drove to Crater Lake and since we were gaining in altitude we were soon driving in the clouds. Before we got to the Visitors Center at the top there was quite a bit of snow and we could barely see the lake as the clouds were so thick. We had to show Calvin a picture from a book of what it really looks like.
We drove into Klamath Falls past Upper Klamath Lake and bought a set of tires at Les Schwab. I didn't see any steel poking through but as we were to drive about 2,500 miles we thought it was a good idea. In the afternoon we drove to Lakeview and had lunch at a greasy pizza joint as we couldn't find a greasy hamburger joint. Our goal today was to drive to Hart Mountain National Refuge and stay the night at the hot springs near the camping area. The clouds were very dramatic. Tall, white, billowy clouds with a deep blue sky behind them. We saw Dall sheep high up on the mountains. Also, as we were driving in we saw and an antelope about 30’ off the road. I’ve never seen an antelope that close. The only time I’ve seen one that close, it was only from the shoulders up, and it was hanging out of a wall with smoke filled eyes staring straight ahead with a pair of panties on its left horn.
We set up camp and put the rain fly on the tent tonight as it looks somewhat ominous. I don’t think it’s going to rain, Sandi thinks it is. I give it a 10% chance of rain. She said if it doesn’t rain she’ll think I’m a god. I’m crossing my fingers to make sure it doesn’t. If it does rain, it goes without saying, my name is mud. I prefer god.
We walked over to the hot springs via the road and enjoyed a good soak. It wasn’t really hot, but it was nice. On the way back taking a shortcut we found out that there is another hot spring just hidden away in the tall scrub brush. The people that are in it say that it’s hotter that the main one. We’ll have to check it out tomorrow. We had a fire this evening and had brauts and beer. There was a small creek running down between the campsites and I caught a small Brook Trout. It was amazing to me that there is life that lives here and ekes out a living in this environment. There is a pretty small window when it is accessible to people, but animals exist here. Two-legged and four-legged.
P.S. It didn’t rain last time, so I wake up this morning a changed person….a god.
http://picasaweb.google.com/jnshoop/62109IowaTrip02?authkey=Gv1sRgCLzw48mGo6yhJA&feat=directlink
Thursday
We got to Sandi’s appointment, the car servicing, and my doctor appointment and still made it as far as Shady Cove (just above Medford)) before dark. Talked to a guy that was waiting at the Volvo dealership that had an ACER computer and found that he really liked it. We stayed at a trailer park/campground by the name of ………. It was threatening to rain with a heavy overcast but no rain.
Friday
We got up and hit the road driving up the upper Rogue River. We drove to Crater Lake and since we were gaining in altitude we were soon driving in the clouds. Before we got to the Visitors Center at the top there was quite a bit of snow and we could barely see the lake as the clouds were so thick. We had to show Calvin a picture from a book of what it really looks like.
We drove into Klamath Falls past Upper Klamath Lake and bought a set of tires at Les Schwab. I didn't see any steel poking through but as we were to drive about 2,500 miles we thought it was a good idea. In the afternoon we drove to Lakeview and had lunch at a greasy pizza joint as we couldn't find a greasy hamburger joint. Our goal today was to drive to Hart Mountain National Refuge and stay the night at the hot springs near the camping area. The clouds were very dramatic. Tall, white, billowy clouds with a deep blue sky behind them. We saw Dall sheep high up on the mountains. Also, as we were driving in we saw and an antelope about 30’ off the road. I’ve never seen an antelope that close. The only time I’ve seen one that close, it was only from the shoulders up, and it was hanging out of a wall with smoke filled eyes staring straight ahead with a pair of panties on its left horn.
We set up camp and put the rain fly on the tent tonight as it looks somewhat ominous. I don’t think it’s going to rain, Sandi thinks it is. I give it a 10% chance of rain. She said if it doesn’t rain she’ll think I’m a god. I’m crossing my fingers to make sure it doesn’t. If it does rain, it goes without saying, my name is mud. I prefer god.
We walked over to the hot springs via the road and enjoyed a good soak. It wasn’t really hot, but it was nice. On the way back taking a shortcut we found out that there is another hot spring just hidden away in the tall scrub brush. The people that are in it say that it’s hotter that the main one. We’ll have to check it out tomorrow. We had a fire this evening and had brauts and beer. There was a small creek running down between the campsites and I caught a small Brook Trout. It was amazing to me that there is life that lives here and ekes out a living in this environment. There is a pretty small window when it is accessible to people, but animals exist here. Two-legged and four-legged.
P.S. It didn’t rain last time, so I wake up this morning a changed person….a god.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
News break!!!
I just read a rather interesting story on NWCN.com. Yes, there is attention-grabbing news in the Northwest. It seems like that some seasonal workers were caught, cited, and fired for doing the unthinkable…peeing in Old Faithful Geyser. Lucky for them Old Faithful lived up to its name, and fortunate for the ‘workers’ it was on time.
One person commented that, “Old Faithful should have given him a scalded wiener.” Another person said “what a fantastic thing to do......once, at your last day at work for the park service :) ...” and there’s a part of me that kind of agrees with him.
One person commented that, “Old Faithful should have given him a scalded wiener.” Another person said “what a fantastic thing to do......once, at your last day at work for the park service :) ...” and there’s a part of me that kind of agrees with him.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Another scandel!!!!
I heard there's a another doping scandel in the news. Now it's in the NASCAR sport. It seems like some of the cars having using substances not allowed. That's right, not the drivers, the cars. In a recent investigation it seems like they been find Aviation fuel in the the gas tanks.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Dirty windows
I think our house is the victim of a demented sense of humor of a bunch of miscreant birds. Don’t call me obsessive, but whenever I see the dirty slider windows looking out on the deck I must wash them. At first I thought that that there were some white and gray flowers growing from the Japanese Red Maple we have in the back yard until I realized that these trees don’t have flowers like this.
I wash the windows using the bucket of soap and brush I have out there. I think that a flock of very large birds may be on to me though.
Keep in mind that there is a 24 inch overhang protecting the windows, and unless there’s a new law of physics to add to all the other ones that I don’t know this takes extra effort and expertise to hit a target that is not directly below the launch vehicle. Looking at the evidence I think it may some kind of contest by a bunch of ner-do-well crows or maybe a bird about the size of a California Condor. I know I’m reading a lot into the evidence, but you’d probably come to the same conclusion if you could’ve seen what was splattered across both sliders facing the deck. There wasn’t any evidence on the deck, or the house, or the roof…just on the sliders.
I wash the windows using the bucket of soap and brush I have out there. I think that a flock of very large birds may be on to me though.
Keep in mind that there is a 24 inch overhang protecting the windows, and unless there’s a new law of physics to add to all the other ones that I don’t know this takes extra effort and expertise to hit a target that is not directly below the launch vehicle. Looking at the evidence I think it may some kind of contest by a bunch of ner-do-well crows or maybe a bird about the size of a California Condor. I know I’m reading a lot into the evidence, but you’d probably come to the same conclusion if you could’ve seen what was splattered across both sliders facing the deck. There wasn’t any evidence on the deck, or the house, or the roof…just on the sliders.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Our trip to Arizona
Arizona is an amazing place. Anytime that I remove myself from my own rut it provides a way to appreciate my own rut and the world around me. We planned our trip this year so there would not be much stress flying, so we flew from Crescent City to our destination, Phoenix.
It was a beautiful clear day when we left CC. Castle Island was stunning in its beauty and wildness. I felt pretty safe flying as there was a Father and a Friar on the plane. I figured anytime you’re flying with guys that wear their collars backwards it’s pretty safe.
It was a pretty uneventful flight to San Francisco except for the fact that the closer we got to SF the cloudier it became, but really, I guess that’s pretty much the best thing to ask for if you’re flying. FYI. The onboard coffee on United was kind of like Peet’s Coffee, except with a little ‘p’ and without the t and s.
