Life Adventures

New Bohemians In Search of Shangri-la

2010-11-08T18:08:00.000-08:00

Way too big to post here, our 3,000 mile tandem bicycle ride from Chengdu, across Tibetan China, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand. Look for the link at the left on the Home page. http://newbohemians.net If you have enjoyed any of these posts you will love our home page covering 40,000 miles of self contained tandem bicycle touring around the world, a four month sailing adventure and more. Welcome!

New Bohemians Site

2010-02-21T20:24:00.001-08:00

We have a new site with a collection of all of our adventure travels, with the exception of this blog, at http://newbohemians.net I think you will find of interest: Silk Road Crossing (by tandem bicycle) and In Search of Shangri-la, also by tandem bicycle, and our upcoming motorhome trip to Alaska.

Solar Cooking Time of Year

2009-07-10T13:02:00.000-07:00

Solar Oven without double cooking bag cover, cooking a pan of granola. Solar cooker cooking a cup of bulgar. It's summer and the sun is hot, everywhere, but particularly in Tucson. Claire Rogers has been doing some of her cooking with her home-made solar oven, and solar cooker. So far she has baked granola and cookies in the oven, and bulgar, beans and salmon in the solar cooker. If she gets several comments, she will post construction instructions. She has fun with it, and saves some energy too. Bob Rogers

Elevation Vacation

2008-09-23T21:06:00.001-07:00

We took Turtle on a short vacation from still-hot Tucson in the Santa Catalina Mountains last week. The mountain bikes came with, and hiking boots. We spent three nights, one boondocked at near 8,000 feet and two at a FS campground at around 6,000 feet. We had perfect weather, burned less than 1/4 tank of diesel and felt like we were 2,000 miles away, all because of the magic of elevation change. We cycle up the mountain from home, a 60-70 mile round trip, depending on where we go, but between 6,000 and 7,000 feet of elevation change, a great workout. But during these rides we only stop briefly for snacks, so as to not let our muscles cool too much, and know mostly the road, though we have done a few hikes on the mountain.

This time we decided to do a mountain bike ride and see something new. The Santa Catalinas are steep! Our mountain bike ride could more accurately be described as a hike-a-bike, with almost as much pushing as riding for some sections. But the scenery and the workout was worth the effort. The General Hitchcock campground was a delight with a burbling stream and lots of birds, even one lifer. We'll do it again!

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Monsoon Denouement

2008-09-03T22:15:00.001-07:00

One of Southern Arizona's several seasons is fading away. Our Sky Island mountain ranges are now pasted against cobalt skies, with just a few puffy fair-weather clouds gathered over their summits, there to remind us of the violent thunderstorms of the past two months. The monsoon left behind something else too, a brilliant carpet of jade overlaying the red/brown hue of the spring and autumn. I never imagined I would see the heavenly blue of morning glory blossoms strung on vines woven among the prickly pear, saguaro and ocotillo, until we spent our first monsoon season and hiked through waist high grass where there had been dry stubble through the annual wildflower season. The red origami folds of saguaro fruit, ripened open and rapaciously consumed by desert flying critters, then dried into brilliant red "second blossoms" of the giant cactus through the beginning of the spectacular, and regular storms. A second cactus bloom ads a blaze of red to the pastel of the monsoon annuals.Now, the air crackles with dryness again, the nights cool and the days too. The sun rules now, clouds insubstantial waifs losing the battle; the change of prevailing winds pushing tropical moisture away. In a few months, another change will bring moisture scudding in from the Pacific, whatever small amounts not dumped on Washington, Oregon or California.

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Grand Canyon and Claire

2008-09-03T15:28:00.001-07:00

This is for those of you who haven't been following this blog. This is SO Claire, writing in her journal on the lip of one of the wonders of the world. I love this picture. I love this woman. I am so lucky.

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We are sad for Gori, all of Georgia; we were there...

2008-08-11T12:03:00.001-07:00

When Claire and I traveled the Silk Road, we rode our tandem bicycle the length of the Caucuses. We spent a night in Gori, the town that Russians have taken today. In another small town to the west, we were welcomed into a graduation party by a group of teens, watched them dance traditional Georgian folk dances, enjoyed the beauty of the town and surrounding countryside. The two girls and their mother (woman washing greens at the well) subsist in the countryside west of Gori; I wonder if they are safe, how terrified they must be. Our country's misguided adventure in Iraq renders us impotent against Russia. They can do what they want to tiny (a few days across by bicycle) Georgia. What will they do next?

Left: President Bush visited Georgia not long before us. Right: Monument to hometown boy Stalin outside Gori.

Have any of these people died?

We are sorry Georgia. You were kind to us. Now that the the oil pipeline is finished across your lands, we don't need you anymore. We hope the Russians don't destroy the pipeline. We can't stop them; we are otherwise engaged.

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On The Road Again

2008-07-26T15:48:00.001-07:00

After surviving, and enjoying the hottest month of the year in Tucson, we decided to head for the higher elevations of Arizona for July: the Grand Canyon, Mogollon Rim and the White Mountains. We're trying to enjoy some time being not so connected, so I won't do many postings until we return to Tucson in August. I'll post a few photos on this post now and again:

Boondock on the Kaibab National Forest just outside of Grand Canyon National Park

Claire on the Arizona Trail

Mule deer skeleton along the trail

The Grand Canyon never gets old, just more crowded, but we have a few strategies for that. 1. Get around by bicycle or free shuttle bus. 2. Avoid the west end. 3. Just walk away from the crowds; the best views are elsewhere. 4. Camp at Desert View. 5. Stay several days. 5. Get up for sunrise, the tourists sleep in.

Tanner Trail in Grand Canyon: This hike was only about six miles, but around 2000 feet down and then up. Our quads noticed our lack of hiking the past few months. The hike is near Desert View and a simple, if steep, in and out to a beautiful saddle and beyond, as far as the river if you want, a 15 mile hike we weren't up to, particularly in July. It gets HOT down there!

Down, from up there, to see more down, then hike back up. Hmmm.

LiveJournal Tags: Tanner Trail in Grand Canyon National Park

After the Grand Canyon we boondocked a couple of nights on the east side of the San Francisco Peaks near Wupatki and Sunset Crater National Monuments. There is a challenging loop of 58 miles with tons of climbing we had been wanting to ride for years. There happened to be a cancer ride the same day, so we got to interact with other riders. We were doing fine until the racing team passed and we just had to try and hang on the back; too bad the hill was a little too long...about a mile.

LiveJournal Tags: Grand Canyon, Kaibab National Forest, Wupatki National Monument, Sunset Crater National Monument, Arizona Trail, Grand Canyon tips, Grand Canyon strategies, Desert View Campground in Grand Canyon National Park

Wupatki

Sunset Crater

Saguaro Fruit Season

2008-06-29T15:54:00.001-07:00

What's red and black, chewy and crunchy, the sweetest natural candy outside a bees nest? The pith of saguaro fruit, split open and cooked in the sun, makes a natural fruit taffy, far more wonderful that I had imagined. Now I know how the natives survived the silly season; they knew the saguaro fruit was ripening.

We found this young arm with two split open fruits on an early morning bike ride of the loop road in Saguaro National Park East unit. As you see in the second photo, ants and one huge horsefly were already working away at the wonderful stuff, but the doves, bats, and almost every other flying thing of the desert, hadn't found this bounty. The only reason the doves and bats, in particular, don't get all the saguaro fruit, is that there is so much of it. We've been watching the early ripening fruits for two weeks on our rides, but the seeds and pith, the sweet stuff was all gone. What's left is a three or four petaled blazing red fruit shell, folded back against the spines, looking like a second blossom. The real blossom is white and begins blooming in April. The Tohono O'odham use the pith and seeds for all kinds of stuff, including a fermented drink for celebration of the arrival of the bounty of summer and the monsoon rains. We would be happy to just eat the stuff; it's better than any candy. Don't be afraid of the desert summer; ruby red rewards await!

LiveJournal Tags: saguaro fruit, summer in the desert, Sonoran desert, wild fruit, natural food, natural fruit, natural candy, taffy, Saguaro National Park, Tohono O'odham, Tohono O'odham food, life in the desert

Oh, we shooed the fly away, but ate the ants. (double click the photo to see a larger version)

Lucky Blog Brought Monsoon

2008-06-26T19:21:00.001-07:00

They say that the monsoon begins in Arizona when it rains on you. All I had to do was post the last blog about the monsoon, and ta da, it rained on me last night and now again this afternoon. Of course everyone goes out in the first monsoon rain; it's sort of a spiritual thing; a big sigh of relief. Both were mild, as monsoon rains go, some lightning, some thunder and enough rain to get wet, sound nice on the roof and dapple the swimming pool. Best was being able to sleep with the widows open last night, and a short nap with the rain this afternoon. The temperature dropped nearly thirty degrees in a couple of hours.

We collected a small epiphyte (air plant) in Florida as a shower pet in Turtle (our motorhome) last December. It loved our shower of course, but has been having to survive with a dunking every week or so since we returned to dry Tucson in March; we prefer to shower at our clubhouse.

Yesterday I hung it on our long blooming desert plant (favorite of hummingbirds, can't remember the name) to enjoy a real shower. I like to think it is going to enjoy the monsoon, if it can survive the sun and dry.

Does anyone know how to feed an epiphyte? other than leave it out in the air, something I'm not too sure is a good idea in dry Tucson.

Would you like to give our epiphyte a name?

happy monsoon,

bob

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Monsoon Meltdown; Arizona Silly Season: The Monsoon Buildup.

2008-06-26T11:15:00.001-07:00

People in most of the country think Arizona has no seasons. I once had that idea myself, until I lived for a year in Tucson. In Southern Arizona, there are two major seasons: the wet, and the dry. The wet is divided into two parts, what others call winter, and summer. The dry is also divided into two parts, corresponding to spring and autumn in the rest of the country. That's the simple explanation, but like most simple explanations, omits the interesting stuff:

Right now, June, we are in what the Australians in Queensland and Northern Territory, Australia, call the buildup. It is also called the silly season, the murder season -- you get the idea, it drives people nuts. It is the hottest part of the year, and the humidity rises to uncomfortable levels. The Arizona buildup is nothing compared to say, Darwin, where 110f + temperatures somehow manage to hold 80% humidity. In Tucson we think it is unbearable when the humidity hits 35%, no matter what the temperature. In Phoenix, they get much higher humidity, and temps, because they like to have large lawns they water daily; Karma if you ask me.

Technorati Tags: monsoon, Tucson, Arizona, Silly Season, Monsoon Meltdown, desert, summer, Australia weather, Karma, Phoenix

As June comes to an end, we can begin to sense the monsoon rains inching closer, and that knowledge produces an interesting mix of physical misery and spiritual hope that is positively intoxicating. We check the Doppler radar on Yahoo Weather constantly: is that blotch of red, ringed with yellow and green, bending in our direction? Dare we hope the monsoon will begin today?

Soon, one 100 + day will, imperceptibly at first, begin to show cute little summer puffy clouds, the ones much of the country gets at some time during the summer. But, surrounding these innocent looking clouds, miles up in the deep blue desert sky, hide huge quantities of moisture. As the afternoon wears on, and the desert floor pumps blistering heat up into the mix, those cute clouds begin to morph, slowly at first, then more rapidly into unbelievably tall white clouds with inky blue/black bottoms, impossibly convoluted, beautiful and powerful. Therein hides lightning not to be believed, thunder to rattle buildings and the nerves of living things, and followed by downpours of Genesis 5 proportions (well, maybe not quite that outrageous).

Will this be the day?

Stay tuned.

Signs of a Desert Summer, and Time WE Sacrificed

2008-06-23T15:56:00.001-07:00

A saguaro fruit, once it has been harvested of seeds by the desert critters, folds back into a lotus shape.

There is nothing subtle about summer in the Sonoran Desert. The temperature climbs inexorably to three digits, the air dries to five percent, and the sensation of being slowly roasted in a very hot ovens dominates the senses. Of course we ride our bicycles anyway. It's a bit more like being in a convection oven; you roast evenly. However the sun has failed to roast these two pieces of meat, because we ingest huge quantities of fluids, soak our clothes regularly and ride fast. Evaporative cooling works. Besides we were hotter in Turkey, and knowing you won't die if you drink makes a big difference.

Tucson's newest bicycle bridge, the basket bridge, inspired by patterns found on Tohono O'odham baskets.

We are getting somewhat radical on the use of our car. We are down to less than on (small) tank of gasoline a month. We are not being holier than thou, after all, we did drive our motorhome thousands miles in the last 12 months; at least it was for work.

We did decide that at least we could do one small thing. We can set an example by driving our little Geo Tracker, as little as possible. When people see us out on the streets, bike panniers filled to overflowing with groceries, with the temperature hovering between 104 and 109, they know we are saving fuel, and maybe they'll consider making one less trip each week, somehow.

The small things are all we can do. If each of us cut our fuel consumption in half (what we have done since March), a bunch of speculators would get soaked, policy makers and auto manufacturers would put their "future" projects on the fast track, and we could all stop whining. But, change is not something that comes easy to most folks. We've had more than one dirty look and a middle finger or two from big honker truck drivers, usually male, who have been told by the Neo Cons, that saving fuel is Un-American. Better we should invade another Arab country, since Iraq worked so well at keeping down the price of oil.

Lots of people think riding a bicycle is beyond them, but they would be wrong. Yes, it takes a little effort, a little learning, but since when have Americans shrunk from doing what needs to be done? Since 9/11 when the powers-that-be, told us we were victims and the only answer was to shop, and send our troops to sacrifice themselves in war. Maybe it's time WE made some sacrifices.

Oh, all this biking is not all sacrifice: we each have lost more than 10 pounds. Hmmmmm

Chinese Construction Weakness

2008-05-16T19:24:00.001-07:00

During our travels along the Silk Road, due to camping restrictions in China, we usually stayed in local hotels, not the expensive ones for tourists and party officials. The construction was of a very low standard, cost being the overriding consideration, or perhaps as some villagers have suggested, corruption. Notice the wall in this photo: to the right of the television running from the bottom of the window to the floor, and below, is a crack more than one inch wide. It would not have taken much of an earthquake to take the building down, and us with it.

We feel very personally for the Chinese, who were, and are, our friends.

Aching For China

2008-05-13T20:28:00.001-07:00

Our hearts ache for China. The rural Chinese were so kind to us as we traveled the Silk Road. Our tandem bicycle was quite a surprise for the small villages we traversed, where we ate and slept and struggled to find our way west. They passed on many opportunities to take advantage of rich foreigners, they shared what they did not have to share. Many of the small hotels we slept in would have fallen in a much weaker quake, so I can only imagine how quickly and violently the mud brick and wood slat homes fell.

The Chinese are still an mystery to most Americans. But take it from Claire and I, who spent two months with them, most of it in rural areas, small villages: they love their families as much as we do, they are a sweet people, a hard working people who shared what they could with two people who's bicycle was worth more than their yearly income.

If given an opportunity to help the victims of this quake, please do. In the century to come, their country may very well dominate world affairs. Now is the time to make friends.

Organ Pipe National Monument

2008-05-10T18:17:00.001-07:00

Longtime friends, Steve and Wendy Richards, from Lexington, Virginia, gave us an excuse to get our motorhome out of storage and visit one of our favorite places in Southern Arizona, Organ Pipe National Monument. April is a prime month to visit because the, found-only-here in the U.S., Organ Pipe is in full bloom, along with a wide array of opuntia (prickly pear) and cholla; quite a few annuals are still hanging on also.
One of the best things about Organ Pipe is getting close to rattlesnakes; there are more rattlesnakes in Organ Pipe, per square acre than anyplace I know. This one checked out our campsite thoroughly before curling up a couple of meters away. He kept his rattles up, just in case. We put our feet up, just in case.
Organ Pipe is one of the most diverse parts of the most diverse desert in the world. It is a brutally beautiful place that unfolds slowly in subtle ways. One of the best ways to experience Organ Pipe is from the seat of a mountain bike on the 23 mile Ajo Mountain Loop Road. Most people who can ride a bicycle, and are in reasonable physical condition from hiking etc., can do the ride, although it takes awhile for some to get accustomed to the riding-on-ball bearings feeling. Lay the bike down once in awhile, take a stroll in the desert, take your eyes off the wide landscape, the big things; focus on the skeletons of organ pipes and chollas a pollen covered insect at the center of blossom, the structure of a thorn, oh, and maybe the rattles on that rattlesnake trying to get your attention.

