Well, here I am 'home' (I use quotes because I have no building in which I live on a permanent basis, merely a country of which I am native borne) again and none too happy about it. Presumably this will wear off.
Anyway, it was only a few days ago that I woke up in Pismo Beach to find ten tenths fog outside. Pismo looked fine in the fog really, but that was partly because I'd seen most of it the day before and I didn't really need panoramic views. It would be a bit of a problem further north though, and I was a little disheartened when the woman in reception told me that on good days the fog burnt off as early as 3 pm, but very often they lasted all day.
The first few miles on 1 were pretty bad, but when I turned off at St Luis Obispo, which is slightly inland, the fog was gone. I walked around there for an hour or so. It's a pretty little town, another campus town, so lots of interesting looking bars, and a couple of sizeable bookshops. It just felt a bit tame though, after such wonderful places as Missoula.
Further north, the highway turned back towards the ocean and the fog was back (well I guess it never went away, I did). I stopped at Morro, famous for a big rock on the harbour. I walked out to it and most of it was invisible. There were sea otters in the harbour, paddling around of their backs, looking very self satisfied. After the otters I saw in Yellowstone, who were extremely energetic these ones looked like they'd been softened by the good life, living off scraps of fishing boats and basking in the wonder of the tourists. Bludgers.
I went into a lolly shop and bought altogether too much 'taffy'. This is sticky stuff, a similar texture to minties but much sweeter. There were about 50 flavours to choose from, all of them pretty awful but strangely addictive.
Further north, I stopped at the Hearst Castle and took one of four tours they offer. If you really wanted to, you could spend $80 on tours of this place. 1 tour was more than enough for me. It has no relevance to any world I'm interested in. The views were good though. The fog here had receded over the ocean and it looked like cloud looks when you're flying over it at 30,000 feet.
From here, the road gets really interesting, because you're heading into those really spectacular cliff areas that Big Sur is famous for. The fog was safely at bay it seemed and it was hard to pick where to stop, gawk and take snaps. But then just as the fog seemed a thing of the past, suddenly I was back into it again and remained so for a good half an hour. Somehow though it added to the experience. I'd managed to see some spectacular views while the coast was clear and now the fog turned it into a different kind of experience.
I passed through Big Sur and Carmel (Clints' town) but didn't stop because it looked way too expensive for the likes of me. I stayed that night in Monterey. I went downtown for dinner and had a fantastic tempura udon at a Japanese place. I really liked the feel of the downtown. It reminded me for some reason of Coffs Harbour, only Monterey is pleasant.
Next morning I went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which I believe is fairly famous. Coincidentally they had a sea otter feeding display on when I went. These ones were a lot more active than the boofheads of Morro.
I spent some time gazing at the jelly fish. I've never been interested in having fish as pets but I think a collection of psychedelic jelly fish would be very good, sort of like a live lava lamp.
The weather was particularly crappy that day. I got in contact with Ariana, the guide from Yellowstone who lives in Palo Alto, when she's not at Yellowstone. She gave me the good oil on a couple of places to check out and kindly invited me to dinner at her parents' place at Palo Alto that evening.
I stopped at a funny little place called Capitola. It has a pretty cruddy looking beach and is memorable mainly because of a cluster or cottages called Florence (or something similar) condominium. This was built in the 1920s and is intended to be reminiscent of an Italian seaside village but looks like it is the result of an art project for the colour blind.
Ariana told me about a redwood forest not far out of Santa Cruz and I found my way there. I can tell you that a forest full of 200 plus foot trees is a pretty good place to be when it is raining. I could have stayed there all day but by now it was 4pm and I wanted to get to Palo Alto before the traffic got too bad. Ha!
About 5 miles up 17 (which Ariana later told me is one of the most dangerous in the world) the traffic stopped to a crawl. There were 2 accidents up ahead, plus roadworks. I eventually got through that but then came to grief trying to get from 17 on to 85. I took the right exit but missed something because within seconds I was back on 85. I told Ariana later that I had falled into a black hole. She apologised for not telling me about it but I pointed out that the nature of black holes is that they are not always there. I regularly fell into them when I lived in Canberra.