As we were arriving and leaving SF I waved and yelled “hello" out the window to Glenda, but I don’t think she heard me. We tried to take the hypotenuse to Phoenix even though our itinerary called for us to go to LA, but it didn’t work out. I even offered to surrender myself to the ticket counter in case anyone needed to be ‘bumped.’ I must have been in a bump-free environment as there was no need for anyone to be bumped. I HAD to ask, as this year I was flying for being ‘bumped’ last year. I had told Sandi that I was going to do it if the offer presented itself. Last year after being bumped I arrived a half-hour after Sandi, but with a $600 voucher in my hand. Actually, I’m pretty easy, I’d really do it for even half of that, but I didn’t tell them that.
Lucky for us, Sandi chose a hotel that provided a shuttle, so all that we had to do once we got to the airport was find each other. It took us about 40 minutes to do that. She was in one terminal and I was in the wrong one. Getting to the hotel took about 5 minutes.
It was so nice at the hotel that we decided to stay another day instead of taking off as we had planned. Our big venture of the day was going back to the airport and getting the rental car. Lucky for us the shuttle took us right to the car rental facility. It was huge! It could have been taken for an airport terminal except for the fact they were so short on planes there.
We got out on the road and drove to Apache Junction, but unfortunately, we didn’t see any Apaches there. They must have had some other business to attend to. On the way back we did see a roadrunner of the Wily Coyote type, but no coyote. It was our first one and it was doing just what roadrunners are supposed to do; run across roads.
Driving around Phoenix isn’t as easy as I make it seem. Actually we had a hard time finding our way back to the hotel. We tried using the spiral method. When we got close we always seemed to be in the wrong lane with no off-ramps. There sure are a lot of police in Phoenix. I think I had almost all of them following us at some point or another. I even got out of the car to check and see if someone had put a bumper sticker on the bumper that said, ‘This is a stolen car.’
Also, there are a lot of motorcyclists in Arizona. Very few wear helmets. That tells me that either people are pretty stupid in Arizona or there is a really strong lobby from the morticians union to keep voting down helmet laws. I guess it makes for good business for them. We did some guys that kind of looked like ‘Hell’s Angels,’ but on closer inspection they may have been Hell’s Angels, but with a little ‘h.’
I think that they may be trying to encourage population growth is Arizona, possibly to take the place of the motorcyclists that don’t wear helmets. When we went into a drug store I saw an announcement that said, “Pregnancy Kits $2.” I don't even want to know.
The next morning we took off for Sedona and the famous Red Rocks. After driving for about an hour there still were no red rocks to be seen, we were still in Phoenix, but we had finally got out of sight of the hotel. It was good to get on the open road, but then we had to get off the road as I had to go to the bathroom. I thought about driving back to the hotel, but using what little was left of my better judgment, we didn’t. Instead we stopped at a place called Montezuma’s Castle. Montezuma didn’t really own the castle, nor did he ever stay there. It was an early Native American dwelling. In fact, Montezuma wasn’t even a twinkle in his father’s eye at that point. It was abandoned before the Spaniards ever arrived in North America, so I’m really not sure why Montezuma gets his name plastered all over the directional signs, but whoever owned it lived in a pretty neat place even though it was all rock and under a cliff. You would think they would have nice bathrooms at a castle, but they didn’t.
Lucky for us, we had nowhere to go, and we weren’t in a hurry to get there, but we still drove 75 mph (the legal speed limit).
The next place that we passed through was a place called Red Rocks, aptly named, I might add. There are spires of, yes, entire mountains of red rocks, and stunning in their beauty at dawn and dusk and at all times in between. In less than a 40 square mile area there is an anomaly that stretches the imagination. Red rocks, yes, are easy to understand, but mountains that are red and vestiges of time, a revelation of the past, and a vision into the future are hard to comprehend. They are awe inspiring, a small snippet into what once was. They are, what some perceive to be, a sacred place, a place of power, but I don’t understand why, or exactly know what that means. But, I do know they are special for some reason, and I want to understand why.
Yes, we drove through Red Rock Canyon all too quick and had to come back to see it again. We had driven through the town of Sedona and had recognized it as a classic tourist town complete with what Sandi likes to call, too many gift stores selling “rubber tomahawks” made in Japan. We checked into a motel about 15 miles west of Sedona and after sitting at the pool for two hours and watching the evening colors starting to materialize on the distant mountains were compelled to put the top down on the car we rented and drive back to the red mountains. I cannot describe the view, but suffice it to say we were not disappointed in the show that the evening gave us privy to.
As we were driving through all of these small towns we were trying to come up with creative ways to move down here and make a living. As we were driving through the town of Passmore we hit upon the idea, we would buy an existing business. What better way to start out than to buy a booming business? The idea was cemented when we saw that the business, ‘Passmore Gas and Propane’ was for sale. We’ll make an offer next week.
Our next stop was visiting friends in the town of Quartzite, a modern boom town that boasts too many people vying for too much desert space, but yet does it year after year with ‘snow birds’ from the colder climes. We were introduced to the desert with the exclamation, “Don’t worry, we only have six types of rattlesnakes here.” To my way of thinking that is only about seven too many. My goal was to find a real crystal and avoid all the rattlesnakes. Lucky for me, that’s what I did. Sandi loves the desert as it reminds her of her early Pathfinder trips to the desert from her childhood home in Ojai. She also loves the Saguro cactus and we were afraid that there may not be any there. We were pleasantly surprised. While driving out into the desert we were offered the opportunity to use walking / snake prodding sticks. I took the longest one that they had. I figured that if I did see a snake I could use it as a prodding stick / pole vaulting stick to put as much distance between myself and a snake as possible just before I ran as far away as fast as possible.
It was a successful desert venture, we didn’t see any snakes and we did find some crystals. That’s right, real live crystals just lying on the ground, probably lying there for millions of years, or a least since the last windstorm, but having taken millions of years to form. To pick one of these off the ground gave me a true sense of my microcosmic time frame in the ‘big picture’ of things.
The next day found us driving back to the spiral called Phoenix. We had managed to get away only to find ourselves having to return to the ashes of the past. We thought we had burned this memory, but now it was rising again, just like the Phoenix of myth.
We were able to make connections with Kara, and her two boys, Shawn and Andre. They were nice enough to come to our hotel and enjoy a few hours with us. Susie can be proud of her daughter and grandsons. She is doing very well and they are all adapting to the big move that they made last fall. Kara loves her job and the boys are enjoying the change that they have made. They both are playing baseball and, in addition, Andre is in band.
When we went through Airport Security, Sandi got through no problem, but I was detained. It seems as if they don’t allow certain kinds of canned cactus jam and pepper jelly through airport security, especially if they’re in eight ounce glass jars. Great, now I’m probably on the Terrorist Watch List for trying to bring some contraband jam and jelly into California.
The return trip was, thankfully, pretty uneventful. No padres, friars, or fathers on the flight home, but we got home safe and sound anyway. The only memorable event was seeing our really short pilot on the return flight, but he made up for it by making the stewardess come back to where the passengers were seated and get a pillow for him to sit on.
If I’m a little pudgy the next time you see me you can blame it on our son Randy. When we arrived back home we discovered that he had taken back the exercise machine that he had stored here for the last two years. I was just getting ready to start using it too. Ask Dick if you don’t believe me. While he was here I even went out and wiped the off dust of it.
Jim
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
So few weekends, so many lakes..........
Today Dick and I went to Dry Lake and Muslatt Lake. He almost got in the water, but the stars weren't lined up right. We had a great time in spite of the rain. I did find out more that we had in common though; he likes fig newtons and so do I. Of course I like Apple Newtons, Strawberry Newton, Apple Newtons, and Fig Newtons. I'm not partial to any one more than the other, I like all of them equally.
Thank goodness for weekends. If it weren’t for weekends I’d be really boring instead of kinda boring. I think that this work weekend thing is backwards. Weekends are too short and the work week is way too long.