Steve Richards photo

Hardy Hikers do Blacketts Ridge

2008-03-12T19:11:00.001-07:00

An energetic group of Hardy Hikers strained quads and challenged acrophobia on a hike to the top of Blackets Ridge Tuesday. Annual wildflowers are beginning to bloom and the warm blooded critters are coming out to enjoy the sun.

bob rogers

Romero Pools Hike

2008-03-09T08:46:00.001-07:00

We hiked to Romero Pools from Catalina State Park, just north of Tucson, with my sister Anna Bowlds. We were surprised at the dozen annual wildflowers blooming. It seems early for such a display, and that bodes well for the bloom later on.

Snow?

2008-03-03T13:05:00.001-08:00

White Sands National Monument sure can look like snow. It even crunches under tires like very cold snow. Spooky.

Cold too, in the early morning after a cold night.

Lots more life than expected. The gypsum holds water and the plants are able to get water even when it hasn't rained in months. All they have to worry about are rockets falling from the sky from the White Sands Missile Range.

Self Portrait at Three Rivers Petroglyph Site in New Mexico

2008-03-03T12:38:00.001-08:00

We camped here two nights. We were up before dawn and out until dark making photographs and listening to coyotes and ravens sing the sun up and down. The second night we had so many coyote choir concerts that we finally gave up listening and slept anyway. This BLM site is one of the best we have visited, so far. We are coming to the realization that we will have to work awfully hard to take in all the great BLM sites in the West. It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it!

Fence?

2008-02-26T19:39:00.001-08:00

The Rio Grande separates us from them here at Boquillas in the Big Bend of West Texas. It is one of our favorite places. On a previous visit, we waved at a Mexican on the other side and he ferried us across ($2 both ways) and we visited a small village in Mexico. After a fine lunch, ordered with pantomime and smiles, we walked to the local one room schoolhouse where we were welcomed by the schoolmaster and his students with more pantomime and smiles. We returned to the U.S. in late afternoon, and no one arrested us for leaving and entering the country illegally. We left memories of some friendly gringos, and returned with a renewed appreciation for the brotherhood of mankind. This little voyage across the Rio Grande contributed to our desire to meet the peoples of our world on their terms, on their land, and to show that Americans are pretty much like them, just luckier, richer. Our tandem bicycle trip across the Silk Road, in Muslim country most of the way, proved our belief that we all are much more alike than we are different.

It appears we may someday soon see a fence on our side of the Rio Grande. Perhaps it will keep out a few cheap laborers, a few drug smugglers, a child on a donkey chasing his mother's cow... What will it cost us?

Back in the saddle again. Out where a friend is a friend. Where the longhorn cattle roam....

2008-02-15T07:31:00.001-08:00

Claire cleaning horse shit (that's what they call it here) from a horseshoe, attached to a horse, of course.

Last week we hung out with the cowboys and cowgirls, and their horses, at the Stillwell Ranch in Big Bend country, West of the Pecos. We had heard about the big trail ride on previous visits to the ranch, and were really happy to have lucked on the right week, so we stayed a couple of extra days. We met lots of fine Texans (we didn't talk politics) ate lots of Wally's fine trail cooking, cut a rug at the cowboy dance and even got in a bike ride down towards Mexico. Next? West Texas is always full of surprises.

Wally's feed tent. New friends.

Claire on her steed, riding toward La Linda.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

2008-01-30T08:43:00.001-08:00

Bea (For Beatitudes) is a very dangerous cat. She lives at Espiritu Santo mission north of Corpus Christi, Texas.

One night, while attending vespers services, Bea fell asleep, probably under a kneeling bench, and was inadvertently locked in the sanctuary. She awoke much later to find herself alone, and decided, as cats are wont to do, to wander around a bit and then cry to be let out. All this activity set off the alarm system, and there was hell to pay. Homeland Security descended, complete with swat team and helicopter, ready to take out the terrorists, obviously up to no good, and on Holy ground, or at least National Park Service ground, at that.

Observers indicated that, upon discovering the terrorist was not deserving of their firepower, left with nary a snicker. Some people have no sense of humor.

A Hard Winter Light

2008-01-24T10:23:00.001-08:00

a hard winter light

bitterest day of the year

transformed New Orleans

Another Side of the Story

2008-01-24T09:06:00.001-08:00

We met him toward the end of a long day tramping the streets of New Orleans, mostly the French Quarter. Mardi Gras was everywhere, or rather preparations for Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras is not all jazz and sex, but that is another story for later.

Claire wants to write a story about the international devotion of people-of-color to the music and persona of Bob Marley, many years after his death. We have found Bob Marley music in every corner of the world where Black people live, and we have wondered at his universal appeal.

Ras Kevin keeps his stand of far away from the other vendors, outside the French Quarter, still downtown, where he can talk with the people who come to look and to buy. He is educated, has worked in the corporate world, and chooses this life so he can more directly share his message, and Bob Marley's message with anyone who will listen. He is respectful, well spoken and well groomed, with an enthusiasm and intelligence that draws people to him. Mostly he speaks to people-of-color. His message: quit waiting on the White man to help you out, we are going to have to do it ourselves. It is delivered without malice toward Whites, but with hope for Blacks. He says most Blacks don't want to listen to him. Others, with their own job security in mind, offer them an easier message, one of entitlement rather than striving, anger rather than hope.

Ras does very well financially, he does exactly what he wants to do in life, and he shares a message he believes in. That is success. We wish him well.

The North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain

2008-01-19T18:55:00.001-08:00

This house survived Hurricane Katrina, sort of. It is now boarded up and the stairs have been removed. Someone is, belatedly, reconsidering living over a lake, when nasty ladies like Katrina just might come for a return visit. I'll bet the last sunset before the storm was spectacular. This is one of the better looking houses along this small North Shore road.

The last two days we have driven past some of the worst of Katrina's work, and it is indeed sobering, more than two years later. Still, people are rebuilding, businesses are up and running again and they will celebrate Carnival in earnest this year.

We heard an interesting story from a woman in a laundromat over on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Wal*Mart had two Super Centers within 15 miles of each other; they both were leveled. We saw them. Nothing but asphalt. Wal*Mart put up tents and opened for business within two days. The people will not forget that. There is a new Super Center up and running now, and the other grocery stores still haven't begun to rebuild. Serve the people and they will remember.

Monuments

2008-01-18T14:18:00.001-08:00

A rainy day in Mobile. Magnolia Cemetery. Cold. Windy. Wet.

Large monuments to the deceased stood silent vigil over the bones of the long dead. Creeping life darkened the stone angels, slowly decaying their beauty. They will not survive eternally. They crumble like the bones they guard. The people who commissioned these monuments to themselves might just have well spent the money on Mardi Gras. Many of the living in this city appeared to be preparing to do just that, if the purple, gold and green decorations are any indication.

St. Joseph Peninsula State Park

2008-01-11T09:42:00.001-08:00

Claire and I were here a decade ago in our first motorhome. It is probably the most beautiful beach in the East. I wrote about it on Newbohemians.net in 1998 (can't believe we've had a web site for 10 years), and reading it again led us back here.

Things have changed: the long drive up the Peninsula is now cluttered with hundreds of huge (read, very expensive) beach houses on stilts, just waiting for the Big One. Don't worry, we taxpayers will help them out, and rebuild their beach too. But once you get inside the gate of the park, much is the same as it was a decade ago, except that it is now bone dry in the dunes, result of the very serious drought the Southeast is suffering now. The night is quiet now, compared to the night walk we took then, because their is no water for the sonorous critters and they have gone elsewhere, or died. We walked several miles today and saw not one sign of alligator, and no water for frogs or other fresh water dwellers.

Another consequence of the drought is that Atlanta has taken the fresh water the used to flow into the estuary just east of here; now the oysters, and the ecosystem dependent on them are dying. The oysters, and the oystermen don't have a chance in Washington against growth crazy Atlanta.

But the beach and dunes are still beautiful, and nearly empty this time of year. I don't know why; morning fog, but 70 degrees by noon and beautiful sunsets, but we're glad. As far as I am concerned, this is the best part of Florida, by a long shot; perhaps that is because it has the fewest people, so far.

Beach kiss Final cast Sunset colors

Snow?

Good night

Wishful Thinking

2008-01-04T11:28:00.001-08:00

We took a short visit to the Capital Forest State Park in Perry, Florida. It is all about the early homesteaders and the logging industry.

Cracker homestead at Capital Forest State Park

Cracker porch

Bedroom

They don't call them long leaf pines for nothing!

It's been cold in Florida. Bitter cold. We have been holed up for three nights trying to keep Turtle's pipes from freezing. No one goes out, the wind is raw, unforgiving. Sunny Florida. Soon this strange weather will go away, we hope, and we will be back to gathering pictures and story ideas out in the bright sunshine. Dare we hope a bike ride?

This weather makes me long for Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. The weather there varies between a high of 90, to 70, a low of 70 to 40. The humidity varies between 30 and 70 percent, and the sun shines most days. A downpour in the afternoon in monsoon season inks the skies and makes the sugar cane leaves shine. The surf pounds the white sand and fills the air with the scent of salt and ions. The cockies and magpies cry with mischief, and life. Sub tropical flowers bloom year round and caress with their ever present scent. The lifesaving clubs and pubs pulse with life all the day, and night, long. No place is perfect; there are man killing snakes longer than a Hummer, lethal jellyfish and crocodiles in the surf. Some places are worth the risk. A few years ago one could vacation (even live) on the South Queensland coast like the rich, on a middle class American budget. No more. Our unwise and unnecessary national debt has sent the dollar plunging in value throughout the developed world.

Finally today, the weather is warming into the 50's and the sun is out. We are of course still inside, this time at a library. We just accepted another assignment due the middle of this month, so the work goes on. I am looking forward to exploring the Florida Panhandle. We were there in Turtle One our first long trip out in 1997-98 and really enjoyed a couple of the state parks. I remember the beaches and wetlands as being special. This time we'll take pictures!

West Central Florida

2007-12-29T11:49:00.001-08:00

Weeki Wachee Springs is 60 years old. It is Old Florida, with the feel of a roadside attraction. The mermaids don't stand out beside the road and wave the motorists in for a show anymore though. Darn it. It's mostly for kids now. I sure would have liked to have seen it when I was a boy of about 12 or so. Wooooeeee. Now I think the college age girls are just cute, in a sexy kind of way. I'd better stop before I get into trouble.

. A brave bird at Homosassa Springs

Any alligators down there? We took our first bike ride in ages, on a really nice paved Central Florida trail. We learned soon after we arrived here that Florida is no place to ride on the roads, unless you have intimate knowledge of the backroads, know how to speak Cracker and maybe carry a gun. Maybe that's why they seem to be having success building multi use trails. The trails seem to get a lot of use , which will mean support for more. The only thing we don't like is they are flat flat flat. We miss Mount Lemmon, but I doubt we'd make it far, we're so out of shape. Still we did manage 42 miles yesterday, on another flat trail.

We had a couple of nice short hikes in Potts Preserve, a very nice state wildlife preserve. They make it hard to find for out-of-staters, but I can understand such a populous, touristy state wanting to keep something for the locals. It makes the search all the more rewarding.

Next we head for the Florida Panhandle, where we hope to find fewer people, white sandy beaches, more public lands, and less humidity.

Everglades

2007-12-29T11:38:00.001-08:00

We only bussed the Everglades, but it was one of those kisses that linger in memory. It would take at the very least months to develop a relationship the Everglades. Neither swamp nor upland, it is both, but its life blood is a slow moving sheet of water flowing from Florida's highlands (if a couple of hundred feet above sea level can be called highlands). The problem is that we humans, first in ignorance and later with greed, interrupted and redirected the flow of water, and changed, probably forever, the nature of very complex ecosystem. In recent years, at very great expense, an attempt is being made to restore something close to historic flows to the Everglades. Time will tell if it proves out, or not. I'm glad we got a taste of it at least, thanks to our wonderful National Park system.

The Florida Keys

2007-12-18T11:44:00.001-08:00

Turtle roughing it in the Keys

Key West is for the birds

Sunset at the end of America.

I didn't need our bikes tuned, thank goodness. He had this tendency to take long breaks until somebody put some folding money in the bucket. slowest bike mechanic I've ever seen!

This silly six foot tarpon thought my camera was a fish! Almost lost it, and a few fingers too.

The No Name Pub is thought to have over 100,000 $1 bills stuck to the ceiling. We ate lunch instead.

Sharing my one-handed technique for getting a fish off the hook. My grandpa taught me when I was about this little guy's age, a few decades ago.

The two sides of the Florida Keys

Recreational Vehicle Industry Association show in Louisville, 2007

2007-12-10T09:41:00.001-08:00

The Tailgater: It had NO beds, just for party time; around $400,000

Motorcycle with sidecar to attract attention to a display.

Lean Mean Amish Machine, our favorite.

Happy Birthday Winnebago!

We spent three outrageously busy days learning all we could about the RV industry, meeting all the people we've heard about, and eating the great food in the Press Room. It was relaxing to get back on the road, racing winter south.

Another Country

2007-12-10T07:32:00.000-08:00

For lots more photos: http://www.newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/

We thought we were staying in America when we canceled the trip to South America. Then, at the Tennessee Welcome Center we met a man who wanted to make sure we saw a certain battlefield in Chattanooga, "...in the Northern War of Aggression." I guess we really are two countries.

Other things heard in the South: "I think we ought to nuke the entire Middle East." "Only people who own property and pay taxes should be allowed to vote." and most amazing, "Barrak Obama will impose Islamic Law if elected president." We'd all be living the law of President Bush's church if that were possible under the Constitution. It isn't.

I am confused. It appears that the South Shall Rise Again is no longer a aphorism, but an accomplished fact. Some of them (lots of them?) have separated from the rest of the country. We await a formal declaration of war. Given the success they had (in what I thought was called the Civil War) at picking their battles, they might want to think twice.

We drove longer and faster than usual to get to the Kennedy Space Center to see the Shuttle launch. Luckily we found a wonderful boondock spot at the edge of a wildlife refuge and had four each glourious sunsets and sunrises, surrounded by friendly RVers, wildlife and local fishers. The mozzies left welts that linger a week later, but they are not bad during the day. It's a good thing we found the boondock, the RV parks are outrageously expensive. (Go to Arizona!) After three cancellations due to some sensors, (they probably work as well as our black-water sensors) we gave up and drove south.

Our first bike ride in Florida we were treated to two young men in a pickup suggesting that it would be common courtesy for us to ride on the sidewalk. We were not blocking traffic and the lanes were wide. I suspect it was our bright clothing that offended him. I wonder if bicyclists here learn to wear camo.

The next day we took mountain bikes, rode sidewalks and grass verges and had a wonderful day, including the best hot dog I've had since West Virginia: steamed bun, chilli and coleslaw. Yum. Most of the people we meet are from somewhere else, here for the winter. There seem to be lots of people living in old cars and trucks, sleeping with the mozzies in the managroves I suspect. The homeless don't always show up at shelters to be counted.

After we left the Space Coast, we drove down A1A along the barrier islands, filled with beautiful large and expensive houses, and some very nice county parks and beaches. Each time we stopped at a beach, we began coughing and or sneezing. We thought it was an unusual reaction to salt air, but later learned it is an alergic reaction to a kind of red tide that is driving people from the coast. We both got stung by a blue jellyfish I was trying to get closeup photos of, when a larger wave washed it around our ankles and toes. Vinegar (we learned in Australia) helped, and the sting lasted only a few hours. Now we know why we had the beaches to ourselves, red tide and stinging jellyfish. Lovely still.

We did wonder how many of those beautiful houses will be gone next hurricane. I somehow don't think those people will be living in FEMA trailers. I just hope we don't end up having to pay to rebuild the beach they should not have built on. The barrier islands should be kept as just that, barrier islands, used as parks and wildlife refuges, to protect the inner coast, not covered by houses that distroy the vegetative matte that holds the sand. Money talks, and money buys politicians, and insurance.

Florida will be interesting, already is; stay tuned. I have a lot to learn.

For more photos: http://www.newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/

Consorting with Muslims, Again!

2007-11-12T11:14:00.000-08:00

Last night we broke bread with Muslims for the first time since returning from our Silk Road bicycle crossing. Claire's father Dave and stepmother Lynn, took us to a fund raising dinner for the local Muslim association in Carroll County Maryland. The draw was a wonderful Pakistani dinner, hot and savory. They are now having Friday prayers, in a local Christian church which I found both amazing and wonderful.

The church apparently lost a few members and were criticized by a few locals who seem to think all Muslims are terrorists, or terrorist sympathizers. That is ignorant. It's like saying that because the KKK carried crosses when they hung Negroes in the South, that all Christians of the time supported murder.

The food and the faces, the scarves on the women, brought back memories of hearing prayers from minarets as we rode Zippy across Central Asia; and the amazing hospitality they showed to us as Americans, when our government is not very popular in much of the world.