I finally made it to Palo Alto and successfully found my way to Chez Mindelzun and had a very nice evening with Ariana and her parents. Her father works at Stanford University, in Public Health I gathered because he has done a lot of work in Indian communities in the South west. Ariana's mother is an artist and the house is full of her work. It was really a very nice way of spending my last night in the States. It was a little touch of normality after a couple of months of abnormality, albeit that I seem to thrive on abnormality.
They told me about Stanford University and I went out there the next day. A beautiful campus it is too. There is a museum there with one of the world's largest collections of Rodin sculptures. The buildings and grounds are beautiful too. It made me think it would be good to be back at university except that it would probably just give me more material for nightmares about overdue assignments.
I won't go to any length about the rest of it. I got to the airport at 2pm, even though my flight was not until 10. I'd been told my QANTAS I could do an early check in which meant I could then go into San Francisco and spend the afternoon wandering around the downtown. When I got to the counter though there was a sign saying that check in commenced at 6pm.
I wasted an hour prowling around the airport and ringing Qantas. I found a place to leave my luggage at the airport and took the BART into town. I spent a bit of time in there but the downtown was full of people in Halloween costumes which is not my scene so I headed back out to the sanctuary of the airport, which, by the way, is much nicer than almost any airport I've been in. You could have a holiday there, if pressed.
The flight back was shite, mainly because I was seated beside someone the size of a whale and a breath very similar to one to.
That's it for now.
Anyway, it was only a few days ago that I woke up in Pismo Beach to find ten tenths fog outside. Pismo looked fine in the fog really, but that was partly because I'd seen most of it the day before and I didn't really need panoramic views. It would be a bit of a problem further north though, and I was a little disheartened when the woman in reception told me that on good days the fog burnt off as early as 3 pm, but very often they lasted all day.
The first few miles on 1 were pretty bad, but when I turned off at St Luis Obispo, which is slightly inland, the fog was gone. I walked around there for an hour or so. It's a pretty little town, another campus town, so lots of interesting looking bars, and a couple of sizeable bookshops. It just felt a bit tame though, after such wonderful places as Missoula.
Further north, the highway turned back towards the ocean and the fog was back (well I guess it never went away, I did). I stopped at Morro, famous for a big rock on the harbour. I walked out to it and most of it was invisible. There were sea otters in the harbour, paddling around of their backs, looking very self satisfied. After the otters I saw in Yellowstone, who were extremely energetic these ones looked like they'd been softened by the good life, living off scraps of fishing boats and basking in the wonder of the tourists. Bludgers.
I went into a lolly shop and bought altogether too much 'taffy'. This is sticky stuff, a similar texture to minties but much sweeter. There were about 50 flavours to choose from, all of them pretty awful but strangely addictive.
Further north, I stopped at the Hearst Castle and took one of four tours they offer. If you really wanted to, you could spend $80 on tours of this place. 1 tour was more than enough for me. It has no relevance to any world I'm interested in. The views were good though. The fog here had receded over the ocean and it looked like cloud looks when you're flying over it at 30,000 feet.
From here, the road gets really interesting, because you're heading into those really spectacular cliff areas that Big Sur is famous for. The fog was safely at bay it seemed and it was hard to pick where to stop, gawk and take snaps. But then just as the fog seemed a thing of the past, suddenly I was back into it again and remained so for a good half an hour. Somehow though it added to the experience. I'd managed to see some spectacular views while the coast was clear and now the fog turned it into a different kind of experience.
I passed through Big Sur and Carmel (Clints' town) but didn't stop because it looked way too expensive for the likes of me. I stayed that night in Monterey. I went downtown for dinner and had a fantastic tempura udon at a Japanese place. I really liked the feel of the downtown. It reminded me for some reason of Coffs Harbour, only Monterey is pleasant.
Next morning I went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which I believe is fairly famous. Coincidentally they had a sea otter feeding display on when I went. These ones were a lot more active than the boofheads of Morro.
I spent some time gazing at the jelly fish. I've never been interested in having fish as pets but I think a collection of psychedelic jelly fish would be very good, sort of like a live lava lamp.