During the week the most interesting thing I do after work is go shopping for a new toothbrush. I can’t really decide between the one that is supposed to reduce cavities (Something about the way the bristles are manufactered. They’re blessed by a Monji Monk before they’re placed into the plastic.) and the one that has a built-in flossing tool in the handle. I guess I’ll have to decide sooner of later. Maybe a little later.
I generally only do that when I know that Sandi isn’t going to be home early. It’s kind of boring around the house without her there. Ohmah isn’t too much of a conversationalist. Sometimes I’ll slip over to Randy and Claudia’s house to see our new grandson, Gonzo. Fortunately for me Sandi’s a smart woman and she’s generally over there before I am. Visiting Gonzo, now that's fun. He’s really cool. Randy and Claudia are going to have to start reading a new genre of books. They’re going to have to start reading books that start like this, “Once upon a time…..”
Thank goodness for weekends. If it weren’t for weekends I’d be really boring instead of kinda boring. I think that this work weekend thing is backwards. Weekends are too short and the work week is way too long.
During the week the most interesting thing I do after work is go shopping for a new toothbrush. I can’t really decide between the one that is supposed to reduce cavities (Something about the way the bristles are manufactered. They’re blessed by a Monji Monk before they’re placed into the plastic.) and the one that has a built-in flossing tool in the handle. I guess I’ll have to decide sooner of later. Maybe a little later.
I generally only do that when I know that Sandi isn’t going to be home early. It’s kind of boring around the house without her there. Ohmah isn’t too much of a conversationalist. Sometimes I’ll slip over to Randy and Claudia’s house to see our new grandson, Gonzo. Fortunately for me Sandi’s a smart woman and she’s generally over there before I am. Visiting Gonzo, now that's fun. He’s really cool. Randy and Claudia are going to have to start reading a new genre of books. They’re going to have to start reading books that start like this, “Once upon a time…..”
Monday, March 09, 2009
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Being sick reminds me of, well, sickness stories.
At times inspiration comes at the oddest time. Inspiration can be long-forgotten memories, memories that you wish you could forget about. Time too, clouds memories, and at other times actually distort the event that really happened….for most people. I think that I’m recalling everything just about as it happened. (If you believe that, I’ve a bridge I can sell you, cheap.
It all started last night after a really nice dinner of Dungeness Crab and pasta. Sandi and I were both wanting some fresh crab, perhaps the last crab of the season. I went down to the dock and bought two live crabs from the dockside, Lilly’s Crab Stand.’ Lilly, now that I think about it bears a strange familiar resembelance to Myrtle in Orick. Remember, Myrtle is the one that owns the combination motel and trailer park, Myrtle's Pay by the hour Motel and Trailer Park.
So far, everything was going according to plan. We sat down to steaming hot fresh crab and the pasta. If you like crab, it was everything, fresh crab dipped in butter with a touch of garlic stirred in. If you don’t care for denizens that live their lives at the bottom of the ocean don’t reread the last paragraph again.
Everything was great until I woke up after going to the “Land of Nod” with a feeling that ‘I feel like I’m going to retch, quickly.’ It felt like the crab was reaching up with one of its large pinchers and grabbing my gizzard and trying to hoist itself back out. I lay there a minute, not quite believing that I was no longer in the “Land of Nod” but in a heightened state of panic realizing that I had about 2.23 seconds to get to a basin where I could dispatch the feeling in my stomach. If I would have had 2.24 seconds I would have not chosen the only sink in the house that doesn’t drain well. I’ll spare you all the details, but just suffice it to say, after I finished retching I couldn’t help but look at it and recognize that what was now contained in the basin was something a mother Velaciraptor may have regurgitated to feed her young chicks. A BIG Velaciraptor with many hungry babies. I half expected to see the arms and legs of some poor hapless victim floating in the sink. Just about that time Sandi got up wondering what all the commotion was about and offered some sage advice. “You should really try chewing up your food better.” Why is it that people offer this great advice only when the evidence is staring you in the face?
After about five minutes I was lying there in a fools paradise believing that I would soon start feeling better. It’s worked that way the last 53 years, why not this time? Just before I lay back down I tried to clean the sink by running some water, until I remembered that this was the only sink on the property that had a draining issue. I lay back down believing that the worst was passed. The worst had not passed. You might say that I was, even more successful the second time. This was one of those times when you can be too successful, and I was having success in spades. This time I noticed some of the vitamins I had taken earlier sinking. I was tempted to try to rescue the pills but came to my senses and let that brain flatulent pass.
Now, you may be wondering why I had made such an issue of getting sick and making you read this. I don’t very often get sick, but I like to think I’m above the rest when I do get sick, and I’m actually really tough. Sandi will argue this point with me. She always has to bring out her trump card and remind me that she has given birth to our two boys. Does anyone have any really good responses to this?
After I lay back down again a memory of my ‘old fishing days’ popped into my mind. There not really old, the age of Velaciraptors is old. Remember that brain flatulent I mentioned a minute ago? I think it may have taken a left turn at my cortex and manifested in a different way. BSIGM (before Sandi and I got married), I worked on a number of commercial fishing boats. You know the image, standing on the bow of the ship, much like that image in Titanic, the wind blowing through your hair, and her hair too, dreaming of the future to come. This wasn’t exactly like that. In fact, it wasn’t anything like the movie. There was no woman, the wind wasn’t blowing it was screaming with a cold spray coming over the bow, and the only thing I got to hold was Thomas Edison’s flashlight. It was that old. If I took the batteries out and held them under my armpit to warm them up the light MAY reach the anchor chain. You may be wondering at this point why I am remembering standing on the front deck of the boat. I’ll get to that in a moment. There was no future in the future of commercial fishing, but that didn’t stop me from arguing with my dad that there really is a great future in it. As it turns out, he was right, again.
My second experience with fishing was being hired as a deck hand on a commercial shrimp dragger. Even though I didn't have any idea what I was doing, the first two-hour tow, we pulled in about 5,000 pounds of salad shrimp. Lucky for us, that’s what we were fishing for. I knew that the shrimp sold at the dock for about $0.50 a pound. I did a few mental gymnastics and extrapolated out that since I had just made about $250.00, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I’m not going to tell you about my first experience with fishing as it would just reinforces that fact that my dad was right, and I’ve already said that “He was right, again” so, sorry, I’m not going to bring it up. Since we were going to be fishing all day I figured if we could make a tow every two hours for 20 hours I should be able to make about $2,500 today. Boy, was I going to enjoy showing my dad my weekly check! I even started dreaming of buying my own boat at the end of the season. So, this is the “Great Secret” in Crescent City, this is how those fishermen buy brand new pickups every year!
Let’s just say that the rest of the season we never did have a tow like this. We had accidentally stumbled on the ‘Mother Lode’ of the shrimp grounds and we could never find it again. It did make me believe in those stories of those miners that trapped around in the desert for about a 1,000 years after finding the Mother Lode once never to find it again. At the end of the week I took home a whopping check of $268.00, and I had to scale down my purchase of the dragger I had set my eyes on. In fact I even had to forget about buying the new 4 X 4 Ford pickup. Shrimp season didn't turn out too well, but crab season was coming up!
Crab season, yeh, crab season. Being the eternal optimist that I am I agreed to work on crab gear without getting paid for two months prior to the season opener on Dec. 1. I had heard just enough stories of teenagers right out of high school making $10,000-15,000 in a one-month crab season to keep me inspired. Like a fool I agreed to work on the crab gear in a nice warm gear shed. Actually, it was only warm when I stood directly in front of the wood stove. Yeh, the very same one I had to keep full. Also, crab pots are heavy to move around and we had to move them around a lot for some reason. Well, as the Dec. 1 opener for the season was fast approaching we were all looking forward to dumping the pots in the water and catch some crabs. Money, money, money. The only thing that keeps a young buck motivated except for women, women, women. As it came closer to the Dec. 1 opener the skipper found more and more reasons to leave helping out to get the gear ready and make about five treks a day down to the harbor. I had a hard time complaining about this because this guy was a real live veteran. Now, that certainly beats the alternative type of veteran. He had actually got shot in the leg, and in fact he had a slight gimp in his stride. He said something to the effect of, “It hurts to stand for too long.” Who am I to complain about a veteran, especially given the fact that he had actually had a Purple Heart? He wasn’t bragging about it, it was just the way it was.