Someday there will be a real mosque in Carroll County, and it will be partly because of the congregation of one Christian church who did what Jesus would do, and other Christian and secular Caucasian Americans who support the cause of inclusion and brotherly love.

It gave me a feeling of hope that I haven't had for awhile.

Maryland Fall Color Photos

2007-11-09T19:22:00.000-08:00

Claire climbing an old growth grapevine in Catoctin Mountain Park (where Camp David is hidden); she was looking for the President, but he didn't show.

Go to http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com (see top link at right) for photos of some nice Maryland fall colors, and a look at one of Claire's three favorite brothers!

The Pups Watch Us

2007-10-25T07:43:00.000-07:00

Fergus minding Claire one summer past

We are in Maryland at Claire's father's, a border collie farm near Westminster, Maryland.

Dave McCabe and his wife Lynn, fell in love with border collies a few years ago, first with Fergus and then a rescue dog, Paddy. Paddy unfortunately had been on his own for nearly a year, and had health issues that eventually claimed him, but not after he had enjoyed several years of unconditional love and excellent medical care. He was recently replaced with Nala, another rescue dog, but with a much better past. Fergus and Nala are both top dogs, humans are subordinate. They eat hamburger ground turkey mixed with dry dog food, topped with Pupperoni. The dogs, not the humans. The humans have to eat things like prime rib, veggies an salads.

The puppies, as Dave calls them, are watching Claire and I for a week while Dave and Lynn cruise the Rhine. Somebody has to do it; watch us, that is. We try and not be too much trouble. Claire doesn't chew up the furniture and I hardly ever knock over lamps while chasing a ball. We don't ask to be taken outside too often, but we do seem to prefer getting walked when it is raining hard. Some days the puppies want to stay in their outdoor play space (pen) and they send us to Turtle, so Claire can meet her deadlines, and I can write drivel like this.

The pups let us go for a bike ride Sunday, and I used the excuse of going to the post office to ride 32 miles another day. Boy did I get a barking at when I got back; must have worried Fergus.

Fall has come to the East, and gone, directly into winter. Not really, but it seems that way, when temperatures go from 80 to 50, and skies go from blue to rain in a few days.

We found some the best leaf color when we first arrived in Maryland, but the rain and wind have turned them brown and taken half of them off the trees already, and there are still faded green leaves hanging on. This is indeed a strange autumn.

Landscape, Change and Selective Memory

2007-10-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

Since our main purpose in coming to New England this year was to gather fall color photographs, and material for magazine stories, this decline in color affected us. Only by using a few photographers’ tricks I have been able to get enough color images for the several stories we will eventually produce from this trip. I see a moral issue here: if the trend of poor color in New England continues; should we contribute to attracting people to New England when they are likely to be disappointed, as we were? Certainly the travel industry and chamber of commerce fall color web sites we regularly visited didn’t mention that the colors were spotty, washed out and weak. Their job was to fill the motels and B&Bs for as many weekends as possible.

But my disappointment was part of a bigger issue: how landscape is a product of change, and selective memory, and bound to, sooner or later, disappoint.

New England, for example: I grew up in the East, and yet the New England of my dreams came from calendar photos and Robert Frost poems. The poems were written in the 1910's and 1930's when New England was an agrarian society where people mostly made their living from the land. They built fences of stone and carved meadows and fields out of the forest, ground grain with water power, plowed and timbered with horses. They built covered bridges, not from a sense aesthetic, but for the practical reasons of climate. The calendar photos I saw were taken no later than the 1950's and already the photographers had to find just the right spots to make sure the images they presented matched those poems of many years before.

So I went to New England expecting say, North Conway, NH to be a bucolic village of a few hundred souls, church steeples, a meeting hall and country store; this inviting place would be surrounded by farms equal parts bright orange and yellow maples and meadows, each cornfield and pasture surrounded by a lovingly maintained stone fence. There is a little of all of that in and around North Conway, very little. What there is a lot of is factory outlet stores, by the hundreds, or so it seems. There is a Wal*Mart, for which we were thankful, carefully hidden away unlike the outlet stores which line the main street almost to the middle of town.

So, what’s a photographer to do? Cheat of course: hide all the power poles and lines, all the outlet stores and non-stop traffic jam; train the lens on a church steeple, detail of Colonial architecture with a hint of fall color blocking the satellite TV antennae. This is difficult for a photographer to do. In order to make pleasing compositions, ones that direct the viewers eye, inner and outer, to the essence of the subject, we must first see the subject dispassionately, warts and all, otherwise we get an image of warts. You see, your eyes are only a lens, not a camera. Your film, or memory card, is your brain, and your brain is far from objective: all grandparents know that their grandchildren are the most beautiful and most intelligent children ever to grace the universe. This of course is impossible, subjective, but oh so very true for them.

Your eye lens takes in a general scene that approximates a standard lens on a 35mm camera of 50mm. The content of that frame is imaged in total objectivity and passed on to your brain, where almost anything can happen to it, depending on the processing of your brain. If there is a running dog, aimed at you, your brain, unlike the eye, will immediately recognize it as a possible threat, zoom its attention in to 200mm, ignoring all around, make an evaluation based on the barred teeth (and growl) of the dog that it is time to initiate fight or flight. That ability to zoom in on what might be important is unique to the combination of eye and brain that no sophisticated camera has been able to achieve.

Photographers can only compose the image to direct your attention to what we want you to focus on: the beautiful white church steeple and blazing red tree, cropping out the tourist trinket store nearby, the streetlight, the parking meter and Hummer, and that annoying brat skateboarding past just as you are about to press the shutter for the perfect moment, the moment that will recreate New England Village of 70 years ago. It is a bit easier for painters, they can just leave out all evidence of modern life, or paint from very old photographs. It’s hard for a photographer to put a horse and elegant carriage cantering past in place of the skateboarder, without a Hollywood budget, but even that can be done if the advertising budget is large enough.

Which brings up why photographers, painters, illustrators and graphic designers, go to so much trouble to remove those warts? Motivation number one is money. A coach tour company selling a fall leaf tour wants photos for its brochures and ads to evoke romanticized images that will create nostalgic responses about what a New England fall visit should be, not the unvarnished truth. The idealized images trigger selective memory of a landscape of another age, dimly remembered from a childhood in New England, or more likely from second hand images. Motivation number two is simply aesthetics. Creative people want to put their stamp on any image they create. This could just as well mean making those streetlights, parking meters, Hummer and skateboarder the center of focus, to point out the true experience of a modern North Conway. Both are valid uses of selective imaging, but neither can be the whole truth for any one person. You have to be there and make those choices for yourselves, deciding whether the New England of today is what you expect, seen through your own glass darkly.

For me, my first New England experience left me disappointed at not being able to find more examples of the images my reading of Robert Frost had embedded in my young mind in middle school.

There was much more traffic than we are accustomed to in small towns in the West, and found that often the line of traffic stretched from one village to the next. New England’s narrow streets were built for horse and buggy, but then so were streets in the West; perhaps when Easterners headed west, they built new cities with very wide streets; did they know the automobile was coming? I doubt it; but what was the reason?

Visiting the New England of today, however did change my perceptions and expectations, and I found I liked parts of it after awhile. Peacham, Vermont has too many power poles and lines, TV dishes and cars, but after some time there, those things mostly disappeared and I saw the lovely old cemetery as a treasure, remembered the church basement dinner and the people, the meeting house steeple sticking above the green and gold leaves and the meadow and cornfield from a high ridge above the village. So, over time, I created a new landscape of that place, selecting out the unwanted, unromantic, unaesthetic and having it my way. That is human nature. We select out what we don’t like in a landscape, and focus on, hold on to, the things we treasure.

That is a good thing, and a bad thing. The good part is we can enjoy our local landscape even though it is becoming crowded with those factory stores we like to shop at, but would prefer not to look at. The bad part is it allows us to selectively ignore those things we don’t like to see, and so allow unexamined growth to overtake and ultimately subsume our uniqueness. That is what has happened to North Conway, New Hampshire, but has not occurred (yet) to Peacham, Vermont.

The Loss of Robert Frost's New England

The loss of Robert Frost’s New England began with the Industrial Revolution, when many left the farms to work in the water powered textile mills of the larger towns. Whole families moved to town to work in the mills, leaving the farms behind. Neighbors bought the farms, but had to mechanize to take care of the additional acreage. Horses began to give way to tractors, which meant fields were enlarged, and the first loss of those famous stone fences began. With World War II came an avalanche of change that would inevitably bring relatively rapid change to the landscape of New England. The young men went to war, the young women went to build B-17s, and their families lost ground to the encroachments of nature for at least four years. The GI Bill of Rights meant many of the young men went off to college, something few farm boys could ever dream of. After college few returned to the family farm and ma and pa lost more ground to time and age, and the farms began to grow up in brush first and finally small trees.

Some young men stayed home and tried to hold out, but the economics of city life drew most of them away. By the 1960’s the patchwork quilt of meadow, field and sugar patch, all delineated by well-kept stone fences, had given way to young forest. The few farms and dairies had to greatly enlarge and further mechanize in order to survive, and the landscape was again altered. Now, the abandoned farms host expensive single-family, mostly second homes, or small developments, surrounded by maturing forests. The stone fences have long fallen, overtaken by forest, moss and neglect. Time changes everything. Robert Frost’s New England landscape is made of memory, on Christmas cards and in the souvenir shops between the outlet stores in North Conway.

Most (not all) of the pictures you see here are fictions of a sort, crafted of real places, but carefully made to produce a pleasant colorful image that fulfills the dreams of what our eventual magazine readers’ idea of a New England autumn.

For a few photos of New England: http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com

Perhaps someday I will go back to New England, and allow my camera to dispassionately record what is, not attempt to recreate what was.

Fall colors and global warming:

2007-10-23T12:38:00.000-07:00

Excerpted from Associated Press reports; the boldface is mine.

"University of Vermont plant biologist Tom Vogelmann, a Vermont native says autumn has become too warm to elicit New England's richest colors."

"According to the National Weather Service, temperatures in Burlington have run above the 30-year averages in every September and October for the past four years..."

How warmer climate affects trees:

Colors emerge on leaves in the fall, when the green chlorophyll of summer breaks down.

In order to hasten the decline of chlorophyll, (to get the bright colors we all want to see) cold nights are needed.

Otherwise: "The leaves fall off without ever becoming orange or yellow or red. They just go from green to brown," said Barry Rock, a forestry professor at the University of New Hampshire."

Most of the locals we met in New England complained of poor color the past two years. Some blamed the lack of rain this summer, and yet others said last summer was rainy and it was still poor color. Both years had well above average temperatures. I would be interested to know if springs are also warmer. Would that lead to the decline of maple syrup production, which needs freezing nights to drive the sugar-laden sap up the tree in quantities necessary.

I once lived in a beautiful part of West Virginia, the Potomac Highlands. It is far south of what is ordinarily thought of as maple syrup country, yet many years had good sap production and lots of farmers added to their income producing syrup. There would often be several years of low production, and then a couple of great years. Perhaps that is the future of the New England maple syrup industry. Oh well, we have maple flavored corn syrup.

The science of global warming has been confused and co opted for short term political advantage, and thus serious action delayed. The moral and common sense decline of American politics grows ever more acute. New England fall colors and maple syrup production are not all that important in the overall scheme of things, but do miners notice when just one canary keels over dead, or does it have to be ten or a hundred...

Reminder of Photo Blog

2007-10-19T17:20:00.000-07:00

Just a reminder that I am now posting most of my photos to: http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/ You can find the link to the right at the top of my list of links. The Live Writer software Edwina Dale introduced me to is a tad hard to learn, but is turning out to be worth the effort particularly when it comes to posting photos larger, and more editing opportunities. I hope you'll give this new blog a try and add it to your favorites! bob

The Invisible Ones

2007-10-12T06:47:00.000-07:00

You know that by preference, Claire and I boondock in Turtle most of the time. To boondock means to park in a remote area overnight. We generally don't need the services of RV parks, and so don't see the point of spending the time to register, hook up water, electric and sewer each night, when we only need the water and sewer once a week, and electric hookup is a convenience, not a necessity. So why pay $30 or more for something we don't need? We have done so three times since the middle of May.

Many times our overnight parking can't be in our preferred wild country, but in urban areas, mostly at welcoming Wal*Marts. We simply park, eat dinner, go to sleep and leave in the morning. We don't put out an awning (don't have one) lawn chairs, grills, slide-outs (don't have) or other signs of "camping", and we discourage other RVers from doing the same; we have even put copies the Escapees overnight parking etiquette rules under a few windshield wipers of flagrant offenders. However generally RVers are considerate, park in a far corner of the lot and Wal*Mart has a very large traveling customer base; we all want to buy as much from them as we can in thanks. It works, and I think Wal*Mart has found the RVers to be a calming factor in late night shenanigans; sort of like piping Classical music into stores who don't want teenagers hanging around. I mean, what self respecting teen or drug dealer wants to be seen around a bunch of old farts in RVs!

That is background, now to my point: Increasingly, we see small families sleeping in their cars in Wal*Mart lots. They, like us, are quiet and unobtrusive. There is the potential for a sanitation problem, but most stores are open 24 hours for toilet availability. It used to be that the cars were old and beat up looking, worth a few hundred bucks at best, and probably a down and out family heading back to Appalachia after falling on hard times in the big city where they went to work.

Now I see a new trend; late model cars, less than five years old, well kept. I slept in my VW when I was in college, but then I was young, frugal and adventurous and my back could take sleeping in a car seat. The PT Cruiser we have seen the last three nights in Wal*Mart sleeps three people: a mother, her pre-teen son, and grandfather; I can't imagine the pain for the old man. As inexpensive as some motels are these days, there is something else going on here. They are, at least temporarily, homeless. I can think of a number of scenarios, and all involve a sudden decline in financial circumstances, since a late model PT Cruiser is not cheap. But our stocks are going up, how can this be?

Why do we say they are invisible? Only we RVers and store personnel know they are staying all night. Wal*Mart is not a destination shopping experience for most, and people are in and out quickly, and would assume the three people in the beige PT Cruiser are waiting for someone inside to finish shopping.

I am always a bit conflicted about invading their privacy to find out if we can help. They are proud, or they would be knocking at our door begging, and that has never happened. Being transients ourselves, we have nothing to offer in the way of knowledge of local social services, if any, and a little money is not the answer they seek. I can only hope they find a way to improve their circumstances soon, as I go to sleep in my comfortable, if small, RV home.

A few miles north of here, is a resort where the rooms begin at hundreds of dollars a night, and it appeared full for the leaf peeping season. It makes one wonder how some can be so wealthy, and others who's struggles are invisible. Personal choices are always a factor I suppose. Fortune is probably a bigger factor: if you were born to wealthy parents, you will most likely be even better off than they; you were born with a native intelligence and bought a fine education. Some of the fortunate manage to blow it, and some born to disadvantage make good. But those are the poles, not the middle ones who do the best they can with what they were given, and who's struggles are invisible to the rest of us. Oh, I can hear some say some sin brought this on, that they are being punished, taught a lesson by a vengeful god. Well I have an opinion about that which I will keep to myself, today.

We, and all of you who have the time and means to read this, have been very fortunate indeed. Be thankful, and keep your eyes open where you live, for the invisible ones.

Vermont Colors l,2,3

2007-10-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

I am attempting to learn how to use Widows Live Writer to post to Live Space, and it is a slow process, so bear with me please. I am making progress. To see photos of Vermont this fall: http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/ for three postings of photos. You can get to that blog, which won't necessarily match this one, at any time by clicking on the link at the right that reads: Turtle's Adventures 2007-2008

The Road(s) Taken

2007-10-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

If anyone wants to see the stanzas corrected, go to http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/

Does anyone know how to get html to make double line breaks so I can create five line stanzas of this poem? Double paragraph symbols doesn't work.

This, perhaps most quoted of Frost poems, seems most descriptive of the method we have found most productive, joyous and adventurous for our leaf color searching. Besides, we're in Frost country, though I'd imagine it's changed a bit, but his muse might as well be our muse while wandering Vermont.

Our method: We take any dirt or gravel road that promises color and views, and avoids the hordes of leaf peepers along the red highways where the color is far away, pale and dissappointing. Our new (one year old soon) Winnebego View motorhome, is skinny enough, and short enough, to go places few dare tread; even the scant cars we meet, and skinny up to pass, are slack-jawed at our audacity. But, we know our Turtle and where he can go and, usually, where he cannot.