The weather was particularly crappy that day. I got in contact with Ariana, the guide from Yellowstone who lives in Palo Alto, when she's not at Yellowstone. She gave me the good oil on a couple of places to check out and kindly invited me to dinner at her parents' place at Palo Alto that evening.
I stopped at a funny little place called Capitola. It has a pretty cruddy looking beach and is memorable mainly because of a cluster or cottages called Florence (or something similar) condominium. This was built in the 1920s and is intended to be reminiscent of an Italian seaside village but looks like it is the result of an art project for the colour blind.
Ariana told me about a redwood forest not far out of Santa Cruz and I found my way there. I can tell you that a forest full of 200 plus foot trees is a pretty good place to be when it is raining. I could have stayed there all day but by now it was 4pm and I wanted to get to Palo Alto before the traffic got too bad. Ha!
About 5 miles up 17 (which Ariana later told me is one of the most dangerous in the world) the traffic stopped to a crawl. There were 2 accidents up ahead, plus roadworks. I eventually got through that but then came to grief trying to get from 17 on to 85. I took the right exit but missed something because within seconds I was back on 85. I told Ariana later that I had falled into a black hole. She apologised for not telling me about it but I pointed out that the nature of black holes is that they are not always there. I regularly fell into them when I lived in Canberra.
I finally made it to Palo Alto and successfully found my way to Chez Mindelzun and had a very nice evening with Ariana and her parents. Her father works at Stanford University, in Public Health I gathered because he has done a lot of work in Indian communities in the South west. Ariana's mother is an artist and the house is full of her work. It was really a very nice way of spending my last night in the States. It was a little touch of normality after a couple of months of abnormality, albeit that I seem to thrive on abnormality.
They told me about Stanford University and I went out there the next day. A beautiful campus it is too. There is a museum there with one of the world's largest collections of Rodin sculptures. The buildings and grounds are beautiful too. It made me think it would be good to be back at university except that it would probably just give me more material for nightmares about overdue assignments.
I won't go to any length about the rest of it. I got to the airport at 2pm, even though my flight was not until 10. I'd been told my QANTAS I could do an early check in which meant I could then go into San Francisco and spend the afternoon wandering around the downtown. When I got to the counter though there was a sign saying that check in commenced at 6pm.
I wasted an hour prowling around the airport and ringing Qantas. I found a place to leave my luggage at the airport and took the BART into town. I spent a bit of time in there but the downtown was full of people in Halloween costumes which is not my scene so I headed back out to the sanctuary of the airport, which, by the way, is much nicer than almost any airport I've been in. You could have a holiday there, if pressed.
The flight back was shite, mainly because I was seated beside someone the size of a whale and a breath very similar to one to.
That's it for now.
Taking up where I left off last time, I found 4th Avenue, Tucson on Sunday afternoon. It was very quiet but I saw a bloke walk out of a dance club (sign said it was the best danceclub in Tucson) with a snake around neck. I think it was alive but pretty sluggish.
The next morning, I went for self guided walk in downtown Tucson. I a turquoise line on the footpath shows the way. This killed 2 birds with one stone. I saw a side of Tucson I hadn't before and found out what turquoise looks like.
I hit the Interstate for Yuma and beyond into California. This is what I call real desert. It was a windy day and dust in the air made it hard to breath and eery. Fortunately the temperature was in the low 90s and quite comfortable.
After 3 and a bit hours I reached Yuma. It is mix of shopping malls and a very small historic downtown. There was nothing at all happening downtown. Most shops were closed or abandoned, but there is some kind of appeal about the place. I noticed that Tanya Tucker is playing there soon. It's good to know she's still in business.
The main attraction is the old State Prison, which closed in 1908. This is disturbingly similar to Rawlins Wyoming. Yuma needs to work harder to separate itself from pits like Rawlins. It does have a river.
Not far west of Yuma are sanddunes and To the south of the Interstate, you can see the international barrier. There are also lots of Border Patrol points. It's altogether creepy.
Then it's the Imperial Valley, all irrigation canals and irrigated very large, commercial scale fruit and vegetable farms. This is where so much of the water of the Colorado goes to.