Well, as luck would have it the season didn’t start on Dec. 1. In fact it didn’t start until Dec. 20. It always happens, the DFG says the season starts on Dec. 1 as this is when the crab are usually filled out. Dec. 1 came and went. The price hadn’t been agreed to and the weather was too good. I think that there is an unwritten rule that states that crab season can’t start until the weather gets shitty. It never fails, if the weather is good, they won’t agree to a price. If the weather is dangerously nasty, “Cast off the lines, boys, we’re goin’ crabbin,’ “
The day generally went something like this; The skipper would announce the night before what time we’d go fishing. “Let’s meet at the ‘Chuckwagon’ at 2:30. The Chuckwagon was one of many “greasy spoons’ on the south part of town. In fact, it had gone through the 1964 Tsunami and there was still some driftwood on top of the roof. I think that owner left it on the roof so he could give the place a little class. I would try to correct the skipper by saying, “Don’t you think that’s kinda late? The ocean is going to be a froth by the time we get out there! What kind of lazy ass skipper am I working for? (actually I didn't say that, I just made that up)“ "2:30 in the morning, you goon,” he would bellow back. He always had these pet names for me that he liked to throw around to see which one would fit me better. As it turns out I answered to pretty much all of them, some under my breath and others audibly.
Waiting at the Chuckwagon went something like this. We all sat in booths, three to a seat, I would try to get there a little late so I wouldn’t have to sit in the middle of two guys that hadn’t changed their clothes since last shrimp season. When I did have to sit in the middle I would many times end up falling asleep listening to all the blather and provide a little entertainment for those on either side of me. I know that as I nodded off I probably looked like one of those ‘Bobble Head’ dolls with my head being pinballed from side to side by those on either side. Every once in awhile a table would empty out and the crew would walk as discretely and quietly as possible to the front door, trying to get an early start and not tell the others where they were going. This generally wasn’t very effective as everyone would mutter at the same time, “That dirty so-and-so, he’s probably going to get our there and run our gear too before we get out there. You have to keep in mind, not all of these fishermen are the fine, upstanding pillars of the community as you may think. Within about three minutes the restaurant would be empty, and the waitress would be cleaning the tables off waiting for the loggers to come in and dish out the same kind of stories. I know this because after my illustrious career as a fisherman I tried my hand at logging.
Back then the only way you could tell how rough the water was, or how tall the waves were was to stand on the front deck of the boat and using the aforementioned flashlight shine it toward the crashing sound right in front of you. Now, the boats have so many lights on them you’d think we were being invaded by the entire Russian Navy when the boats come back into port. If the waves came over the bow, they were really big. If all you could see was a bluish-greenish wall of water directly in front of you, it meant that a wave was going to engulf you and you were in imminent danger of being washed out the scuppers. The skipper always had an equitable way to see who was going to stand on the bow with the Thomas Edison flashlight; he would drag out two straws that he kept right next to his navigational charts. Come to think about it, those charts may have belonged to Tom too. The other crewman always drew first, especially on the flat days. He went out there and did his job, not getting wet at all. On the rough days I always drew first, and I ALWAYS did my job. It wasn’t until later that I figured out that maybe, just maybe, they knew something that I wasn’t privy too.
Since I was on the back deck I was the one to carry the pots and stack them neatly on the rear part of the deck whenever we had to move them. During my morning prayers in addition to requesting to come back with all my body parts I would always throw in something about not having to move crab gear. Meanwhile, the ‘block man’ would stand there operating the two ounce lever with his thumb and forefinger that controlled the hydraulics. Me, I’m grunting and groaning carrying these 80 pound pots on a pitching deck and he's already into smoking his second pack of cigarettes, yelling at me, and it isn’t even light yet.
For the first two weeks of the season, USUALLY, you could make about $1,000 a week. Remember, this was in 1978. When you’re experiencing this non-real universe you talk yourself into believing that this can and will go on forever. Rememeber? “non-real,” but it sure makes for good stories with your friends. I told a friend of mine that the first two weeks I had taken home about $3,000. That was all it took. The gluttony of mankind took over what little sanity he had and all he could say was, “Hey, if you hear of any boats that need a back deck man, let me know.” “Have you ever been on the ocean?” I asked him. “No,” he said, one of the few times he told the truth.
Being the good friend I am, I did ask around to see if anyone needed more crew. I didn’t tell the skippers that my friend got seasick taking a bath and had to take a dramamine before turning on the hot water when filling the tub. Boats need more crew for a variety of reasons; seasickness, extra crew on the backdeck, guys are too scared out there and put an application in for washing dishes at the ‘Chuckwagon.’ This was not for any of those reasons, the skipper just hadn’t started fishing yet. I told him to get some motion sickness pills and take them when we all leave the ‘Chuckwagon’ in the morning. The plan was for the two boats to run side by side to the fishing grounds, but as soon as we left the dock I could see that my friend may not have a future career as a fisherman. Before the boat was untied from the slip he was leaning over the rail, gazing longingly at the big boat I was on. To this I yelled over to him, “Let’s go fishing,” while making a motion of popping a pill and asking, “Well, did you?” In the excitement of getting on the boat he had forgot to take his motion sickness pill! I could see him take a package out of his jacket pocket and swallow one, dry. Now at this point the both skippers are backing their boats out of the slips and with a cloud of diesel smoke start motoring out of the harbor. “Maybe he’ll be OK,” I said to myself, not really believing it, but hoping none the less.
As we came out of the protection of the jetty into open water with the boats both in the trough I looked over and didn’t see my friend. “This isn’t good,” I said to myself, already scanning the water through the darkness looking for a person treading water. I looked closer to see my friend was kneeling on the deck with his nose just over the rail. Just about that time I see him convulse and a spray of coffee, pancakes, and bacon becomes food for the crabs. I see him lunge for something in the water and first think that he wants to retrieve a piece of bacon. Only later did I realize he was seeing what I saw last night; last night I saw my vitamins floating in the sink, he saw his motion sickness pill floating off behind the boat. Just about that time the boat pitched to the opposite side and I see him with a arm reaching out, now about 12 feet above the water. He told me later that when the boat pitched back he could still see the pill bobbing in the water. It’s unfortunate that he kept his eye on it though as the boat rolled back the other way, water washing across the deck filled his rain pants and boots with water. Remember, this was BRB (before rubber bands). Now everyone puts rubber bands around their rain pants and boots for these types of occasions. But, that wasn’t the worst part, when the boat pitched to the other side again, remember he is still on his knees leaning over the rail his arm outstretched reaching for his motion sickness pill. The boat rolled over so much that the water came all the way up to the gunwales. Unfortunately, he was in such a state of shock from the 44* running all the way up to the hinterlands under his rain pants, he forgot to retract his arm and the water went up his sleeve and down his chest. Now, mind you we’re still with in a stone’s throw of the inside breakwater.
Later, he told me that the seasickness passed and he was fine the rest of the day. The skipper told me that he climbed into a bunk and didn’t come out until they were tied up at their slip.
Moral of the story: Take your medicine and your sea sickness pills (1) before you get sick, (2) before you leave the restaurant. BTW, he did get that job washing dishes at the “Chuckwagon’ the next day.
Now, Dick will probably say, “Why didn’t Jim just tell us the moral first? He could have saved his a lot of blog space.”
In part, I wrote this to encourage everyone else to tell some stories of your early life. Certainly, it’s got to be more interesting than me telling about when I threw up! Remember, I didn’t go to academy!