We also often sus-out a place to park near the high point, and best color, of a Green Mountain crossing, and thus are at the best place to utilize the warm colors of morning and evening; even one rainy morning, and one foggy, proved lovely in a way that could not be had by the time most people were having their first coffee. We begin our quest after one early cuppa and stop for breakfast later, since the milk is always in the refrigerator with us anyway, and the stove always at the ready to produce cuppa number two.

This motorhome is much better built than our first, and takes the shaking of dirt roads very well; all the cabinets are still tight and nothing rattles except our accumulated stuff.

Perfect Day in Peacham, VT

2007-10-09T10:12:00.001-07:00

We'd heard Peacham, Vermont was considered one of the most picturesque villages in Vermont, so we had to go see for ourselves. What we found was indeed picturesque, I shot gigs of photos, but we found more. It was a real place with real people and a real history. Only one small negative did we find: a couple from San Diego moved there, bought the general store, and filled it with, what I'm sure they think is quaint, and made it a tourist attraction, but even they were nice, and no doubt mellowed by Peacham.

What happens when you try and cheat: Claire threw leaves in front of my camera, for an attempt at that windblown leaf look. Somehow it doesn't quite work.

After an afternoon exploring, we decided we'd give Pecham a whole day in our rushed desperately-seeking-color-tour, to relax, take a bike ride and, since my camera never lets me rest for long, take pictures. The afternoon was sunny, and nearly 80 degrees, something locals had never seen before, since more of their memories of this time of year involved rain and snow and wind, they were all in a great mood.

Bob, who cooked the spaghetti dinner sauce for at least three days, entertained us with Pecham stories and history, between stirring the sauce and organizing the next night's church basement dinner. We were so impressed with his sauce that he invited us to spend the night parked in the meeting house (what they call a church hereabouts) so we could go to the dinner. We never turn down a free place to park, and that sauce did smell great.

Cowbells, bluejays and crows awakened us the next morning to another, even warmer, day. After a walk in the cemetery, or was that the day before, anyway a walk and pictures, we unloaded the mountain bikes and headed up a gravel road looking for color. We found some, and an intriguing sign leading to a pond (small lake hereabouts) and there we found great color, a loon and a local girl out for a kayak tour of the pond. It would have been a perfect boondock spot, but we already had a good one, right in the middle of the village.

After the dinner was over, and Bob had refused our offer of cleanup duty, we reluctently drove off into the main road crazy leaf peeping traffic to seek a Wal*Mart closer to our next destination, Green Mountain National Forest.

Banned Books Week

2007-10-02T10:39:00.001-07:00

We have crossed back over the border and are entering Vermont for the second time, still in search of those famous New England fall colors we have heard so much about. So far they are a little washed out, or at least eluding us, but we still have high hopes, and the landscape is lovely anyway.

New Hampshire. Afternoon shadows hint of winter light to come.

We are back in one of our favorite libraries of the trip, in Saint Johnsbury, Vermont. It is filled with beautiful artwork , woodwork and books; and of course wi fi! I really like the combination of old and new in libraries here, where there is money available. The Conway, NH library was in an old brick building, probably the town hall from the clock tower, but was modern inside, but with beautiful old stained glass and calligraphy of famous quotes running around the rooms below the ceiling. Here everything, down to the glass in doors and clocks looks to be over 100 years old, and yet the wi fi is fast!

This happens to be Banned Books Week, and the library has yellow Fire Line Do Not Cross tape across two doors to rooms where formerly banned books are displayed. It's a sad commentary on the past and present when you read a list of banned books; I mean, Tom Sawyer! not so long ago banned in some Southern libraries, probably because of White/Black friendship, or in a few cases, people who see a queer around every corner. Some Americans think think if we could only return to pre Civil War social norms, we would be better off. Heck, why not return to burning witches, and books, while we're at it.

Books, and the libraries who revere them, are one of the most important foundations of our democracy. So much media we absorb today is composed of sound bites mouthed by loud rude uninformed performers with little sense of integrity. I somehow feel a responsibility to all these books around me when I write this blog in this old building where so many have read, and written.

Love your library and your freedom of expression. There are few things more valuable in America.

In order to get a photo of me on this blog, I have to have a place to have it hosted. So I am having it hosted here. Sorry you have to look at me all the time. My sister, Anna Ruth (we're from West Virginia) says it is the perfect portrait, because everyone always sees me with a camera, not in the picture, which is the way I prefer it. Claire took this when I was taking a photo of her to accompany her Desert Leaf work sometimes, and who knows, perhaps me too sometimes.

John Edwards at a New Hampshire town meeting

2007-09-28T08:50:00.000-07:00

Dateline Conway, New Hampshire.

Turtle is now famous!

The presidential primary season is in full swing here in the North Country. As sure as the leaves turn in the White Mountains, the presidential hopefuls flit and flutter around the state like the last butterflies of summer. Only one of them will leave the state before the first killing frost.

Young idealistic men and women rush to and fro, Blackberries and laptops busy gathering crowd reactions, updating schedules, spinning the press, then it’s on to the next town meeting. Locals come out of passion or curiosity, or maybe for just an excuse to get together with town folk of the same general persuasion.

We were working in the lovely Conway library (they know how to keep historic buildings alive around here) when Claire noticed a poster announcing that John Edwards was due to greet the voters in a couple of hours. We arrived in time to squeeze Turtle into a small spot, stern hanging over the grass, in the nether regions of the lot of a church converted to arts center and community meeting hall. We were about the last to be let in, due to fire codes, and just in time to enjoy a half hour of rousing bluegrass before the arrival of the former vice presidential candidate.

The arrival was a modest kind of thing, but everybody stood up, John Edwards shook hands and gave a few hugs on his way to the stage, He wasted little time getting into the stump speech he gives several times a day. His delivery was impassioned and natural if by necessity canned. Then he took questions, some of which were a challenge to his positions, and he seemed to handle them well.

He would certainly be an improvement on our current President in his ability to use the English language, but then almost anyone would win that contest. He touched on all the hot button issues, and made comparisons with the two opinion poll leaders, Obama and Clinton. I found common ground with him on the healthcare, the Iraq war and most environmental issues, but disagreed with him on strong support for unions and being opposed to a revival of nuclear power.

Not that it matters. I don’t vote in New Hampshire, and if I were voting here, I would be voting in the Republican primary. but, probably not, I don't vote with people who have been calling themselves Conservatives the last couple of decades. I like Ike, and Goldwater. Things have gone downhill since Reagan; just the opinion of an old Johnson hating Goldwater Republican, turned independent in recent years.

Nice haircut.

The crowd ranged from working people, a few loggers, a lot of older people and not enough young people. The media, particularly the electronic media, were beginning to get that bored look of people too long on the same story. God help them. They’s a long road ahead.

Outside, he paused to give the poor working stiffs of the print media a chance to ask a few questions. Goodness, what have we here: intelligent, carefully worded questions of import, unlike the, no-surprise-here sound bite questions asked by the electronic guys. I worked ever so briefly, ever so many years ago, in both media, and I don’t remember there being such a difference between talking heads and reporters. But I digress.

The big news is that Turtle, our little home on wheels, served as the backdrop for this final press conference of the evening. Now he can say he was present in politically historic New Hampshire the night the tide changed for, What’s-his-name; or not.

Waiting for the color to change in northern Maine

2007-09-23T16:49:00.000-07:00

Filling water jugs for boondocking at a community spring in Lee, Maine.

Mount Katahdin with just a touch of color.

Rapids on the Penobscot River with Mount Katahdin.

Last days at the Camp. Last cruise on South Twin Lake.

Japan?

Down East Maine, Ya caaan't geet theah from heah."

2007-09-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

Down East (east of Bar Harbor by my reckoning) gets quiet after Labor day. The locals come out of hiding and enjoy their coast and towns as they were meant to be. They fish off the town breakwater, paint a picture of a local historic building, eat fish and chips, hoist sails and race, play the part of pirates, drink beer of course, and jaw. It's a site to see, it is, and worth the long haul Down East.

This S. Carolina couple have ridden their Harleys to the four corners of the U.S., the Quoddy Head light their final one. (The four corners farthest west, south, east, and north, are in Washington, Florida, Maine, and Minnesota) Bettcha didn't know Minnesota?

Corea harbor.

Eastport doins'

She wasn't painting Turtle.

Eastport, eastern most city in the U.S. Don't tell that to South Lubec, a bit to the east, but it's hardly a city, but then most places Eastport wouldn't be either. It is however, loaded with nice people, and fun loving too.

Pirate battle at Eastport. The good guys won.

This is a locals only spot a few miles out of W. Pembroke. Don't look for it on a map, the roads don't show. You might see it on a tourist brochure, but they don't tell outlanders how to get there. "Ya caaaan't geet theah from heah."

The 22 foot tides (this is near the mouth of the Bay of Fundy) pour over a shoal between an island and shore and make standing waves and whitewater. They call it the reversing falls, and you can see it every 12 hours, give or take, going the opposite way.

It was so loud from our boondock spot a hundred yards from shore, that it woke me at 4am. I managed to crawl out by 5am and make this picture.

We had the place to ourselves. Some things you can't buy: the discovery of something special, and the ability to make it your own for one evening and night, one morning, and a life-long memory. Winter's coming, but not yet.

A Great Mystery

I stood between two men on the Eastport breakwater and watched others pull in mackerel. One of the men was outgoing, talkative, the other silent. The gregarious one was covered with Vietnam War memorial patches, badges and slogans; his participation in the war was obviously the main component of his identity. He was proud, and seemingly undamaged; nice guy.

I could tell nothing about the other man; he looked at the sea and the fish and the gulls, and didn't talk much. Then something happened that told me who he was. The partying "Pirates" shot off their cannon down a ways, as they had been doing at intervals all day. The second man nearly jumped out of his clothes. You'd think he'd been shot. I said, "Man, that thing is too loud!", mostly to make him feel not alone.

He looked at the sea again. "It's okay," he said, "just something about forty years ago." He was a Vietnam Veteran too. But he, who was not wearing his service for all to see, had been the one facing the booby traps, the mines.

Acadia National Park, Maine

2007-09-02T11:31:00.001-07:00

Twilight

Joining the crowds after road biking to the top of Cadillac Mountain, about a 1,000 ft climb. When we told curious tourists that we regularly cycle a mountain seven plus times that big in Tucson, their eyes said they thought we were full of it.

The parking lot from the top of the aptly named Precipice trail.

Claire on the Precipice trail; short but brutal.

After the Precipice, we mountain biked the carriage trails built by and for the wealthy. You can still ride a horse or carriage on the well maintained trails with numerous beautiful bridges.

Bar Harbor from the summit of Cadillac Mountain.

Bar Harbor

Huge wild roses grow from sea to summit of Cadillac Mountain.

Thunder Hole. Not much compared to Oregon and Washington blow holes, but obviously very popular hereabouts.

Those darn artists. They make a nice quiet place look so inviting that they end up attracting so many people that the landscape is too full of people to paint anymore! The Hudson River School of painters discovered Mount Desert Island (a dry forsaken place, or a luscious sweet, nobody knows for sure) and took their paintings back to Boston and New York to sell. The rich bought the paintings, and decided it would be a lovely place to take their summer holiday. Soon the quiet farming and fishing villages played host to the “cottages” of the fabulously wealthy of the golden era of capitalism. Then the merely wealthy came to huge “rustic” hotels, and the place has never been the same. Changing antitrust laws, (that Teddy Roosevelt!) and a handful of preservationists, led to large donations to land, and eventually the Federal Government created the first National Park east of the Mississippi in 1919. It is a very heavily visited park, but you only have to walk a few hundred feet into the forest to get your little bit of silence, and it is even possible to have an unshared stretch of rugged shore to yourself as sea birds and lobstermen make for shore in the gathering night. From tidepool to sub alpine it is well worth the visit, if you’re ever Down East.

I'm playing with another blog with limited success. However, with Edwina Dale's help I'll get it, when I have time from all this playing and working with Claire.

http://newbohemiansnet.spaces.live.com/

It's a bit sloppy now. I like some of the features, but it's a bit obtuse. I will persevere.

bob

Thanatopsis

2007-08-27T11:56:00.000-07:00

When I made this image, I wondered why it touched me. Janee's most recent post told me. They are in the late stages of a heroic battle with Michael's brain tumor. Now the time has come to settle in for sundown. Too soon one chair will be empty.

Michael has willed many to love Janee and support her in her twilight of loss. We will.

Live Free or Die

2007-08-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

Beauty and Beast

Steam engine in North Conway

Locals enjoying the river.

Early leaf.

We will be back in the White Mountains of New Hampshire by late September.

I love New Hampshire's state slogan. It no doubt means different things to different people; therein lies its' genius. They seem a bit laid back. We got to the Welcome Center coming in from Vermont in late afternoon, our preferred stopping time, and wanted to spend the night. We parked beside two big rigs settled in for the night. A very friendly Virginian, delivering Honda generators in the north country, told us he parks there weekly without problem. Claire hinted we wanted to stay to the Welcome Center staff, and he told her lots of people sleep there, even in cars. No worries. I remember traveling the East in college days, in my 1958 VW and (being both young and short), slept in the back seat in all kinds of places, some not so wise, like inner city Washington, D.C., but never had a problem. There is something undeniably pleasurable about sleeping in a public place; I'm sure it's not so fun for people who have no other choice, or without the nice motorhome, but it's fun for us.

The North Conway Chamber of Commerce visitors center was predictably more stuffy: "Definitely not." was the answer about parking near the center-of-town playground/park. We did anyway, tucked in beside a 60's hippie bus there for a craft fair the next day. Sometimes you just have to live free, despite the snooty minority.

The town of North Conway is chock-a-block with tourists, but we could tell there is a real town with real people raising families there. They came out on a hot Saturday in droves to splash in the innovative fountain pool and played tether ball and touch football. I thought of Moab Utah, the main street awash in tourist overload, but with quiet trails and parks and ball fields, and bucolic neighborhoods, tucked away from the noise and confusion, and as often the case with such towns, a fabulous library paid for with tourist taxes. Ah justice.

The Chamber of Commerce visitor center stirred up a topic: We have found in around 90,000 miles of away-from-home-base surface travel (bike and motorhome) in North America, that the state or provincial visitors centers are always very open and helpful, but the Chamber or Visitors and Convention Bureaus etc. seem to be only interested in directing you to their own members; any alternative or non-member queries are met with barely disguised disdain. The attitude makes us move on to a more friendly environment. It's just business I guess; In my business, I worked on the premise that good business is being open and helpful to potential customers (everybody is a potential customer!) whether they appear to be immediately interested or not. I suppose I'm old-fashioned that way. It worked for me.

I have noticed that Wal*Mart associates are quick to tell you where to find a product that they don't carry. That also applies to quite a few large stores like Ace Hardware. I think they have learned from Mom and Pop. The Chambers should give it a try.

Vermont

2007-08-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

An evening on Joe's Pond with Jim and Sue Paulsen.

We met Jim and Sue tandem touring in Nova Scotia in 1999. They had dinner with us in Turtle One several years ago in Tucson. We visited them in South Burlington, where we managed to get in two parties, and a bicycle ride that included a ferry ride, bicycles only. A day later, after we'd test driven and photographed a Roadtrek, we met them at the family camp on Joe's Pond, VT, for dinner, a short paddle and after breakfast, a sun warmed morning on the porch, watching loons and comparing world-travel stories. They showed up at the library in St. Johnsbury, where we were desperately in need of a break, and we enjoyed tomato sandwiches with them on the front lawn. We were jealous that they could ride off into the sunshine, while we went back to the computers.

Two Bicycle ferries passing on Lake Champlain.

Jim and Sue at home in South Burlington

Vermont grown. Vermonters fly the flag more than any place we've been.

A foggy morning at Cold Hollow Cider Mill. A wonderful boondock (ask first). Watching the very early stages of the process at Ben and Jerry's ice cream factory.

Library in St. Johnsbury, VT

Adirondacks and A Major Change of Plans

2007-08-17T12:38:00.001-07:00

Our first Adirondack pond.

Tweedy pair out for a woodsy stroll.

Ice cream stop, and father and son doing a "carry."

Snake eating frog, or is that frog eating snake? (double click for enlarged view)

Claire catching blueberries, fisherman catching nothing.

Northeast Shore features at Whiteface Ski Area.

Nice view for the road cyclist. The river's not bad either.

What kind of chairs are these?

Adirondack guide boat.

Bobsledding on concrete?