At El Centro I turned north and travelled alongside the Salton Sea, which I read somewhere is formed by runoff from irrigation. There was a very strong smell of salt and a sudden blast of humidity, almost steamy. By the way, next to the service station in El Centro was a sign for Pulmonary Consultants. Strange juxtaposition, I thought.
As I was driving I listened to NPR whenever I could. There was a story about problems with voting machines. It's not helped by people not doing what they're told. One woman kissed her ballot paper.
I stayed the night in Indio. I almost didn't make it though, because as I was joining the I10 I got wedged in between about 12 trucks. It didn't seem like there was a way out and I was probably going to have to go with them to LA or wherever they were headed. However, I spotted a small gap in their defences and got out just in time.
I spoke to a couple of people and was given a route to take which would get me to Pismo Beach that afternoon, while keeping me well clear of LA traffic. It seemed simple enough, I10 West, then 210 West, then 118 West and then north on 101, which then turns into 1. I managed okay, but at times the traffic was horrendous, even in the middle of the day. I say horrendous, but it was moving quickly, but this made it just a bit scary, especially when you're not absolutely sure of where you are. But it seemed to me as I was driving that this part of California has gone badly awry. There is next to no public transport and it seems like most of the jobs are not anywhere near where people live. Otherwise, what are all these people doing and where are they going? And then the economic experts say that the drop in petrol prices here might spur an economic recovery. I feel there is something wrong with this picture.
There is an immense wind farm just west of Palm Springs. There were hundreds of turbines, only a few of which were turning. There were several different sizes of turbines too. It was otherworldly but pretty awe inspiring.
I finally reached the coast at Oxnard and drove north for a couple of hours to Pismo Beach, where I am now. Cultured people will remember the Bugs Bunny episode where he pops up in the middle of Arabia and exclaims "this ain't Pismo Beach!".
Pismo is a great place. A huge long beach, although not much sand on it, a long pier and a 50s era downtown area. I took a long walk/run down the beach. You can drive on the beach and a Hyundai Santa Fe did a few donuts in front of me, showing off to a bunch of young fellas with pickups. It didn't seem that impressive to me.
Sunset over the ocean was pretty good. It's so much more convenient than going all the way to Western Australia to see it.
Downtown there are a number of cafes advertising clam chowder. I went to Brad's and had a scrumptious bowl of chowder, while listening to 50s R&B on the PA. It was all very pleasant indeed.
The photos are of 4th Avenue, Sunday afternoon, the middle of Tucson and a typical street scene from downtown Yuma.
The next morning, I went for self guided walk in downtown Tucson. I a turquoise line on the footpath shows the way. This killed 2 birds with one stone. I saw a side of Tucson I hadn't before and found out what turquoise looks like.
I hit the Interstate for Yuma and beyond into California. This is what I call real desert. It was a windy day and dust in the air made it hard to breath and eery. Fortunately the temperature was in the low 90s and quite comfortable.
After 3 and a bit hours I reached Yuma. It is mix of shopping malls and a very small historic downtown. There was nothing at all happening downtown. Most shops were closed or abandoned, but there is some kind of appeal about the place. I noticed that Tanya Tucker is playing there soon. It's good to know she's still in business.
The main attraction is the old State Prison, which closed in 1908. This is disturbingly similar to Rawlins Wyoming. Yuma needs to work harder to separate itself from pits like Rawlins. It does have a river.
Not far west of Yuma are sanddunes and To the south of the Interstate, you can see the international barrier. There are also lots of Border Patrol points. It's altogether creepy.
Then it's the Imperial Valley, all irrigation canals and irrigated very large, commercial scale fruit and vegetable farms. This is where so much of the water of the Colorado goes to.
At El Centro I turned north and travelled alongside the Salton Sea, which I read somewhere is formed by runoff from irrigation. There was a very strong smell of salt and a sudden blast of humidity, almost steamy. By the way, next to the service station in El Centro was a sign for Pulmonary Consultants. Strange juxtaposition, I thought.
As I was driving I listened to NPR whenever I could. There was a story about problems with voting machines. It's not helped by people not doing what they're told. One woman kissed her ballot paper.