Jim
It all started last night after a really nice dinner of Dungeness Crab and pasta. Sandi and I were both wanting some fresh crab, perhaps the last crab of the season. I went down to the dock and bought two live crabs from the dockside, Lilly’s Crab Stand.’ Lilly, now that I think about it bears a strange familiar resembelance to Myrtle in Orick. Remember, Myrtle is the one that owns the combination motel and trailer park, Myrtle's Pay by the hour Motel and Trailer Park.
So far, everything was going according to plan. We sat down to steaming hot fresh crab and the pasta. If you like crab, it was everything, fresh crab dipped in butter with a touch of garlic stirred in. If you don’t care for denizens that live their lives at the bottom of the ocean don’t reread the last paragraph again.
Everything was great until I woke up after going to the “Land of Nod” with a feeling that ‘I feel like I’m going to retch, quickly.’ It felt like the crab was reaching up with one of its large pinchers and grabbing my gizzard and trying to hoist itself back out. I lay there a minute, not quite believing that I was no longer in the “Land of Nod” but in a heightened state of panic realizing that I had about 2.23 seconds to get to a basin where I could dispatch the feeling in my stomach. If I would have had 2.24 seconds I would have not chosen the only sink in the house that doesn’t drain well. I’ll spare you all the details, but just suffice it to say, after I finished retching I couldn’t help but look at it and recognize that what was now contained in the basin was something a mother Velaciraptor may have regurgitated to feed her young chicks. A BIG Velaciraptor with many hungry babies. I half expected to see the arms and legs of some poor hapless victim floating in the sink. Just about that time Sandi got up wondering what all the commotion was about and offered some sage advice. “You should really try chewing up your food better.” Why is it that people offer this great advice only when the evidence is staring you in the face?
After about five minutes I was lying there in a fools paradise believing that I would soon start feeling better. It’s worked that way the last 53 years, why not this time? Just before I lay back down I tried to clean the sink by running some water, until I remembered that this was the only sink on the property that had a draining issue. I lay back down believing that the worst was passed. The worst had not passed. You might say that I was, even more successful the second time. This was one of those times when you can be too successful, and I was having success in spades. This time I noticed some of the vitamins I had taken earlier sinking. I was tempted to try to rescue the pills but came to my senses and let that brain flatulent pass.
Now, you may be wondering why I had made such an issue of getting sick and making you read this. I don’t very often get sick, but I like to think I’m above the rest when I do get sick, and I’m actually really tough. Sandi will argue this point with me. She always has to bring out her trump card and remind me that she has given birth to our two boys. Does anyone have any really good responses to this?
After I lay back down again a memory of my ‘old fishing days’ popped into my mind. There not really old, the age of Velaciraptors is old. Remember that brain flatulent I mentioned a minute ago? I think it may have taken a left turn at my cortex and manifested in a different way. BSIGM (before Sandi and I got married), I worked on a number of commercial fishing boats. You know the image, standing on the bow of the ship, much like that image in Titanic, the wind blowing through your hair, and her hair too, dreaming of the future to come. This wasn’t exactly like that. In fact, it wasn’t anything like the movie. There was no woman, the wind wasn’t blowing it was screaming with a cold spray coming over the bow, and the only thing I got to hold was Thomas Edison’s flashlight. It was that old. If I took the batteries out and held them under my armpit to warm them up the light MAY reach the anchor chain. You may be wondering at this point why I am remembering standing on the front deck of the boat. I’ll get to that in a moment. There was no future in the future of commercial fishing, but that didn’t stop me from arguing with my dad that there really is a great future in it. As it turns out, he was right, again.
My second experience with fishing was being hired as a deck hand on a commercial shrimp dragger. Even though I didn't have any idea what I was doing, the first two-hour tow, we pulled in about 5,000 pounds of salad shrimp. Lucky for us, that’s what we were fishing for. I knew that the shrimp sold at the dock for about $0.50 a pound. I did a few mental gymnastics and extrapolated out that since I had just made about $250.00, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I’m not going to tell you about my first experience with fishing as it would just reinforces that fact that my dad was right, and I’ve already said that “He was right, again” so, sorry, I’m not going to bring it up. Since we were going to be fishing all day I figured if we could make a tow every two hours for 20 hours I should be able to make about $2,500 today. Boy, was I going to enjoy showing my dad my weekly check! I even started dreaming of buying my own boat at the end of the season. So, this is the “Great Secret” in Crescent City, this is how those fishermen buy brand new pickups every year!
Let’s just say that the rest of the season we never did have a tow like this. We had accidentally stumbled on the ‘Mother Lode’ of the shrimp grounds and we could never find it again. It did make me believe in those stories of those miners that trapped around in the desert for about a 1,000 years after finding the Mother Lode once never to find it again. At the end of the week I took home a whopping check of $268.00, and I had to scale down my purchase of the dragger I had set my eyes on. In fact I even had to forget about buying the new 4 X 4 Ford pickup. Shrimp season didn't turn out too well, but crab season was coming up!
Crab season, yeh, crab season. Being the eternal optimist that I am I agreed to work on crab gear without getting paid for two months prior to the season opener on Dec. 1. I had heard just enough stories of teenagers right out of high school making $10,000-15,000 in a one-month crab season to keep me inspired. Like a fool I agreed to work on the crab gear in a nice warm gear shed. Actually, it was only warm when I stood directly in front of the wood stove. Yeh, the very same one I had to keep full. Also, crab pots are heavy to move around and we had to move them around a lot for some reason. Well, as the Dec. 1 opener for the season was fast approaching we were all looking forward to dumping the pots in the water and catch some crabs. Money, money, money. The only thing that keeps a young buck motivated except for women, women, women. As it came closer to the Dec. 1 opener the skipper found more and more reasons to leave helping out to get the gear ready and make about five treks a day down to the harbor. I had a hard time complaining about this because this guy was a real live veteran. Now, that certainly beats the alternative type of veteran. He had actually got shot in the leg, and in fact he had a slight gimp in his stride. He said something to the effect of, “It hurts to stand for too long.” Who am I to complain about a veteran, especially given the fact that he had actually had a Purple Heart? He wasn’t bragging about it, it was just the way it was.
Well, as luck would have it the season didn’t start on Dec. 1. In fact it didn’t start until Dec. 20. It always happens, the DFG says the season starts on Dec. 1 as this is when the crab are usually filled out. Dec. 1 came and went. The price hadn’t been agreed to and the weather was too good. I think that there is an unwritten rule that states that crab season can’t start until the weather gets shitty. It never fails, if the weather is good, they won’t agree to a price. If the weather is dangerously nasty, “Cast off the lines, boys, we’re goin’ crabbin,’ “
The day generally went something like this; The skipper would announce the night before what time we’d go fishing. “Let’s meet at the ‘Chuckwagon’ at 2:30. The Chuckwagon was one of many “greasy spoons’ on the south part of town. In fact, it had gone through the 1964 Tsunami and there was still some driftwood on top of the roof. I think that owner left it on the roof so he could give the place a little class. I would try to correct the skipper by saying, “Don’t you think that’s kinda late? The ocean is going to be a froth by the time we get out there! What kind of lazy ass skipper am I working for? (actually I didn't say that, I just made that up)“ "2:30 in the morning, you goon,” he would bellow back. He always had these pet names for me that he liked to throw around to see which one would fit me better. As it turns out I answered to pretty much all of them, some under my breath and others audibly.