I don't think we've found a more friendly part of America than upstate New York. There is an idea abroad that New Yorkers are brusque, even rude; but that is New York City, and they're not so much rude as just surviving. But upstate New York, particularly the Adirondacks is friendly to a fault:

Coming in from the Northwest, down from the St. Lawrence, we stopped at the Adirondack Visitor's Center and peppered Lydia with questions of all sorts, so we could get as much out of our week in the park as possible. As we talked we discovered she had once lived in Beijing and loved travel as much as we do, and the bonding was off and running. One of our questions was where we could boondock, like we do almost all the time on federal lands in the west. She understood, and directed us to a Jones pond spot, that we were later to discover was pretty much a locals secret. A ranger stopped by one night and asked us where we'd heard about Jones Pond. We played dumb.

As the light dimmed, after dinner in our cozy little spot beside Jones Pond, Lydia and Porgy, Park volunteer and friend, and neighbor to us on Jones Pond, paddled up for a visit. Porgy even offered us kayaks to paddle the pond anytime we wanted. We unfortunately were too busy with work to do much but get in a hard bike ride the next day. We spent most of two days in the Paul Smith library, one the the best we have found so far, with a fabulous, and distracting, view of another pond. Our final day in the NE section of the park found us back at the Visitors Center and, by now in need of water for our shower tank; Lydia and Porgy to the rescue again: moved cars and found us a hose bib around the back of the center; this allowed us several more days in the Park for photographing and gathering material.

We had hot and humid weather for a few days, but the nights were cool if damp, then as we left the park, thunderstorms ahead of a cold front (bad ones for here) cleared and cooled the air. We are now in Vermont, another story.

Change of plans:

Claire recently received a request from one of her magazine editors to about quadruple her output for them. (me too, I do her photos). It was quite a dilemma for us, as we had already planned a trip to South America this winter, and it would not be possible to keep up even her current load with them while abroad. We decided the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Claire continues to get rave reviews for her work from all the editors she writes for, and even though our vagabond lifestyle will be altered, I think it is important for her to be able to pursue her writing. She's only 43! We will just have to figure out how to do fewer and shorter overseas trips, like most travelers. We've been spoiled, and we took full advantage of it. We will still travel extensively by RV throughout North America, thanks to the many libraries that now have wi fi and wall plugs, we'll just have to work a little more than play.

We still will not be returning to Tucson until early April; we have work to do all the way to Florida and Texas.

weather.com - Fall Foliage

2007-08-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

According to the Weather Channel web site, the fall leaves have already peaked! Must have done it while I slept! weather.com - Fall Foliage

Two Fun Boondocks

2007-08-13T13:47:00.001-07:00

These are two nice boondocks (free parking overnight) in upstate New York. The first is at a state highway rest area overlooking the St. Lawrence River which blessed us with a glorious sunset and rain during the night (the sound of rain on a motorhome roof is rad, and sleep inducing.

After we visited Edwina Dale (see her great new blog - link at right) we stopped at a roadside stand to buy fresh sweet corn. We asked him about a place to park overnight and he pointed to a large blue metal building about a quarter of a mile away.

"You can back right into that tool shed to get out of the sun. Then you can come back here after 6:30 when I close, or stay there, either one. I'll tell my brother you're there." He sounded more Canadian than US, but then the border is close, he probably has relatives in Canada. He was just one of many very friendly folks we've met so far in upstate New York. They got out of their way for strangers. More about friendly locals when I post from the Adirondacks.

We watched the bats leave the equipment shed at dusk, and slept soundly after a thrashing meal of corn and tomatoes

Sackets Harbor

2007-08-06T13:37:00.000-07:00

One the morning of August 4th, our 17th anniversary, we drove to the War of 1812 battlefield site and found a parking place beside the mouth of the harbor. There was an encampment of reenactors close by and we wandered among their canvas tents admiring their period clothing, muskets, canons and uniforms. I was particularly interested in the iron pot of beef stew on the cooking fire. We talked to several of the friendly folks and learned a good bit about the War of 1812 that we hadn't know before. Foster, Lai Lai, Pbear and Claire watching the regatta. We were placing bets, and I thrashed Claire and Pbear; he's a bad looser and smashed me in the nose; fortunately polyester fluff doesn't pack much of a punch.

Late morning we noticed a flotilla of sailboats coming out of the harbor, and waiting for them, a committee boat and markers; we were about to be treated to the annual fund raising regatta for Hospice. We had crewed for a Hospice race in Sequim, Washington once, and were looking forward to seeing this one. It was much bigger than the Sequim race, and some very, very fast looking boats. We crawled through the handy skylight on Turtle and set up to watch both events from our house roof. Lots of people were jealous of our high position!

In the middle of the racing, two reenactor longboats, one American and one British, maneuvered clumsily and shot cannon at each other. No casualties were observed. This was the prelude to the land battle reenactment to follow.

Connon blast at sunset

After a full day of watching the regatta, a sea and land battle, we walked to the marina to get a better look at the fast boats and enjoy the drunken sailors getting their trophies. Then it was back to the American camp for colors, which consisted of the firing of a large canon at sunset. It was a fitting ending to a full day.

We decided to risk having to move during the night, and stayed in our parking place, watched the stars through our skylight and slept soundly and undisturbed, cooled by the breeze off the lake. We decided it was a perfect end to our anniversary.

Oswego, NY

2007-08-06T13:29:00.000-07:00

A couple of days before our 17 anniversary, we were in Oswego, NY. Claire, ever on the lookout for free entertainment, found a concert in a town park. It proved to be shady with a breeze off the lake and a perfect way to spend an evening. Best of all it was Big Band era music with a 17 piece Big Band. Well, of course those who know us, know we can't resist dancing to that music, even if it is on the grass in front of a couple of hundred strangers. We met some nice folks who invited us to a small dance afterwards. We decided it was okay to begin our anniversary early.

Erie Canal

2007-08-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

We spent several days around the Erie Canal, mostly in the town of Brockport, meeting the locals, boaters, riding the canal tow path, and finding some lovely boondocks, the best being at the town tie-up for canal boats. One couple on a catamaran, mast lashed down for the canal, had been out since 2000, and we enjoyed a bit of cruising talk with some real pros; others were mostly renting small rebuilt canal boats you can rent, bicycles included. I think the canal might get a bit boring after a week or so, but then you'd be almost through to the lakes. It was hot, and humid, and remains so... We are in the East.

Canalboat and full moon

Niagara Falls as you never knew it...

2007-08-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

August Blog

Niagara Falls, Ontario is the most amazing collection of kitsch I’ve seen outside of Las Vegas. People don’t seem to have come for the falls, but for the amazing ideas entrepreneurs have come up with to separate them from their money. That so many of them hand over loonies and dollars to look at pale representations of already out of date pop culture speaks to the general level of intelligent thought in the general populous.

The Ontario side might be shallow and ostentatious, the American city of Niagara Falls is just plain sad. One huge casino and a collection of sad hotels and tour busses take up the first few blocks from immigration, and then the bottom falls out: broken down houses crawling with vines and surrounded by frost hove sidewalks. This fans out from the river in all directions for at least a mile, only to be broken by a golf course, of all things.

Rebecca Solnit writes, in the July issue of Harpers, of the decline of Detroit, (“Detroit Arcadia; Exploring the post-American landscape”) and other rust belt cities, and of the natural progression of things involving poverty and hopelessness. Detroit is the poster child for big cities crumbling from within, and becoming smaller cities. Niagara Falls, N.Y. is nobody’s poster child, falling beneath the radar of compassion, but it is undergoing the same throes of decline as Detroit.

It is a strange city layout that is produced by endemic poverty. It also seems to be about race, in most rust belt cities, big and small. Black people live in the few structures still standing, and in Niagara Falls, many of them seem to be holding their ground reasonably well, keeping up appearances, if not the structures they live in; they live in some small hope the somebody will notice their small city, see it’s decay and do something.

There are whole blocks where nothing grows but broken concrete, rotting wood and weeds. Other blocks sprout and grow reasonable sized trees’ perhaps a small forest someday.

The outer ring, out by the golf course, and the Wal*Mart, accessible to the poor of the inner ring and the well heeled farther, also houses the empty shells of industry gone, somewhere, somewhere, and piles of gray waste covered by a thin veneer of well watered grass, fake hills of what? doing what to the water table?

Wal*Mart is North America (Canada too) and we spend a lot of nights in Wal*Mart parking lots, snug in our little house on wheels, keys at the ready always, so far never needed for a fast get away, but ready. Wal*Marts represent the neighborhood where they are found more than any Arkansas utopian plan, standard.

One, in London, Ontario, was filthier than any we have ever seen in our years of staying in Wal*Marts and the one in Niagara Falls was in the top 10 in filth. The rust belt doesn’t respect national borders apparently. I remember thinking how much cleaner Canada was than the U.S.; not so the Great Lakes region between Erie and Ontario; it’s still the rust belt, most of the cities anyway.

In the most of the West, and along the interstate systems, in small but growing cities, they are clean and the employees busy keeping them that way. The one in London was perhaps an old one, but the soil build-up under the check out counters was truly amazing; cigarettes, packaging and dust drifted against the outside wall. Perhaps the Wal*Marts of the world let their older, inner city properties go on purpose, depending on the poor to not care, or not complain.

Most large box stores are really real estate holding companies really; they run a store until it is out of date, or run into the ground, sell the real estate and move further into the suburbs. They no longer build stores in the inner circle of cities, but more in small towns that can draw from surrounding suburbs, grow and appreciate real estate values. It’s a win win, except for the inner city folks who won’t even have a Wal*Mart to shop in.

But I diverge:

That donut between the “downtown” towers and the suburbs, is increasingly becoming depopulated, first by Whites fleeing the riots of the 70’s and 80’s and increasingly by Blacks who, through better educational opportunities and lessening of racism, are joining corporate America and themselves moving to the suburbs. Often ill advised government low income housing from the past has been abandoned and increasingly torn down, or as in Detroit, often burned by residents.

Now here’s the hopeful part of all this: The hardy survivors of this depopulation are discovering that urban soil is amazingly fertile and they are beginning to grow their own food, no doubt superior to the canned and frozen stuff they survived on from inner city groceries. I like that. And if they hold out long enough, they will own some very valuable property. Hmmmm. Justice can be slow, but perhaps will come.

Flying Dogs at the Free Fair in Ionia, Michigan

2007-07-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

A short drive from Grand Rapids is the town of Ionia. Claire had read of a Free Fair. Claire likes free as much as I do; we stopped for a look and stayed the rest of the day, looking at sheep and pigs and tractors and eating home made ice cream and people watching. Perhaps the best part of the day was the Air Dogs. People, regular people, train their dogs to long jump into a pool of water. Some dogs get to the edge and say, "No way!" others fly as far as 23 feet. We decided the border collie (top) had the best form, but she was way short of the Chesapeake Bay retriever. Sometimes the unplanned day can be among the best of days. Good thing there was a Wal*Mart nearby for overnight parking; the fairgrounds campground was full anyway and the overflow all followed us to Wal*Mart.

Way too much fun in Grand Rapids

2007-07-30T12:18:00.000-07:00

Erika and a friend We visited Tucson friends Dick and Helen Kelly at their Grand Rapids, Michigan home for three, not surprisingly, busy busy days. Dick and Helen enlisted their granddaughters, Annie and Erika in the endeavor to exhaust us. The girls began with a tour of the flora and fauna of the nearby woods, including some particularly satisfying rock chucking into a suitably mysterious pond. It was all downhill from there. They similarly enlivened a wild dune buggy ride, a trip to the beach, complete with a downhill sand dune race, and a visit to beautiful Meijer Gardens, where Erica convinced me to roll down a steep grassy hill (or was that my idea?). It's been about 50 years, but I can still roll straight; and grass still itches!

Erika kissing a mouse

Annie, friend Natalie, Erika and Dick riding the dunes

Lake Michigan is cold, even in July, right Erika?

As usual in the Kelly household, the food was wonderful, the wine well chosen and the conversation wide ranging. Daughter Kim and son-in-law, Jon joined us for two dinners; it was good to see them again. Keep up the great work with those girls!

Dick is hard at work promoting his book Growing Up In Mama's Club, about his childhood in the Jehovah's Witnesses. He will have a web site up soon and I will post it here. It is very interesting reading for anyone who ever opened their door to the tract promoting sect, or knocked on doors for them. It is only a matter of time before he has a very successful book on his hands, and well deserved.

Helen keeps things running swimmingly, and seems to me to be getting younger, as this next picture will prove: You go Girl!

We are looking forward to seeing Dick and Helen again next April in Tucson. By the time we see Erica and Annie again they will be all grown up, and Kim will have her new braces off! (an inside joke).

Sleeping Dunes National Lakeshore and FHTV Michigan Blast

2007-07-23T13:20:00.000-07:00

Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore

Claire riding the loop road in Sleeping Dunes. Short steep hills made for a good workout mostly in the trees on a one way traffic road. Sweet.

Then we went to Big Rapids for the Far Horizons Tucson Village midsummer Michigan bash.

Party Time!

Follow the FHTVsummerblog link at the right for more pictures.

Upper Penninsula of Michigan

2007-07-17T14:25:00.000-07:00

A hike at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

stream

lakeshore from cliff

fall? marsh iris

Turtle bush camp on Clear Lake (don't try and find it, there are thousands of Clear Lakes in the North Country).

sunset and rushes on Clear Lake

Mighty Mac

Frosty and his bridge. We just missed seeing the 100 foot long Erector Set model of Mighty Mac, in one piece.

lighthouse and Mighty Mac

Turtle crossing

Keneweenaw Peninsula

Bringing it home

2007-07-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

We were leaving Wal*Mart, paying for our overnight accommodations with purchased staples. I saw her coming, tall blond, attractive, at most 35. She looked ahead blankly. Then I saw the cane, the limp. Jeans covered the damage. It’s not winter, I thought; not a ski injury, soon to heal and have her showing those long legs again by summer. It is summer. I read her sweatshirt. My vision blurred; something slammed me in the chest, hard. “Army,” it said. Outside it was raining. It could have been a long night if I hadn’t gotten that sledgehammer off my chest. Thanks for taking it from me. Pass it on.

Lake Superior, and a few thoughts

2007-07-17T13:50:00.000-07:00

Sea caves, Bayfield, Lake Superior, Wisconsin berry farm

A few thoughts for some newlyweds

Above is the young couple on their honeymoon, we met when we took the kayak trip of the sea caves of the Bayfield Peninsula. We told them that our, honeymoon nearly 17 years ago, was 10 days in a sea kayak in the Broken Group off Vancouver Island, B.C. Michael is a researcher at the University of Wisconsin, and Laura is a Ph.D. candidate there. When they learned of our adventurous life together, I could see the wheels turning. They like doing things together in nature they were interested in how we managed to achieve our lifestyle. He said, “You are living the life I want to live someday.” She patted his arm and said, “You’d be doing it now, wouldn’t you?” She might just be humoring him, or she might be interested herself; the subtle interactions of newlyweds are mysterious indeed! They are just starting, and when she is making a salary, should be able to save a reasonable portion of their income, IF they have the desire and the discipline to follow through. It is very easy to have dreams, and not so easy to apply the follow-through required to see those dreams come to fruition. Most people think of their dreams as just that, dreams, that they never expect to realize. That way of thinking is self-fulfilling, and most people are satisfied with such a life: fine for most, but not all. I wonder how these two will do? They have everything going for them right now, intelligence, health, bright financial future; how they apply these gifts will determine how they define their dreams, and if, and how they realize them. Then there are the Life decisions. One big question they will no doubt face is having children. When most people become loving parents, they switch their dreams from themselves to their children. That is natural, and desirable for the mentoring of the next generation. Some couples, like us, realize that they are not cut out for such a difficult important task. Claire and I both knew we were neither inclined, nor suited for parenting. Fortunately, we shared that with each other early. Others, better suited have taken up our allotted 2.2 children, and we hope they are doing a wonderful job with them. Often these decisions, like having children, going into debt, moving to the suburbs… are made by young couples under the influence of older people they consider wiser. “Of course you want to have children!” says Aunt Annie. “Your mother would die if she doesn’t have grandchildren to spoil!” Mother, of course, is perhaps more subtle, but the natural selfish desire for grandchildren is probably evident. Of course you should give your parents grandchildren. You owe them, don’t you? I hasten to say that we have met couples who have managed to do the impossible (to us) and lead very adventurous lives with young children. What lucky children! There are other pressures on young professionals: After that big promotion, a boss might hint that, now that you are making the “big bucks”, you should join his country club, and perhaps make that down payment on a house more suitable for entertaining clients… You own him, don’t you? Often the subtle pressures of those with power and influence, cause young couples to make decisions they might not have made if they’d trusted their intellect, their instincts. Sometimes they just don’t make decisions, but let the outer world make them for them. Not making your own decisions, IS a decision. These Life decisions are just that, decisions for Life. Often those who would influence young couples want to override their decisions, for fear they will make decisions that will set them apart as “different.” This too is understandable, from the viewpoint of those who would influence. After more than a decade of an unconventional life, the reactions we get from most people to our, “different-ness” is amazingly positive: “Do it now, while you can.” “You guys are doing what I wish I had done.” We hear these encouragements often from those more mature than we, those who made decisions that negated the possibility of travel, of adventure, of allowing themselves to live the full creative life they might have otherwise. To give full credit to our families, although they were a tad shocked at our sudden to them, crazy ideas, they did not discourage us. Thank you. Many people live the dreams they abandoned, through us. We are glad we are living them through us too. To Laura and Michael: go for it, being different is not so bad in the long run. Ultimately they will respect you for it.