I stayed the night in Indio. I almost didn't make it though, because as I was joining the I10 I got wedged in between about 12 trucks. It didn't seem like there was a way out and I was probably going to have to go with them to LA or wherever they were headed. However, I spotted a small gap in their defences and got out just in time.
I spoke to a couple of people and was given a route to take which would get me to Pismo Beach that afternoon, while keeping me well clear of LA traffic. It seemed simple enough, I10 West, then 210 West, then 118 West and then north on 101, which then turns into 1. I managed okay, but at times the traffic was horrendous, even in the middle of the day. I say horrendous, but it was moving quickly, but this made it just a bit scary, especially when you're not absolutely sure of where you are. But it seemed to me as I was driving that this part of California has gone badly awry. There is next to no public transport and it seems like most of the jobs are not anywhere near where people live. Otherwise, what are all these people doing and where are they going? And then the economic experts say that the drop in petrol prices here might spur an economic recovery. I feel there is something wrong with this picture.
There is an immense wind farm just west of Palm Springs. There were hundreds of turbines, only a few of which were turning. There were several different sizes of turbines too. It was otherworldly but pretty awe inspiring.
I finally reached the coast at Oxnard and drove north for a couple of hours to Pismo Beach, where I am now. Cultured people will remember the Bugs Bunny episode where he pops up in the middle of Arabia and exclaims "this ain't Pismo Beach!".
Pismo is a great place. A huge long beach, although not much sand on it, a long pier and a 50s era downtown area. I took a long walk/run down the beach. You can drive on the beach and a Hyundai Santa Fe did a few donuts in front of me, showing off to a bunch of young fellas with pickups. It didn't seem that impressive to me.
Sunset over the ocean was pretty good. It's so much more convenient than going all the way to Western Australia to see it.
Downtown there are a number of cafes advertising clam chowder. I went to Brad's and had a scrumptious bowl of chowder, while listening to 50s R&B on the PA. It was all very pleasant indeed.
The photos are of 4th Avenue, Sunday afternoon, the middle of Tucson and a typical street scene from downtown Yuma.
I am a pretty tired and a Windows Updatjust wiped out what I had written on this instalment so I am going to do this by dot points.
Walked up Ski Run outside Santa Fe. Extremely cold. Sweated a lot because of indeterminate number of margaritas the night before. (acknowledgements to Ben and Ashea)
Went to Georgia O'Keefe Museum. Extremely educational and interesting. Can now answer some questions about her.
Gorgeous day in SF, in two minds about leaving but did so in the end, with intention of staying in Albu...
Went via back road. V interesting. Albu... hideous looking, kept going on horrible Interstate , stopped at dilapidated town called Grants. Girls jeered at my beany. Talked to Texan truck driver about various things including Australian truckies in USA and his dogs. 4 freight trains in 20 minutes. Only real sign of life.
Sands Motel is one of many with that name on Route 66. Singer called Kerry Grombacher has made CD about it, for sale in reception. Did not buy.
Had excellent oatmeal breakfast in cafe next door. Full of old codgers, including me.
Hit interstate. Saw rodeo pavilion at tiny town called Prewitt. Got off Interstate and took a good look and lots of pictures.
Back on Interstate. Got to Gallup. V interesting town. Took to Sam in cafe who told me interesting story about the rodeo pavilion. Was originally in Gallup but moved to Prewitt on to land which used to be used by Navajo for ceremonies.
Met Chuck someone who is expert on UFOs. He was setting up for a UFO film festival at local cinema. Showed me his book about the 5 crashes at Roswell. ( A lot of people think there were only 1, 2 or 3.) Aliens have long thin feet and footwear looks like Ug Boots. I didn't tell Sam this.
Was offered pinons by young Indian guy in an alley. Didn't know what they were, nor their origin and did not buy.
Drove towards Canyon de Chelly. At Window Rock, saw old guy selling pinons. Bought 2 packets. Found them to be V tasty.
Drove to Canyon de Chelly. Drove hire car into bottom of canyon with Navajo guide. V scary driving conditions, deep sand, but truelly amazing place with ruins of cliff dwellings from 1,000 years ago. Awesome experience.