Waiting at the Chuckwagon went something like this. We all sat in booths, three to a seat, I would try to get there a little late so I wouldn’t have to sit in the middle of two guys that hadn’t changed their clothes since last shrimp season. When I did have to sit in the middle I would many times end up falling asleep listening to all the blather and provide a little entertainment for those on either side of me. I know that as I nodded off I probably looked like one of those ‘Bobble Head’ dolls with my head being pinballed from side to side by those on either side. Every once in awhile a table would empty out and the crew would walk as discretely and quietly as possible to the front door, trying to get an early start and not tell the others where they were going. This generally wasn’t very effective as everyone would mutter at the same time, “That dirty so-and-so, he’s probably going to get our there and run our gear too before we get out there. You have to keep in mind, not all of these fishermen are the fine, upstanding pillars of the community as you may think. Within about three minutes the restaurant would be empty, and the waitress would be cleaning the tables off waiting for the loggers to come in and dish out the same kind of stories. I know this because after my illustrious career as a fisherman I tried my hand at logging.
Back then the only way you could tell how rough the water was, or how tall the waves were was to stand on the front deck of the boat and using the aforementioned flashlight shine it toward the crashing sound right in front of you. Now, the boats have so many lights on them you’d think we were being invaded by the entire Russian Navy when the boats come back into port. If the waves came over the bow, they were really big. If all you could see was a bluish-greenish wall of water directly in front of you, it meant that a wave was going to engulf you and you were in imminent danger of being washed out the scuppers. The skipper always had an equitable way to see who was going to stand on the bow with the Thomas Edison flashlight; he would drag out two straws that he kept right next to his navigational charts. Come to think about it, those charts may have belonged to Tom too. The other crewman always drew first, especially on the flat days. He went out there and did his job, not getting wet at all. On the rough days I always drew first, and I ALWAYS did my job. It wasn’t until later that I figured out that maybe, just maybe, they knew something that I wasn’t privy too.
Since I was on the back deck I was the one to carry the pots and stack them neatly on the rear part of the deck whenever we had to move them. During my morning prayers in addition to requesting to come back with all my body parts I would always throw in something about not having to move crab gear. Meanwhile, the ‘block man’ would stand there operating the two ounce lever with his thumb and forefinger that controlled the hydraulics. Me, I’m grunting and groaning carrying these 80 pound pots on a pitching deck and he's already into smoking his second pack of cigarettes, yelling at me, and it isn’t even light yet.
For the first two weeks of the season, USUALLY, you could make about $1,000 a week. Remember, this was in 1978. When you’re experiencing this non-real universe you talk yourself into believing that this can and will go on forever. Rememeber? “non-real,” but it sure makes for good stories with your friends. I told a friend of mine that the first two weeks I had taken home about $3,000. That was all it took. The gluttony of mankind took over what little sanity he had and all he could say was, “Hey, if you hear of any boats that need a back deck man, let me know.” “Have you ever been on the ocean?” I asked him. “No,” he said, one of the few times he told the truth.
Being the good friend I am, I did ask around to see if anyone needed more crew. I didn’t tell the skippers that my friend got seasick taking a bath and had to take a dramamine before turning on the hot water when filling the tub. Boats need more crew for a variety of reasons; seasickness, extra crew on the backdeck, guys are too scared out there and put an application in for washing dishes at the ‘Chuckwagon.’ This was not for any of those reasons, the skipper just hadn’t started fishing yet. I told him to get some motion sickness pills and take them when we all leave the ‘Chuckwagon’ in the morning. The plan was for the two boats to run side by side to the fishing grounds, but as soon as we left the dock I could see that my friend may not have a future career as a fisherman. Before the boat was untied from the slip he was leaning over the rail, gazing longingly at the big boat I was on. To this I yelled over to him, “Let’s go fishing,” while making a motion of popping a pill and asking, “Well, did you?” In the excitement of getting on the boat he had forgot to take his motion sickness pill! I could see him take a package out of his jacket pocket and swallow one, dry. Now at this point the both skippers are backing their boats out of the slips and with a cloud of diesel smoke start motoring out of the harbor. “Maybe he’ll be OK,” I said to myself, not really believing it, but hoping none the less.
As we came out of the protection of the jetty into open water with the boats both in the trough I looked over and didn’t see my friend. “This isn’t good,” I said to myself, already scanning the water through the darkness looking for a person treading water. I looked closer to see my friend was kneeling on the deck with his nose just over the rail. Just about that time I see him convulse and a spray of coffee, pancakes, and bacon becomes food for the crabs. I see him lunge for something in the water and first think that he wants to retrieve a piece of bacon. Only later did I realize he was seeing what I saw last night; last night I saw my vitamins floating in the sink, he saw his motion sickness pill floating off behind the boat. Just about that time the boat pitched to the opposite side and I see him with a arm reaching out, now about 12 feet above the water. He told me later that when the boat pitched back he could still see the pill bobbing in the water. It’s unfortunate that he kept his eye on it though as the boat rolled back the other way, water washing across the deck filled his rain pants and boots with water. Remember, this was BRB (before rubber bands). Now everyone puts rubber bands around their rain pants and boots for these types of occasions. But, that wasn’t the worst part, when the boat pitched to the other side again, remember he is still on his knees leaning over the rail his arm outstretched reaching for his motion sickness pill. The boat rolled over so much that the water came all the way up to the gunwales. Unfortunately, he was in such a state of shock from the 44* running all the way up to the hinterlands under his rain pants, he forgot to retract his arm and the water went up his sleeve and down his chest. Now, mind you we’re still with in a stone’s throw of the inside breakwater.
Later, he told me that the seasickness passed and he was fine the rest of the day. The skipper told me that he climbed into a bunk and didn’t come out until they were tied up at their slip.
Moral of the story: Take your medicine and your sea sickness pills (1) before you get sick, (2) before you leave the restaurant. BTW, he did get that job washing dishes at the “Chuckwagon’ the next day.
Now, Dick will probably say, “Why didn’t Jim just tell us the moral first? He could have saved his a lot of blog space.”
In part, I wrote this to encourage everyone else to tell some stories of your early life. Certainly, it’s got to be more interesting than me telling about when I threw up! Remember, I didn’t go to academy!
Jim
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Year of the Ox Part II
Bucket list: check one. Sandi said that watching the Chinese New Years Parade in San Francisco is on the top 100 things to do in a person’s life. Hmmm………it just so happened that she was going down to watch it with a friend of ours. I’m not exactly sure whose list that she’s referring to, but I went with it. She had taken four 7th grade girls down there two years ago and had a great time. I wonder if now that she’s seen it twice she gets to mark off two of the “Top 100 Must See Things.” Anyway, she asked me on Thursday if I wanted to go with them. As a tax paying American I wanted to do what I could to support the economy without waiting for the president’s Economic Stimulus Package. I had always thought of a finely-apportioned woman as a stimulus package, but what do I know? I had a great weekend planned of going up in the hills and cutting some wood, maybe even painting the living room, but being the person I am, I decided to forego the work and play instead. At this point in the school year a person cannot get in too much playing, and I’m not talking about the kids at school. Besides, we were going to be splitting the cost between three of us. Win, win, win. P.S. The Bucket List is one thing you do not want to mark off as being complete any too soon.
The parade WAS very impressive! Our hotel was about a ½ block off the parade route and lucky for us we got there JUST before they closed the street off. FYI: Do you know that you can’t turn left or right once you get on Geary Street? Even if you drive right by, and yell, “Turn! There it is!” you can’t do it. No turns, period. Lucky for us, after a few figure-eights through the streets of San Francisco that started around San Rafael and came close to San Jose we narrowed down our spiral and ended up in front of our hotel. Before this point I was just a trifle nervous. You see, the last time I stayed in San Francisco it wasn’t by choice. I didn’t have a motel booked like Sandi did this time, but it was an experience that I didn’t want to relive again, or wish on anyone, even my worst enemy.
When we went to Mexico about six years ago, we all left at the same time, but we came back at different times. The guys had to baby our van back to Crescent City from San Francisco with a battery that had already expired, pulling up to stop signs only to be met by the sounds of silence when they tried to start out again. And, this was when they were just leaving the driveway of the motel where we had stored the van. The experience got worse from there, especially since they were still 362 miles short of Crescent City!