Wildflowers and waterfall on a loop ride of the Bayfield Peninsula with Claire

Cannon Falls, MN to Lake Superior, WI

2007-07-10T08:23:00.000-07:00

Mural in Ashland, WI. The figures are all veterans; note the truck coming out of the alley, "of America."

Berries and floaters along the Cannon Falls to Red Wing rail trail

Claire riding the trail

I just discovered an amazing thing. If you double click these images, you get a full sized version, or nearly so, that will more than fill your screen. Mostly it's good for looking at panoramas. I have some from back Arizona and Utah you might want to revisit and double click!

Okay. I was wrong. I can stand the heat and humidity of the Upper Midwest. Everything looks, and feels, better from the seat of a bicycle. We spent a day riding the Cannon Falls to Red Wing, Minnesota rail trail, a round trip of about 42 miles. On a bicycle, you sweat, and you move fast (if it’s flat) and the two combine to cool a body; one of the most wonderful things about traveling on a bicycle, as we have relearned so many times all over the world in 100F+ heat in Australia, Turkey and even Tucson. It’s only one of the best things about bicycling, but one of the best. The trail runs along a small river (Cannon) popular with floaters; that’s what I call people who get on inner-tubes, lubricate themselves with beer and burn themselves ripe red in glorious lazy relaxation. We’ll do that someday, maybe when we visit the Big Rapids crew later this month! We took pictures and waved. We were cool, they were cool, but they probably thought we were roasting pedaling bikes, wrong, particularly since we were in the shade, and it was only about 90! On the Mississippi waterfront, we met a couple boondocked in their motorhome in the grain-truck staging area overlooking a small marina, and decided to come back and join them for the night, and the breeze off the river made sleeping tolerable although Claire had trouble with the constant train traffic. The next morning we strolled around the small town of Red Wing (think boots) and enjoyed the old buildings and the revival we have seen in so many small downtowns. I predict urban dwellers will be swarming these small towns, buying up condos built in old manufacturing buildings, banks and mercantile spaces. As soon as high-speed-internet, fine coffee, restaurants, wine shops, regional music and theatre arrive, what’s to miss from the big city? Well, a Trader Joe’s would be nice. We had an interesting conversation with an employee (dressed as an executive) about Red Wing shoes making most of its shoes in China, except the work-boot line. Hmmmm, Guess who buys work-boots in America?

Red Wing Boots all over town, and beautiful flowers

We’ve traveled in some of those countries who make our stuff for us: China, Thailand, Malaysia, among others, and those people need the jobs making stuff for us, more than our workers need the jobs. If we don’t help spread our wealth by moving manufacturing jobs to those places, those people are going to be joining the current batch of border-crossers, pounding at our door, wanting the good life we show them on the television shows and movies we sell to them now. Which do we want to do, move manufacturing jobs to the people who desperately need the work, or have them come here by the millions? Seems like a no-brainer to me. I know it is more complex than that, but not much. Red Wing waterfront

Wisconsin has entirely too many No Overnight Parking signs. What are they so worried about? Do they think we are doing immoral things in our little motorhome quietly parked in their roadside park. These signs make me feel like a gypsy, unwanted, and usually leads me to be sure and spend as little money as possible in a place, and move on. We moved turtle twice in Bayfield to sleep, and were not noticed. After what we dropped on the kayak trip, they can’t complain, not to mention the two ice cream cones one night! The heat, threatening 100 (with humidity) drove us to Lake Superior for a little relief. The first day was still way to hot and sleeping was difficult. So we decided to splurge on a day kayak trip along the Superior coast to look at some sea caves and cool off. We were going to rent a kayak, but it was more expensive than a tour: go figure. See pictures. I got water between my UV filter (for water protection) and most of the photos are fogged! Lesson learned.

Honeymooners!

Monday July 10. Yesterday we rode a 56-mile loop of the Bayfield Peninsula with some of the few hills we have seen in Wisconsin, for probably 2,000 feet of climbing, a nice day in cooling weather. We enjoyed the small town of Cornucopia, in particular the country store. It is too far out of the way to be too touristy, yet. We stoped to cool beside a small waterfall just before the eight-mile hill.

Store at Cornucopia, WI.

Of Coaches, The Dismal Science and a lesson from Eyore

2007-07-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

July 2, Forest City, Iowa Winnebago Factory We had to arrive at 6am and so we slept in the parking lot of the customer service center. There were RVers already gathered at the door when we woke up at 5:45! so we didn’t get Turtle in the shop until noon. The people ahead of us were all in “coaches”: The difference between a coach and a motorhome is, like most differences in America, defined by money. If it the owners paid over 100,000 dollars, they call it their coach, the rest of us po’folks call ours motorhomes (we consider ourselves extremely wealthy, by world standards). A very seasoned sailor we had the privilege of crewing for, said that the pleasure received from a boat was in inverse proportion to the size, i.e. the smaller the boat the more fun the owners have. From a decade of RVing, I think the same principle applies to RVs. Turtle is relatively small, but for us, compared to a bike packing tent, luxurious; we think we’ve found the perfect balance; the people with the $500,000 behemoth probably think the same thing. Owning a coach is sort of like owning a very large home: do the people own the home, or does the home own the people. I remember feeling owned by our home, as much as we loved it. When it reached pre-teen age, it began to demand more and more attention and expense, and wasn’t very cute or fun anymore; some parents can probably relate to that. More Rvers are getting the idea; Winnebago reported to financial analysts that their large coach sales, and bottom line, were being hurt by the sale of smaller units like our 23 footer. Sorry Winnebago; get accustomed to the new world of $70 plus per barrel oil. July 3 We know we’ve arrived in the Midwest; hot, humid and mosquitoes. We have friends all over the Midwest, and I don’t mean to insult their homeland, formerly mine, but when people like us, so dependent on being outdoors in spectacularly beautiful surroundings, suddenly find themselves in the flatlands, and suffocating, the first week or so can be tough. I’ll get over it. One of the first things I noticed was how dirty the rivers are here, beginning as soon as the prairie gives way to cultivated fields. We walked across the Winnebago River, here in Forest City, and it was a sad little brown/green sluggish thing, incapable of reflecting a bright blue sky. I wonder if there are any fish in it, and if the kids are allowed to eat what they catch? I wouldn’t. One night in Western Minnesota we parked in a town park, and I could smell the surrounding fields, and memories flooded back of the chemicals we used on our small farm when I was a boy in West Virginia. My father worked in the C&O switching yards in the chemical plants of South Charleston, WV (highest cancer rates in the U.S.) and the workers gave him paper sacks of the latest thing in bug and week killers. He mixed them in an open 30-gallon drum balanced on the drawbar of our Farmall Cub; I perched below the rim and hand pumped the chemical mixture to a homemade (and clever) three-row sprayer he made. The chemicals sloshed on me regularly and I he told me to be sure and not get any in my mouth. Those smells bring back fond memories of childhood summers working on the farm, but I am glad I haven’t died from those chemicals—yet. Over a decade ago, when we crossed the Great Plains on Zippy, our tandem, we stopped in Nebraska at a Soil Conservation office, to ask about water quality. They said Nebraska farmers were just beginning to work on reducing the amount of chemical fertilizers on their fields, and had a ways to go. The impetus was an unusually large number of women having miscarriages in farm communities and a rapid degradation of the drinking water. I wonder what progress they have made? When the fields smell more of chemicals than plants, as they do around here, I doubt much has changed. Economic values take precedence in America. I believe an honest accounting system would place a value on the degradation of the soil and water, and those miscarriages. A pristine Earth is a deposit made in a bank for us by the Creator. Doesn’t it seem reasonable to account for our withdrawals? That way we would realize that each withdrawal leaves less for future generations. Just because we didn’t put it in the bank ourselves doesn’t mean we aren’t responsible for maintaining the balance. The balance we have to consider is: increased wealth for the present generation, against the permanent loss of life-quality to future generations. This is not wacko liberal thinking, it is simple conservative economics, and it’s time we began being honest and admit we’ve been stealing from the future. We are a smart people, we can have wealth and a healthy Earth. How do you measure the economic value of poor health; perhaps you ask a woman who’s had a miscarriage, or the person who has a disease associated with the degraded environment. Someday the dismal science, as economics is sometimes called, will take account of quality of life issues, as well as wealth building. When people lose their health, they are willing to pay any amount of money (if they have it) to regain their health. Wouldn’t it be better for us all to have a little less money and a lot better health? We could if the science of economics would step up and count more than coins; your grandchildren’s lives depend on it. Claire is finishing up here June deadlines and I’m helping with the pictures while we luxuriate in Turtle’s air conditioning courtesy the Earth Bank. We are making a withdrawal of Wyoming coal and spewing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, contributing to your grandchildren’s future. “Oh well,” said Eyore, “Nothing to be done.” The Winnebago folks are friendly, and hopefully fixing our relatively small issues. We’re enjoying free wi fi, and electricity, at Lichtsinn Motors, where we bought Turtle. I’m just hoping for some rain to lower the humidity. The dawn sky was that soft rose color I associate with humid summer mornings. It hasn’t gotten to the wring-it-out of my shirt level yet, but I can feel where it is heading. July 4 Happy birthday! Read from Thomas Jefferson today in celebration. It’s just another workday for us. This is new, working on the road. We used to gather pictures and notes for stories while we traveled and finish them when we settled down in Tucson or the Northwest. This year we won’t settle down, we’ll travel 10 out of 12 months, three or four months of it in South America, where we won’t be able to write and submit stories, just gather pictures and notes again. But, as with the Silk Road adventure, Claire will find several stories to tell later, and I’ll provide the pictures. Everybody around here is out crowding the lakes, drinking beer and trying to keep cool until the fireworks tonight at Spirit Lake. Hillary and Bill Clinton are appearing less than 20 miles from here, but it’s way too soon for Presidential politics. The way things are going, in 50 years the Presidential election season will be three and a half years long! Give us a break folks. I think I like the parliamentary system, where the party in power can call an election at anytime; in something like five weeks the election is held, and the whole thing is mercifully over. It’s not as if having a long time to decide on a President contributes to the quality of the choice. We have 16 months to go!

The Goodlands National Park, or is that Badlands?

2007-07-01T12:46:00.000-07:00

My feet over the abyss, and a stupid bunny who let me get way too close: coyote snack.

Claire being brave, and a prairie blossom

Badlands National Park got its name from the early French trappers and American settlers because of the eroded spires and hoodoos of rock that made travel difficult. I couldn’t find out what the Lakota (Sioux) called the beautiful (to me) land, but they made a good life there hunting bison until the Wounded Knee Massacre in 1890. The mixed-grass prairie on the highlands, and on the White River lowlands, is the largest such prairie in the National Park System; it is home to the newly introduced black footed ferret, that feeds on the Park’s many black tailed prairie dogs. Long gone, probably never to return, are the wolf and grizzly.

Whitetail deer out for a morning munch in a meadow

The fantastic eroded soft rock is a wonderful playground for the sure-footed, providing infinite routes in over and around the fantastic shapes. The colorful bands tell a story of millions of years of inland seas filled by river sediments; watering holes collected the bones of vertebrates long extinct, just now being dug up and classified. We were able to visit one such dig and watch the workers carefully brush soil away from bones undisturbed for 75 million years. Humans are a very brief part of the history of the Earth: it is unsettling that we are so thoughtless in our treatment of such a precious gift. Some are learning.

Vertebrate dig

If you ever get a chance, detour off of I-90, and spend a half-day at least taking in this less-visited park. You won’t be sorry.

. Prairie sunset

June 18-28: Black Hills of South Dakota Sioux Falls.

2007-06-28T18:39:00.001-07:00

Riding the Mickelson Trail Harney Peak, highest point between the Rocky Mountains and the Pyrenees (Spain and France border) at 7240 feet.

Most people know the Black Hills as the home of Mount Rushmore National Memorial and the Crazy Horse Memorial giant sculptures. There is much more to the Black Hills than these two hugely popular tourist attractions. We parked Turtle for a week beside Mike Reynolds and Pam Traina’s (FHTV #190) house in Hill City, in the heart of the Black Hills. We should have known that visiting with Pam and Mike (Mike in Tucson, Mick in Hill City) would not consist of porch sitting and lazy walks. We bicycled a total of 169 miles with something over 12,000 feet of vertical climbing. After having not ridden for nearly two weeks, that was the biggest jump of weekly mileage, outside of touring, that we can remember. To top it off, the weather was at near record levels of heat and the humidity, though not high by Midwest standards, was brutal by Arizona/Utah standards. We survived though, and think we probably gained weight eating Pam’s great pasta meals. We also hiked to the top of Harney Peak, with a thousand or so other hikers; apparently it is the most popular hike in the Black Hills, with good reason.

Bison in Custer State Park

We also visited with Nick and Carolyn Clifford, new winter residents (owners) in Far Horizons Tucson Village. We also met Mary, raconteur and next door neighbor, and friends Fritz and Loretta, who gave us a ride, with bikes, about 35 miles up the Mickelson (rail) Trail for a one-way ride back to Hill City.

Approaching bison in Custer State Park; trying to decide how to hide behind those cars. We rode many miles in Custer State Park, gem of the Black Hills, home to herds of bison, pronghorns, flowers, blue skies and puffy clouds. Those puffy clouds do tend to turn to thunderstorms, and one day pelted Turtle with golf-ball-sized hail; we were convinced during the cacophony of hail and thunder, that we were about to lose our second motorhome to hail. We were lucky: the hail was not baseball sized, and our roof is now fiberglass and stood the test well; we could find no dents. The only casualty was a huge hematoma on Claire’s hand as she tried to stuff a blanket through the skylight to protect it, while I stood by and reminded her that hail was probably the main reason we have insurance. I’ll never say that again, and she won’t stick her hand out in large hail again.

Crazy Horse's eye

Crazy Horse from back side Crazy Horse from his index finger

We left Mike and Pam after a week and went back to work, getting an up close tour of the Crazy Horse Memorial by the public relations staff (thanks Ace Crawford) for a proposed story on Native American Tourism. We spent one night in Rapid (short locally for Rapid City) and a short visit with Tass and Bruce, fellow cycle touring adventurers we met in Turkey on our Silk Road tour. They had some great ideas for South America from their trip there several years ago. Since we were passing through Sioux Falls, we decided to pop in on Miller and Marilyn Glanzer (FHTV 421). They showed us the falls and the interesting downtown sculptures and treated us to sodas at a great soda fountain. Thanks! That rich ice cream soda was a wonderful lunch and will help us put back on the weight we lost in the Black Hills! (Yes, Pam and Mike, we both lost weight, despite Pam’s pasta).

The best soda in years in downtown Sioux Falls.

We’ll be in Iowa soon, visiting Winnebago for a few minor things on Turtle. For the RVers among you, we are getting 18-19mpg, even in the mountains. Good boy Turtle! Next up: The Greatlands National Park of South Dakota Bob and Claire

Tornado within a mile or two

2007-06-17T11:42:00.000-07:00

Last night in Spearfish, S.D., we noticed the sunny day turn black, then green, which Claire said meant tornado. Hah. It did look funny though. So we turned on our little yellow weather radio (never travel the great plains without one!) and heard a line of violent thunderstorms were due to arrive in Spearfish at 7:45. Right. 7:45. Sure. At 7:43 a light rain began. I laughed. Some storm. At 7:44 the breeze picked up a bit. So what.

At 7:45 (I swear) exactly, we were hit by a downpour and 60mph winds, lightning and thunder. Turtle shook violently. I will never doubt our little yellow National Weather Service radio again. We were somewhat protected by Wal*Mart, but when some hail began to pepper us (we have a history with hail) we drove close to the wall of the building and were well protected through the worst of it.

Then we heard about a tornado bearing down on Spearfish. We are still debating whether we should have gone into Wal*Mart. I could see that huge roof sucked off and dropped back down on us in pieces; Claire could see Turtle sucked up the tossed onto the Yellow Brick Road.

Wal*Mart is on the far eastern edge of Spearfish. the tornado touched down three miles east of Spearfish, perhaps a mile or two from us. Yikes. Glad we didn't know until morning.