When I came back from Puerta Vallarta I thought I had it timed correctly; from getting off the plane at SFO to allowing enough time to get to the SF bus terminal for the remainder of my trip to Crescent City on the Greyhound. I was planning to sleep all the way back home on the bus, and I was hoping that everyone else on the bus was going to share my sentiments. Long story short, I missed the last bus north. The next bus north? 10:00 a.m. the next morning. This presented a slight problem. I hadn’t anticipated spending the night in San Francisco. San Francisco is known for a lot of different things, most of which I didn’t want to participate in, or even be around. Being in San Francisco may be a very special experience for many people, but considering the variety of people and the number of people, it wasn’t something I was looking forward too, especially at night with no plans of where to go. Being the frugal (I like to think of it as fiscally efficient) person I started looking around the bus station for a place to sleep the night. The choices were limited. All the good places around the bus station were taken, and the not-so-good places were taken too. I thought about staying at a youth hostel as we had stayed at hostels on our trip to Alaska a few years ago. Keep in mind, I am basically pretty fiscally efficient. I knew that I was pushing the envelope of the youth part of youth hostel, but I was willing to suck my gut in and give it a try. I started to look on the local advertising boards for a hostel that was close. Lucky for me there was one just down the street. You’ve got to understand, city streets are MUCH longer than regular streets, especially at night if you happen to find yourself walking and not sure where you're going. First, I called the hostel to see if they had any space left. Unlucky for me, they did. Second, I called a cab. No sooner than I got into the cab at the bus station the cabbie said something unintelligible that must have been muffled by his turban to the effect of, “We’re here.” I swear, if I had taken the time to look around I would probably have seen that I was probably right across the street from the bus station, but, I didn’t, I was still trying to get my seat belt buckled. After giving the guy a $20 bill, of which I was expecting about $19.50 back, considering how far we had traveled, he again mumbled something unintelligible and drove off…quickly.
There I was, in front of an unsigned dented door with what looked like deep claw marks, lit only by a single 40 watt light bulb dangling from two wires. Remember, by now it’s 1:00…in the morning…and I don’t really know what direction the bus station is. I was so intent on getting my seat belt buckled I couldn’t identify which direction we had left from the bus station. And, I didn’t have any more $20 bills, only about 9,237 pesos, of which I wasn’t sure the value of. But, I did know that, chances are, a hostel in San Francisco, or a taxi driver that is wearing a turban isn’t really up on their exchange rates either. From the phone conversation with the hostel I knew that it would cost $16 for a place to sleep. They were somewhat evasive on exactly what kind of place to sleep it was though. After rapping on the door for about 5 minutes I noticed a dark figure looming out of the shadows slowly getting larger and closer. I upped the rapping to knocking on the door. As the shadow wobbled into the light and came closer I started pounding on the door, just short of yelling. Suddenly, with my unprecedented visionary skills I noticed there was a doorbell with the light burned out. As a last resort I frantically mashed it multiple times until a sleepy voice crackled from a hole underneath the light, “need something?” “YEH, IN,” I croaked back. “Open the door and come in, it's not locked” the voice calmly answered back. I turned the open door knob and walked in…just before the mangiest cat that I’d ever seen walked by.
This sleepy looking hippy guy took my $16 and pointed to a closed door and said, “There are four bunks in there, take one where there’s not someone in.” Yeh, like I’m going to shove someone out of a bunk bed at 1:30 in the morning! Of course I didn’t want to wake anyone up so I left the door open enough to use the hall light to illuminate an empty top bunk. Bingo! I threw my bag on the top bunk and without getting out of my clothes I jumped up. Too quickly. "Damn," I said to myself, "I forgot to shut the door." I jumped back off the bunk just as the guy on the bottom bunk rolled over, his arm brushing down my leg and grunted something I didn't even want to try to understand. I'm not saying it was planned on his part and he was just feeling friendly, I'm just that I wasn't really prepared for his hospitality and it didn't really make me feel very comfortable. I didn't acknowledge him and quickly shut the door and did the Superman standing vertical broad jump straight up to the top bunk covering 5 vertical feet and 3 horizontal feet in a single bound. Only then did I realize how dark it was. I tried really hard to calm myself, trying to still my heart and quell my nerves. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it may wake up my all too-neighborly neighbor, him thinking that I was somehow ecouraging him with my beating heart. I tried to stretch out and make myself comfortable until I sensed that there wasn't a mattress on the top bunk, just a piece of plywood. My mind kept racing back to the bus station, replaying the not-so-good places looking suddenly looking much better and wondering how long it would take me to find my way back. I jockeyed my bag to the head of the bed wondering to myself, exactly which would be the worse place of the two evils, to put my head where people have put their feet, or put my head where other people have put their head. I propped my head on my bag and swore quietly to myself that when and if I ever got home I would take the hottest shower I could stand with the best flea soap money could buy.
I wish I could tell you I it was quiet and fell asleep and rested peacefully the rest of the night. It wasn't, and I didn't. Just as my heart rate dropped to about 120 bpm the door opened and in walked (stumbled) a guy talking to himself, stinking to high heaven. I pretended to be asleep, all the while keeping not one eye slightly open, but both eyes wide open. I was snoring with both eyes open, not sleeping, just snoring. I watched the guy take 3 quart bottles of Colt .45 Malt Liquor out of the paper bag he carried in and place them neatly beside the lower bunk against the far wall. He leaned on one elbow, unscrewed the cap, and chugged the entire bottle before burping and laying down on the jacket that he had put down as a pillow. Within about 5 minutes of heavy breathing he jumped up and ran across the hall to the bathroom leaving the door open so everyone could hear him relieving himself. Before laying back down he chugged the second bottle. The third bottle he put under his jacket and put his head on it. Within about 2 seconds he was joining the other snorers in the room in an impromptu chorus of loud and out-of-tune snoring. Myself, I was pretty sure even if I could go to sleep I didn't dare let myself go to sleep. I lay awake listening to the snoring, flatulating, and grunting until about 3:00. When I was pretty sure everyone was in their own world I quickly jumped down, quietly opened the door (as if that really mattered), and walked out of the hostel. I waved a cab down and asked him which way to the bus station. He pointed to the where a Greyhound was turning in and said, "Right there." I walked to a coffee shop, bought a cup of coffee, a donut, and a newspaper and pretended like I do this kind of thing every morning.
We also got to see, John Lee Hooker, Jr., the son of, you guessed it, John Lee Hooker, Sr., a great Blues singer.
The highlight of the trip was being able to have breakfast with Glenda. She is closing in on her Bachelors degree this coming May. You’ll be glad to know that she takes her studying very seriously. She even takes her books to breakfast. No wasted time with our sister!
On the way back from San Francisco we were going through Orick and we noticed that they (?) were holding tryouts for the Dallas Cowgirls. I’m sure all the hopeful future Cowgirls will be bringing their best stimulus package with them. Don’t ask me why they’ve chosen to hold tryouts there, but they do get some pretty big names there. In the past we’ve seen such names as ZZ Top, The Beatles, and even the Rolling Stones on the marquee board, so it really wasn’t much of a surprise to see the ad for the Dallas Cowgirls’ tryouts. The only problem is, where everyone stays. The only motel in town, ‘Myrtle’s pay-by-the-hour Motel and Trailer Park’ is hard to find.
Anyway, it was a great quick trip and it’s good to be back home.
Jim
The parade WAS very impressive! Our hotel was about a ½ block off the parade route and lucky for us we got there JUST before they closed the street off. FYI: Do you know that you can’t turn left or right once you get on Geary Street? Even if you drive right by, and yell, “Turn! There it is!” you can’t do it. No turns, period. Lucky for us, after a few figure-eights through the streets of San Francisco that started around San Rafael and came close to San Jose we narrowed down our spiral and ended up in front of our hotel. Before this point I was just a trifle nervous. You see, the last time I stayed in San Francisco it wasn’t by choice. I didn’t have a motel booked like Sandi did this time, but it was an experience that I didn’t want to relive again, or wish on anyone, even my worst enemy.