The wind backed and stayed force six until about 2:00a.m. when we again moved to the lee of Wal*Mart so we could get some sleep. I think I like 107 degrees in Tucson better.

We met a nice couple from N.C. heading for Alaska in their View (like Turtle) and spent a couple of hours talking about little glitches, and how much we like our Skinny Winnies. During the storm, we looked like two white beetles scurrying around in the horizontal rain, looking for shelter.

Not the the two pictures, taken a couple of minutes apart, are not the same. Picture number one, a heavy Wal*Mart cart is being blown uphill, out of its corral; picture number two it is long gone; we never saw it again after it passed our stern at about 20 mph.

Devils Tower (not Devil's Tower)

2007-06-16T12:12:00.000-07:00

I think I'm being watched.

I don’t know how many times we have passed to the N.S.E. or West of this place and never stopped. We finally decided this was the time. Often things you have always wanted to see are underwhelming when first finally experienced. This was my reaction to the columnar basalt plug that somehow became named Devils Tower (it was supposed to be Devil’s Tower, but a clerical error in the bill forever gave our first National Monument an incorrect spelling). After so much red rock in the southwest, the greenish gray of the tower was a bit of a disappointment. Set down in any other country in the world it would be the most visited place. shame on me! However, the surroundings, pines, grass and wildflowers were a welcome change, and we enjoyed two days in the campground. There was a prairie dog colony between the campground and the tower, and they were somewhat habituated to humans; nobody shoots them here, and it’is possible to get a good look. When they are hunted, as they are on most all private property in Wyoming, they won’t let humans within a couple of hundred yards of them. Our campsite was in the middle of a grove of cottonwoods, and the rustle of the leaves sounds like a gentle rain falling, even with the sun shining. Our sunroof gave us views of the small, heart shaped, leaves against a starry sky each night. Last night thunderstorms to the east added depth and interest to the stars and broken clouds. We got a sprinkle. Or was that just the cottonwoods?

Vedauwoo Wahoo!

2007-06-11T14:25:00.000-07:00

June 10, Vedauwoo, Wyoming. We decided to check out a SE Wyoming bouldering spot; the photos we saw at the Wyoming Welcome Center reminded us of a place in Australia called Devil’s Marbles. It is on BLM land, so the camping was cheap, and half price for me, so we decided to make a day of it and stay the night. The hike around Turtle Rock, from the campground, was four or five miles, just right, and we had lots of daylight. We got distracted by a little bouldering of our own: Claire surprised me by asking to try a little climbing and she did very well. If I remember the old system, we might have done some 5.2, hard core! It was really fun, but the top was truly vertical and we had no gear, so we passed and made our way back down to the trail and finished the hike.

The campground was basic, picnic tables, raised fire grates and no showers, but $10 and every site with a half-acre of space and a spectacular view of the granite piles of rocks. The wildflowers were thick and the scent of pine strong, and at 8,000 plus feet, breathing deep. The sleep was long and deep and the dawn was bright. Ahhhhhh.

Steaming Past Steamboat Springs

2007-06-11T14:12:00.000-07:00

June 7. Steamboat Springs, Co.

When we first arrived we had elevensies in Turtle and watched a teen girl’s softball tournament; that was great, and the best part of Steamboat as far as we could see, since the town seems to be mostly about boutique shopping and real estate, neither of which interest us. The weather was deteriorating by the minute and we were told not to attempt Rabbit Ears pass after 3pm. We looked all over town for unsecured wi fi and failed, went to the overcrowded library (bad weather drives active people into the library) and finally decided on such a day there was nothing for us in Steamboat. We decided we’d try the pass and give Steamboat a chance another day. We had wet snow and slush at the top, but nothing to worry Turtle. Not what I had in mind for my birthday, but things improved on the other side of the pass. We found a fine quiet boondock in Walden, along our original Zippy (tandem bicycle) route around the U.S. in 1975, and shared memories of that very special time in our lives. We has a special dinner and slept well. June?

June 8, we met with disappointment in the fading village of Cowdrey. The small coffee shop/music shop/ lunch place we were hoping to enjoy again, had made it until three years ago and failed. On another cold June day in 1995, after an even colder pass from Wyoming, we’d found steaming mugs of herbal tea, a radiant woodstove, some cakes, wonderful classic jazz and the conversation of a lovely 17 year old girl, about to be married and head off to college. It was nothing special really, but somehow, at the right moment in the early stages of our first big adventure together, memorable, very memorable. Now we wish we could know where the parents went, did the girl’s marriage go well, was college a success for them, did they indeed move to West Virginia? We’ll never know, like so many lives that have somehow enriched us, we’ll never know the rest of the story; but maybe that’s not so bad, we can write our own: the girl and her new husband moved to West Virginia for cheap land and cheap education and found both. But soon, he found the hills oppressive compared to the openness of the West. She began a garden and learned to quilt, set down roots. They began to fight… No I don’t like that beginning. Needs work.

Dinosaur National Monument Surprise

2007-06-06T16:46:00.000-07:00

Panorama in Dinosar NM (you should see it large)

We parked at an overlook near the top of Douglas pass, and after a run-in with a curious cow butting Turtle on the grill, had a peaceful, cool night in aspen country. The next day we spent the morning of June 4, hiking and photographing Freemont rock art of Canyon Pintado for a future story. Then we drove to Dinosaur National Monument Canyon Area visitor center and decided to explore the Harpers Corner road and hike the trail to the Green/Yampa River overlook, a truly spectacular vista of colorful rocks and deep gorges. It was nice to change the sagebrush juniper scents for the pitchy scent of pinon pine and crisp air of 7,000 feet. There were new wildflowers, or perhaps stunted versions of familiar ones; the globe mallow that grows to four feet in Tucson and was maybe four inches here. I would consider this canyon section of Dinosaur NP to be a real hidden gem of the park system. Most people go to the Vernal, Utah entrance where the dino bones are kept, and though nice, it is not as spectacular or remote in feeling as the Canyon District. Having BLM nearby for bush camping is a plus.

At the overlook we conversed with a pleasant couple from Virginia out for a fast-paced three-month trip in their new class-c. When the subject turned to age, the man and I (we expect an email with their id’s any day) turned out to have the same birth date of 6.7.44, or the day after D-day, the beginning of the end of WWII. Neither of us had ever met anyone born on that day, so we posed for our wives. After that long busy day, we found a county road onto BLM land, drove a couple of miles and had yet another million dollar view for a bush camp (boondocks are in parking lots or on main road, bush camps are hidden on public lands). We had some spectacular clouds that had us wondering about getting stuck, but got only a few sprinkles. The cows left Turtle alone. BLM bush camp among the sagebrush and cows. Clouds provided only a few sprinkles, thankfully.

June 5. Craig. Colorado.

The library has no wi fi, but we found a hot spot at a local hotel, and parked across the street. We tried to find the manager of the Moffat County Fairgrounds, but failed; we stayed anyway but felt we should leave early. Avoiding those RV parks takes a lot of work sometimes. June 6. Craig. High winds and the local Hot Shots are busy chasing down small fires from lightning and winds are gusting to 50mph. Following this is a cold front our weather radio will take night temps down to the mid 20’s; from summer hot to winter cold in two days. It’s springtime in the Rockies! We were going to ride Rabbit Ears Pass east of Steamboat Springs, but snow and cold are forecast for several days. Bummer. We will work here a couple of days and see what comes next.

Colorado National Monument & McInnis Canyons Arches

2007-06-06T16:33:00.000-07:00

Claire examining an arch; good thing she's a lightweight!

June 1. Colorado National Monument. One of our lesser known national monuments, it overlooks Grand Junction and Fruita, Colorado and the Grand Valley, former name of the Colorado River here. The Colorado River flows lazily though the valley, irrigation pump sucking at it as thousands will do, and a small river of it gets ditched to Phoenix and Tucson, and much more to California, until it reaches the Mexican border, and disappears. We are too early for the peaches, and of course the wine grapes are tiny and green; some other year. Wonderful sunset last night over Wedding Canyon, looking very much like Southeast Utah. We decided on the rim road bike ride today. Nice, except for the road construction, canyon edge riding and a detour to a crossroads store that was probably very nice one time, but now only sells scented candles, chips and beer. Must be all the ageing hippies moving in to build funky houses and horse corrals, all with a view: been there.

Tomorrow we will try another mountain bike ride, and hope it’s not another sand epic as the one in Arches. The second largest collection of arches in the US, outside of Arches National Park, is supposed to be at the end of about a 22-mile mountain bike ride from the rim road. It’s outside the national monument in a newly (to us) designated McInnis Canyons National Conservation Area, that runs all the way into Utah. It is divided into zones of usage: mountain bike and ORV, horse and hiking, and river running, and areas of trail-less wilderness. I wonder if it is an experiment in separating the, sometimes competing, groups of public-lands users from each other? June 2. McInnis Canyons arches mountain bike ride.

No epic mountain bike this time, just a couple of challenging climbs, and lots of wildflowers to cheer us on, the scent of sage and the expansive Colorado Plateau vistas that we love so much. The arches were fun, if nothing compared to the ones in Arches NP, but the hike from the end of the track was pleasant, and one sliver-rock arch was a hoot; we felt like kids, inching up on the thin part, teasing about causing it to collapse. I told Claire to tell all my friends my demise was, if premature, spectacular. What a treat to return to Turtle for a warm shower and icy drinks from the refrigerator. We are spoiled.

Grand Junction, Co.

2007-06-05T17:06:00.000-07:00

May 31. Grand Junction.

The town sort of grows on you. There are negatives: The library wi fi is slow as molasses and there is some kind of red sign local ordinance posted in both Wal*Marts; we pretty much ignore them. The pulses are that the slow wi fi is free and unlimited for those with laptops, and if you get your pictures uploaded before noon, it’s not too bad. The no overnight parking ordinance is usually a sign to us that we are not wanted and we go elsewhere, but there is no where else to go, except back to Moab, and the ordinances are mildly written and apparently not enforced. We went to Safeway, otherwise spend money only at Wal*Mart. We certainly wouldn’t go to an RV park here, since they are always behind the no parking at Wal*Mart ordinances. We would use RV parks once in awhile, if they were decent and charged a reasonable rate. They charge $25 for a dangerous electric pedestal, a filthy, poor draining sewer hookup, water hookups far from the pad, poorly maintained toilets/showers, neighbors tight on both sides and surly help. What do they expect? We have our own electricity from batteries, and can use our generator, we can go for a week without a dump and almost that long on water. Duh. And they want to force us to pay for what we don’t need. No way. When they provide a service we need, just parking, for a reasonable rate, say $5, then maybe. That’s about how much profit we drop on Wal*Mart each night we park in their lot. I’m surprised more big box stores don’t welcome Rvers. There are several million of us traveling the US at any given time. The space sits empty, Rvers actually provide some security, and we buy our essentials from them: milk, ice cream, ice cream, ice cream etc.

The downtown of Grand Junction is in fine revival, sculptures everywhere, traffic calming and lots of places to eat and walk. We took a break from working all day (third day) in the library and walked around downtown taking pictures of sculptures for a story on NW Colorado for an RV magazine.

On the way to our fourth overnight here, we saw a man crossing the street in a powered wheelchair and he had a fluff duck in his pack. We like people who like fluff animals. Good folks. It takes guts to show your fluff-head buddies in public.

Arches Epic and New Friends

2007-05-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

Arches National Park, May 27, 2007

We were at the park visitors center at 6:30am to make sure we got one of the few remaining campground sites. There were seven available, and we were number three. We drove to the end and picked the site we wanted, it was still occupied by three people in two tents. Their car looked nearly loaded, so we parked to wait for them to leave, not wanting to hurry them. After a few minutes we walked to the site to put our daily reservation on the post, so someone else wouldn’t get the really spectacular view site. We talked to the people there, who turned out to be from the south of France. They had arrived at 2am and slept in their rental car (filled with camping gear and food) They were very disappointed to learn of the system, and that they would loose their site. We offered to share our site with them, and enjoyed talking to them both days they were with us. They tried to share the cost of the site, but we refused; we have been on the receiving end of the kindness of strangers (sometimes very poor strangers who didn’t speak our language and we had been told wanted to kill us) that we could not take money from them. They have nearly a month in the States, and are going to see more of the West than most Americans will ever see. Their English is fantastic, and we had some interesting political and social discussions. They like Americans despite the anti French press they have been hearing the past few years. One thing we all agreed on was that people who travel are much less likely to harbor hate for other peoples and cultures; once you have looked in a stranger’s eyes, and broken bread with him/her, it’s hard to hate him or his kind.

Nancy, Pasqual and Daniele (forgive our spelling)

We had a long and enjoyable visit with the campground hosts, Gary and Francoise who are looking to move out of Phoenix; she has asthma and can’t take the air anymore. I can relate, and attest to Tucson’s clean air. They had heard about Far Horizons, and we gave them our pitch. I think they will visit in the fall and maybe move there. They would be a great addition to the park; they are full of energy and social.

Our first day in Arches we took a short hike, enjoying at least one, new to us, arch and the beautiful wildflowers and cactus arrayed against the coral pink sand. Sunday we took, what we thought would be a moderately strenuous mountain bike ride of about 30 miles. The first seven miles were easy, showing us lots of different wildflowers and only a few corrugations. Then the ---- hit the fan. First it got steep, then the steep turned to sand. We thought we might have a couple of miles of pushing our bikes, but it turned out to be an epic of seven plus miles of deep sand and hills.

A bicycle is an awful burden to push through sand, and we couldn't even pedal the downhills the sand was so deep. Good thing the flowers were blooming.

We ran out of water and food near the end and felt the big bonk: To bonk is to run out of glycogen in one’s muscles from exertion and not have food to replace it. It is very unpleasant, particularly when you do not have any choice except push on. Each step is a struggle to force your muscle to do work it is really incapable of doing, and every muscle in your body makes you pay in pain for making it move when it only wants rest and food. We finally made it out of the sand and to a motorhome parked in an unusual place. The very pleasant young man from California, was the “mo ho” (California speak for motorhome) manager for a company that supports film and still photo shoots. The photographer, assistants and model were off doing their shoot. He gave us water and that made a big difference; we only had to push our muscles without food for another nine miles. The photo shoot was for French Vogue magazine and the model was wearing Pocahontas, and other Native American inspired dresses. Claire thought they came to the red rocks of Arches, and not the more famous Monument Valley because of the fake Indian theme. I can imagine the Navajo would not be angry, but only too glad to take their money, and laugh at their absurd vision of Native Americans.

The light was lovely at sunset and we clambered over the slickrock taking pictures and enjoying the truly spectacular location. Arches never disappoints, though this time we could have done without the epic part of our mountain ride!

Claire against the sky long after sunset

Dino Tracks to Moab

2007-05-25T14:33:00.001-07:00

Looking into Arches NP

Dino tracks and New Balance size 7

Friday May 25: Back in the Moab library working all day again today. Yesterday we took a moderate mountain bike ride to the edge of Arches National Park. We added a few dinosaur track pictures to our growing collection; there will be a story in that someday, and we’ll be able to provide the illustrations. We’re out here farming, harvesting photos that may someday be useful for Claire’s (and my) magazine writing. We met two couples, one young from California, and the other older from Ontario, Canada. Both were interested in talking about our lifestyle, and how we manage it. Both had more money than we do, but considerable less time, and both wanted more time to explore together. Today I sent out query letters to a hundred or so literary agents for a book proposal we have tentatively set at It’s A Wonderful Life. We think there is a market for it, we just have to convince an agent and then a publisher. We have been working on one chapter and a tentative chapter list, but we’ll have a lot more work to do if we get a request for a full-blown proposal. Don’t know how we’ll do that on the road, but we’d find a way.

Growth is a big deal in Moab. Claire wrote a story about our mountain bike tour of the White Rim for the Zephyr, a local monthly and she got paid with a five-year subscription. Jim Stiles, the editor is very against change, and fighting a loosing battle, but there seems to be positive change coming with the growth. There is now a nice trail system all over town for walkers and bikers, and there are bike racks full of bikes everywhere. I understand Jim wanting to close the door behind him after he got here, but it’s a lost cause; best to focus on directing the growth than blindly fighting it. From the looks of the new library we have been using for the past week, there are a lot of progressive folks here willing to pay for infrastructure. The library has tables with plugs for laptops everywhere and free wi fi; we can even pick it up in Turtle across the street. We find the people very friendly, though they might be a little tired of tourists come October. This corner of the country, SE Utah, N. Arizona, SW Colorado and NW New Mexico is the best of the U.S. for beauty and variety, and SE Utah is the best of the best. But, Shhhh

Hollywood Jack and his driver.

Needles Overlook and Windwhistle Rock: It's A Wonderful Life

2007-05-22T08:47:00.000-07:00

Prince's Plume and wind.

May 20: After a night in Blanding (because we had a cell signal for the first time in several days) we drove to the Needles Overlook on BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land between Monticello and Moab, a place we had never been. On the drive out, our well-trained bush camp eyes saw what looked a likely spot near the overlook. At the overlook we reminisced about our White Rim bicycle tour, and a wonderful hike with Jack and Mary Lange in Needles District of Canyonlands, and a two day stay in the Maze District of Canyonlands; we could see them all from the overlook. Then we drove a few hundred metres down back down the road, plunged onto a bush track with our amazingly off-road-capable View and found another cliff-top bush camp for the night. The weather put on a show for us, varying light for the junipers and spring flowers, yet giving passable long distance views over our canyon country. We keep coming back here. It remains among the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, place in the world, or at least the world as we have seen it, and that’s a fair bit. We sat up, as usual so we could have a reasonable chance of driving off quickly during the night, if need arise; though the drop-off to the cliff was pretty close, Turtle has a good turning radius. Darkness arrived with the fading of the rainbow; the wind is up and the lightning announced the odd thunderstorm somewhere to the South. We could get more weather during the night; if it clears we’ll have stars since the moon is still a sliver. Another billion-dollar view bought with the price of a little adventure. It’s a wonderful life. May 21: Drove to Wind Whistle Rock and struggled along a double sandy track to find a bush camp with beautiful view of La Salle Mountains and red sandstone capped with white Navajo sandstone and vast expanses of grass, sagebrush and Utah juniper. We were expecting (courtesy our weather radio) high winds and perhaps rain in the afternoon, so we hunkered down, only to find reasonable, if breezy weather. We hiked around Wind Whistle Rock instead, of the planned mountain bike. Our walk gave us a close up reminder of what is so special about this part of America; you can be within a mile of a road, and never see or hear another human all day. We threaded slickrock, and drainages to avoid damaging cryptobiotic soil, saw several delicate spring flowers and a new (to us) blooming cactus. We went in and out of sun and cloud shade, napped on a rock ledge and came back to Turtle for a warm shower. Then we took a walk, had a-little-something under a juniper, and came back to Turtle for another short nap. Dinner was pasta with garlic, olive oil, onions, yellow and zucchini squash, and the second half of a bottle of Chilean Cab/Sav/Merlot (better after some mellowing). Evening is coming slowly under high thin clouds and the breeze is dying, unlike last night when Turtle shook until after midnight, unsettling when parked on the edge of a cliff. Tonight there is no cliff, and no wind and the temperature should be cool. Had someone suggested to me when I was 25, that life could be so good past 60, I would have thought they were crazy. No more. It’s a wonderful life.

Sego Lilly

Monument Valley: Spectacular

2007-05-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

Three photo panorama from our campsite.

P-bear taking in the view

Local resident

Prickly Pear

Claire deciding which monument she wants carved in her profile

Monument Valley May 17. We spent a night at Canyon de Chelly, but eschewed the minimum $100 required guide fee for a tour of the valley. It is our third time here and we can’t bring ourselves to pay such a large fee to fully appreciate a national park. We did the one free hike possible several years ago, but think the fees are unreasonable. Something needs to be worked out with the tribe to allow gringos who are not rich to visit, or turn it back to the tribe. It never has seemed right that there is not a way for self-guided visits to the valley. May 18. Monument Valley is a tribal park, and more reasonable with a $5 per person entry and $5 to dry camp in a spectacular spot. Our late today we hiked the one trail open to unguided hikes, 3.5 miles around one of the Mitten buttes and arrived back at Turtle just before sunset. Took much of a 512 card of photos, and will probably do it again tomorrow when we bike the 18 mile loop tomorrow. With this park, it at least is fully within the control of the Dine; at least we are allowed to bike the same loop the guided tourists take. We got a fantastic place to park Turtle (check the photo) though I had to make him/her act like a 4 wheel drive to get there and out, the sunset view was worth it. Had one of us been prone to sleepwalking, it would have been about a dozen steps to the edge. May 19 Bicycling Monument Valley. Great ride on a good dirt road today through some wonderful scenery. We left at sunrise and managed to do the loop at an easy pace, with lots of photo stops, and finish just as the loads of tourists began the loop, so we had no dust and we could hear the birds and smell the vegetation.

bob

Los Burros

2007-05-16T16:03:00.000-07:00

Our first night out of Tucson we parked in a dirt lot next to the Apache Gold Casino and had a quiet, if somewhat warm night with a good NPR signal. We cooked a pork roast in our combo microwave/convection oven, along with a big, yam and a glass of Chilean red. Life on the road is tough. Our second night we drove about eight miles back in the woods from McNary to the Los Burros campground on the Coconino National Forest. We read about it in Matt Nelson’s column in the Desert Leaf. We wanted to try some of the great mountain biking he described.

Around dark we heard the loudest commotion not far back in the ponderosas; it morphed into a chorus of howls the likes I have never heard. I would swear they were wolves, but I’m not sure the relocated Mexican Wolves are this far west. Maybe they are migrating this way because of all the New Mexicans shooting them. A few minutes later we heard the usual yips and yaps and sing song of a pack of coyotes. Nice go-to-bed sounds. We love looking at the stars through our 16 x 24 inch (approximate) skylight above our little nest/bed. I was wondering at some very unusual low lying black as ink clouds, silhouetted against the starfield, when a huge shooting start burned out from behind the biggest cloud, fading out the stars for a couple of seconds. It was then I finally realized the black clouds were not clouds, but big ponderosa pines leaning in over our Turtle. We are so unused to tall trees in the desert that I had been fooled. I love it! The trails were indeed wonderful, snaking through aspens and ponderosa in the cool 8,000ft. sunny mountain air. We hadn’t ridden trails for yonks and the first few miles were challenging until we got our looseness back, and then it was a hoot. However, the blue sky turned black, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, and we had to turn tail back to Turtle before we were ready to be done. Still a fine day, particularly the cool air after experiencing 100 degrees or more several days before leaving Tucson. We now know why so many Tucsonans come here for the summer; it’s an easy day drive and 30 degrees cooler.

We are sitting in the parking lot at the Hon Dah Casino, getting wi-fi from the casio RV park. This works!

Of Life and Risk and Fun Too

2007-05-12T14:50:00.000-07:00

May 11. We rode seventy-one miles and around 7,000 feet of climbing today on our single bikes. We were doing a Greater Arizona Bicycling Association annual event. We are finally getting some fitness, not bad considering how little we rode this winter. Claire decided to adopt a young guy who was attempting his first ascent of the mountain, and she paced him all the way up. (she equals me in climbing this year)

I sometimes rode ahead of them, but it was the not-getting-dropped-by-a-(43 year old) woman, that kept him going. He was full of appreciation for her for getting him to do something he thought he couldn’t do. Jack has a six year old, and a two and a half year old, and a job, and his wife works too, so the fact that he gets any riding in at all is amazing to us. Go Jack! You were great! If we do the ride next year, he’ll drop both of us easily.

Descending Mount Lemmon was fun as usual. I intended to take it easy today. A week ago I maintained 48 miles an hour for a mile or so through several curves, leaned way the heck over, using most of my lane. After the thrill wore off I realized just how much it would hurt to crash at that speed. Talk die. The fastest crash I ever had was probably 20 miles an hour, and I hurt for a very long time, and that was 20 years ago. The boy is still inside me, egging me on. I tell Claire (she hates it when I ride no hands for miles down the mountain) she shouldn’t complain about my testosterone levels remaining high; testosterone has some positive uses too! However, today Claire was feeling frisky and I just had to pass her on the fastest part of curvy downhill. She was going 42, (go Claire!), and I, using the magic of superior gravity (I outweigh her by 40 pounds) passed her in the middle of a curve doing 47. Since I only had half a lane I had to put a lot of pressure on the front wheel to keep it from drifting over the center-line. I later noticed that I had a wobbling front wheel; I had broken a spoke with the pressure. It would take two or three spokes to cause a wheel to totally collapse, but the thought certainly gave me pause.

I’ll moderate my speed. Next time. Honest. Really. I will. I promise.

That brings up a curiosity I have increasing puzzled about as I go through life. Why are young people (sometimes) fearless, when they have so many years to lose if they die doing something risky, and older people (usually) so timid, when they have relatively few years left? I am not sure it applies to me fully, but I do think about consequences more than I did when I was climbing outrageous ice climbs in the Alps 30 years ago. I do take risks most people considerably younger are unwilling to attempt, but I am somewhat more cautious now. Perhaps it is because I have someone else to think about, Claire (no timid one she), and I appreciate each day more as I grow older. The dilemma is this: if I become more cautious, I take less from life, that most limited of resources, but if I continue to take risks, I might suffer consequences that would limit my ability to enjoy what is left of life. Such is life, from first consciousness to final thought; choice. Perhaps it is choice that most fully defines our humanity.

The choices never end. Until we do. Take a risk today, even if it is just a brave thought. You’ll feel more alive for it.

(The photo is one I took for a Sweat article of Claire's. The young woman is Sam. She was so cute! And a good climber. The highway below is part of the Mount Lemmon highway we rode Friday; the view is from near Windy Point on the road.)

All the best, Bob

A Norman Rockwell Kind of Place

2007-05-10T16:12:00.000-07:00

May 9. A friend had just finished reading my last blog about Greenburg and our soda jerk Dick Huckriede, when she saw him being interviewed on television. She said he looked fine and promised to open the soda fountain again. What a relief. Looks like we’ll have to find our way back to Greenburg in a couple of years: I think I’ll have a plain chocolate soda with vanilla ice cream, and take another picture of Dick. I’ll be sure and print up the pictures of the old place for him. I’m not one of those people who would want to rebuild in Greenburg or New Orleans. The world is full of places I could be happy. The idea you can recreate a way of life seems overly optimistic to me. Perhaps people want to rebuild because the idea of starting anew, among strangers, is even more daunting. I’m not sure I understand their pride in the big hole in the ground they call their tourist attraction. We leaned Zippy against the big well, looked past the protective mesh, saw a glint of light from the sky, and … that was it, a big round hole in the ground.

Now Dick’s soda fountain was a worthy attraction, a Norman Rockwell tableau where kids stopped in after school to order a suicide, dangle their legs off the stool, maybe stick their worn out chewing gum under the bar.

Greenburg Kansas Connection

2007-05-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

May 5, 2007 We are still in Southeast Arizona, but our hearts are in Greenburg, Kansas today. Several years ago, Claire and I took a Zippy tour (our tandem) of Southern Kansas, seeking out traditional drug store soda fountains: you gotta have some kind of excuse to take a bicycle loaded with 80 pounds of gear and ride in an obscure corner of the great plains. One afternoon, we leaned Zippy against the window of Hunter Drug in Greenburg, drawn by rumor of a great old-fashioned soda fountain. What we found was our favorite of the scores of traditional fountains we visited across Mid America. All the fixtures were original, the cabinets all had original rippled glass, the booths backed by rippled mirrors, and the soda jerk could make every possible ice cream and soda delight popular over the past 50 years or more.

Hunter Drug, 121 S Main St., Greenburg, Kansas, Summer 2003

Dick Huckriede had been the soda jerk at Hunter Drug for 50 years. That’s right 50 years. We felt honored just to be served by him. He shared secrets of a great Green River and the proper wrist action to “jerk” the soda handle, just right, into the tapered glasses. We spend an hour or so with Dick. He was a quiet man, but his eyes twinkled, and a smile found the corner of his mouth, when he figured out that our interest was genuine, our enthusiasm real. We rode off, full bellies, heads filled with new soda jerk knowledge and our love of soda fountains deepened. Claire has published several stories on soda fountains and several of them have used one of my photos of Dick. May 6. I guess Greenburg was 95% destroyed. We have been trying to call Hunter Drug for two days; got a busy signal all day yesterday, it rang today, but no answer or machine. Who knows? Those soda fountain pictures might be precious to that town one of these days. If anyone can help me get through the chaos, I’d appreciate it. I think they might like copies one of these days. bob

Saguaro Blossom Time in Arizona

2007-05-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

We seldom seem to be able to get out of Southeast Arizona before the saguaro bloom. Afternoon temps are passing 90; can 100 be far behind? The tops of the saguaro are crowded with dozens of buds, a month’s worth of blooming, white trumpets beckoning to doves, bats and bees. The green ribbed stems and arms, reach ten metres or more against the blue desert sky crowned with a ring of fat green buds and white blossoms. By mid April the prickly pear buds swell, turn a soft peach, open and slowly turn lemon yellow. The mix of colors on the green (or purple) thorny pads is a joy. By now, early May, the cholla begin to bloom; my favorite combo is one with burgundy arms and bright bronze blossoms Our bicycle rides already begin early, to beat the heat and the afternoon spring winds. Still, the nights are in the 50’s and evenings are just right: the scent of orange blossoms and barbeque mix. Gambels quail couples, he with the outrageous topknot, scurry across streets, surrounded by peeps about the size of your thumb, organized chaos, they manage to follow their parents soft exclamations. When they reach the opposite curb, the fun begins: the little balls of fluff throw themselves at the top of the curb, three times their stature, some make it the first time, most bounce off, some more than once, and finally arrive; no time to celebrate though, mom and dad are off into a patch of desert, looking for food, and a place to hide the night away from hungry coyotes, hawks and owls, all plentiful in the city of Tucson’s washes. I’m always amazed when people seem to think that the Southwest deserts don’t have seasons. I don’t think we have been anywhere in the world that doesn’t have distinct seasons. It’s just that you have to spend a couple of years in a place to fully perceive and appreciate the seasons on offer. We bicycled past snowy patches on our weekly Mount Lemmon ride in late April, at between 7,000 and 8,000 feet about 20 miles from Tucson; we descended into high 80’s on our way home: vertical seasons are always available where there are mountains. Got work to do. We are getting our park model ready to rent next winter season while we are in South America. Bob brogers644@yahoo.com

To the Edge of the Universe With VERITAS

2007-05-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

High-energy particle scientists traveled from all over the world to a tiny cluster of buildings, and four unusual telescopes, on the lower slopes of Mount Hopkins in Southeast Arizona. April 27th and 28th, they came to celebrate first light for VERITAS, leading edge technology in the quest to understand the universe through the interaction of high energy particles with our atmosphere. Of course any get-together of scientists is an excuse for a day of one-upmanship presentations on their own projects; funding is a dog-eat-dog deal among this group! Trevor Weekes parked his pickup truck near this spot forty years ago. He unloaded a couple of surplus searchlights, aimed them at the dark clear Arizona sky, and launched an influential branch of science. Trevor has skillfully moved his observations from those surplus searchlights to a bank of four state of the art telescopes that could just possibly be the instruments that answers the all important question: just what is the stuff that makes up the majority our universe? Claire was invited as independent journalist representative of Smithsonian Magazine. She has been following closely the progress of VERITAS for more than two years, and each visit to the site, about an hour south of Tucson, I have taken photographs to support the article. The Smithsonian has made no promises to publish what Claire writes; Smithsonian supports so many scientific projects that they can’t publish something on each, without boring their readership. We think VERITAS is special, and have reason to believe that important findings will be announced this summer. The scientists were amazingly patient with us in explaining the basics of high energy astrophysics, and the role VERITAS plays in it. It’s heady stuff, having the leaders in an increasingly important branch of science, explain to you personally concepts of universal (literally) import. Our two day stay at Veritas was made more comfortable by taking our motorhome, Turtle (there was a Turtle 1) and parking in the Forest Service parking lot just outside the gates to the Whipple Observatory Visitor’s Center (the Whipple complex is about 6,000 feet above us, and another story). We were so knackered Saturday night; our heads were bursting with heavy ideas, and the celebratory margaritas. What a treat it was to walk a hundred metres to our own bed and sleep under the quiet dark skies that VERITAS will help us understand ever more deeply. Congratulations VERITAS!

Turtle Chronicles Two

2007-03-28T10:03:00.000-07:00

Claire and I will leave Tucson in May to travel the U.S. in our motorhome, Turtle gathering material for future articles in the magazines we serve. We will wander east until late October when we will park Turtle and fly to South America for a few months of cycle trecking somewhere in the Andes.

We will begin posts from the U.S. West sometime in April.

Visit http://www.newbohemians.net/ for adventures in Australia, the Silk Road, Iceland, U.S., Canada, and the South Seas by sailboat. There you will find extensive journals of our travels, mostly by tandem bicycle, among the peoples of the world. We only past this way once. Grab what you can.

Robert and Claire Rogers