When we went to Mexico about six years ago, we all left at the same time, but we came back at different times. The guys had to baby our van back to Crescent City from San Francisco with a battery that had already expired, pulling up to stop signs only to be met by the sounds of silence when they tried to start out again. And, this was when they were just leaving the driveway of the motel where we had stored the van. The experience got worse from there, especially since they were still 362 miles short of Crescent City!
When I came back from Puerta Vallarta I thought I had it timed correctly; from getting off the plane at SFO to allowing enough time to get to the SF bus terminal for the remainder of my trip to Crescent City on the Greyhound. I was planning to sleep all the way back home on the bus, and I was hoping that everyone else on the bus was going to share my sentiments. Long story short, I missed the last bus north. The next bus north? 10:00 a.m. the next morning. This presented a slight problem. I hadn’t anticipated spending the night in San Francisco. San Francisco is known for a lot of different things, most of which I didn’t want to participate in, or even be around. Being in San Francisco may be a very special experience for many people, but considering the variety of people and the number of people, it wasn’t something I was looking forward too, especially at night with no plans of where to go. Being the frugal (I like to think of it as fiscally efficient) person I started looking around the bus station for a place to sleep the night. The choices were limited. All the good places around the bus station were taken, and the not-so-good places were taken too. I thought about staying at a youth hostel as we had stayed at hostels on our trip to Alaska a few years ago. Keep in mind, I am basically pretty fiscally efficient. I knew that I was pushing the envelope of the youth part of youth hostel, but I was willing to suck my gut in and give it a try. I started to look on the local advertising boards for a hostel that was close. Lucky for me there was one just down the street. You’ve got to understand, city streets are MUCH longer than regular streets, especially at night if you happen to find yourself walking and not sure where you're going. First, I called the hostel to see if they had any space left. Unlucky for me, they did. Second, I called a cab. No sooner than I got into the cab at the bus station the cabbie said something unintelligible that must have been muffled by his turban to the effect of, “We’re here.” I swear, if I had taken the time to look around I would probably have seen that I was probably right across the street from the bus station, but, I didn’t, I was still trying to get my seat belt buckled. After giving the guy a $20 bill, of which I was expecting about $19.50 back, considering how far we had traveled, he again mumbled something unintelligible and drove off…quickly.
There I was, in front of an unsigned dented door with what looked like deep claw marks, lit only by a single 40 watt light bulb dangling from two wires. Remember, by now it’s 1:00…in the morning…and I don’t really know what direction the bus station is. I was so intent on getting my seat belt buckled I couldn’t identify which direction we had left from the bus station. And, I didn’t have any more $20 bills, only about 9,237 pesos, of which I wasn’t sure the value of. But, I did know that, chances are, a hostel in San Francisco, or a taxi driver that is wearing a turban isn’t really up on their exchange rates either. From the phone conversation with the hostel I knew that it would cost $16 for a place to sleep. They were somewhat evasive on exactly what kind of place to sleep it was though. After rapping on the door for about 5 minutes I noticed a dark figure looming out of the shadows slowly getting larger and closer. I upped the rapping to knocking on the door. As the shadow wobbled into the light and came closer I started pounding on the door, just short of yelling. Suddenly, with my unprecedented visionary skills I noticed there was a doorbell with the light burned out. As a last resort I frantically mashed it multiple times until a sleepy voice crackled from a hole underneath the light, “need something?” “YEH, IN,” I croaked back. “Open the door and come in, it's not locked” the voice calmly answered back. I turned the open door knob and walked in…just before the mangiest cat that I’d ever seen walked by.
This sleepy looking hippy guy took my $16 and pointed to a closed door and said, “There are four bunks in there, take one where there’s not someone in.” Yeh, like I’m going to shove someone out of a bunk bed at 1:30 in the morning! Of course I didn’t want to wake anyone up so I left the door open enough to use the hall light to illuminate an empty top bunk. Bingo! I threw my bag on the top bunk and without getting out of my clothes I jumped up. Too quickly. "Damn," I said to myself, "I forgot to shut the door." I jumped back off the bunk just as the guy on the bottom bunk rolled over, his arm brushing down my leg and grunted something I didn't even want to try to understand. I'm not saying it was planned on his part and he was just feeling friendly, I'm just that I wasn't really prepared for his hospitality and it didn't really make me feel very comfortable. I didn't acknowledge him and quickly shut the door and did the Superman standing vertical broad jump straight up to the top bunk covering 5 vertical feet and 3 horizontal feet in a single bound. Only then did I realize how dark it was. I tried really hard to calm myself, trying to still my heart and quell my nerves. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it may wake up my all too-neighborly neighbor, him thinking that I was somehow ecouraging him with my beating heart. I tried to stretch out and make myself comfortable until I sensed that there wasn't a mattress on the top bunk, just a piece of plywood. My mind kept racing back to the bus station, replaying the not-so-good places looking suddenly looking much better and wondering how long it would take me to find my way back. I jockeyed my bag to the head of the bed wondering to myself, exactly which would be the worse place of the two evils, to put my head where people have put their feet, or put my head where other people have put their head. I propped my head on my bag and swore quietly to myself that when and if I ever got home I would take the hottest shower I could stand with the best flea soap money could buy.
I wish I could tell you I it was quiet and fell asleep and rested peacefully the rest of the night. It wasn't, and I didn't. Just as my heart rate dropped to about 120 bpm the door opened and in walked (stumbled) a guy talking to himself, stinking to high heaven. I pretended to be asleep, all the while keeping not one eye slightly open, but both eyes wide open. I was snoring with both eyes open, not sleeping, just snoring. I watched the guy take 3 quart bottles of Colt .45 Malt Liquor out of the paper bag he carried in and place them neatly beside the lower bunk against the far wall. He leaned on one elbow, unscrewed the cap, and chugged the entire bottle before burping and laying down on the jacket that he had put down as a pillow. Within about 5 minutes of heavy breathing he jumped up and ran across the hall to the bathroom leaving the door open so everyone could hear him relieving himself. Before laying back down he chugged the second bottle. The third bottle he put under his jacket and put his head on it. Within about 2 seconds he was joining the other snorers in the room in an impromptu chorus of loud and out-of-tune snoring. Myself, I was pretty sure even if I could go to sleep I didn't dare let myself go to sleep. I lay awake listening to the snoring, flatulating, and grunting until about 3:00. When I was pretty sure everyone was in their own world I quickly jumped down, quietly opened the door (as if that really mattered), and walked out of the hostel. I waved a cab down and asked him which way to the bus station. He pointed to the where a Greyhound was turning in and said, "Right there." I walked to a coffee shop, bought a cup of coffee, a donut, and a newspaper and pretended like I do this kind of thing every morning.
We also got to see, John Lee Hooker, Jr., the son of, you guessed it, John Lee Hooker, Sr., a great Blues singer.
The highlight of the trip was being able to have breakfast with Glenda. She is closing in on her Bachelors degree this coming May. You’ll be glad to know that she takes her studying very seriously. She even takes her books to breakfast. No wasted time with our sister!
On the way back from San Francisco we were going through Orick and we noticed that they (?) were holding tryouts for the Dallas Cowgirls. I’m sure all the hopeful future Cowgirls will be bringing their best stimulus package with them. Don’t ask me why they’ve chosen to hold tryouts there, but they do get some pretty big names there. In the past we’ve seen such names as ZZ Top, The Beatles, and even the Rolling Stones on the marquee board, so it really wasn’t much of a surprise to see the ad for the Dallas Cowgirls’ tryouts. The only problem is, where everyone stays. The only motel in town, ‘Myrtle’s pay-by-the-hour Motel and Trailer Park’ is hard to find.
Anyway, it was a great quick trip and it’s good to be back home.
Jim
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