Drove into setting sun and beyond sunset. Excellent effects from sun shining through bulllet holes in traffic signs.
Stayed in Holbrook. V old Indian (from India couple) running it. Signboard price was $19,.95 but had been increased to $21. Don't know what justified price increase, although it looks like signboard price goes back quite a few years.
Went to Petrified Forest next morning. Weird. Had strange conversation with woman in shop who was v interested in aboriginal people and wondered whether they had trouble metabolising alchohol. Said I'd heard of this theory but thought there were other issues at play.
Took rest of day to get to Tucson. Arrived about 3.30, found accommodation about 5. City is full because of homecoming (big college football match). Went out looking for 4th Avenue. Weird road system, so failed. Did find Hotel Congress and wandered around there for couple of hours, listening to buskers and eating Mexican food. Got tired, went back to motel, woken by beer bottle smashing against door and an hour later some dude howling and banging on door. I went to door and found adolescent male in advanced state of inebriation. I told him to go away. He did.
Went to mountains outside Tucson. Had very nice walk but suffering acute sinus pain, so bailed out after a while.
Have come back to Tucson. Will make another attempt to find 4th Avenue, but have long drive tomorrow (aiming for Imperial Valley in California) so will not try for long.
5 days left.
Walked up Ski Run outside Santa Fe. Extremely cold. Sweated a lot because of indeterminate number of margaritas the night before. (acknowledgements to Ben and Ashea)
Went to Georgia O'Keefe Museum. Extremely educational and interesting. Can now answer some questions about her.
Gorgeous day in SF, in two minds about leaving but did so in the end, with intention of staying in Albu...
Went via back road. V interesting. Albu... hideous looking, kept going on horrible Interstate , stopped at dilapidated town called Grants. Girls jeered at my beany. Talked to Texan truck driver about various things including Australian truckies in USA and his dogs. 4 freight trains in 20 minutes. Only real sign of life.
Sands Motel is one of many with that name on Route 66. Singer called Kerry Grombacher has made CD about it, for sale in reception. Did not buy.
Had excellent oatmeal breakfast in cafe next door. Full of old codgers, including me.
Hit interstate. Saw rodeo pavilion at tiny town called Prewitt. Got off Interstate and took a good look and lots of pictures.
Back on Interstate. Got to Gallup. V interesting town. Took to Sam in cafe who told me interesting story about the rodeo pavilion. Was originally in Gallup but moved to Prewitt on to land which used to be used by Navajo for ceremonies.
Met Chuck someone who is expert on UFOs. He was setting up for a UFO film festival at local cinema. Showed me his book about the 5 crashes at Roswell. ( A lot of people think there were only 1, 2 or 3.) Aliens have long thin feet and footwear looks like Ug Boots. I didn't tell Sam this.
Was offered pinons by young Indian guy in an alley. Didn't know what they were, nor their origin and did not buy.
Drove towards Canyon de Chelly. At Window Rock, saw old guy selling pinons. Bought 2 packets. Found them to be V tasty.
Drove to Canyon de Chelly. Drove hire car into bottom of canyon with Navajo guide. V scary driving conditions, deep sand, but truelly amazing place with ruins of cliff dwellings from 1,000 years ago. Awesome experience.
Drove into setting sun and beyond sunset. Excellent effects from sun shining through bulllet holes in traffic signs.
Stayed in Holbrook. V old Indian (from India couple) running it. Signboard price was $19,.95 but had been increased to $21. Don't know what justified price increase, although it looks like signboard price goes back quite a few years.
Went to Petrified Forest next morning. Weird. Had strange conversation with woman in shop who was v interested in aboriginal people and wondered whether they had trouble metabolising alchohol. Said I'd heard of this theory but thought there were other issues at play.
Took rest of day to get to Tucson. Arrived about 3.30, found accommodation about 5. City is full because of homecoming (big college football match). Went out looking for 4th Avenue. Weird road system, so failed. Did find Hotel Congress and wandered around there for couple of hours, listening to buskers and eating Mexican food. Got tired, went back to motel, woken by beer bottle smashing against door and an hour later some dude howling and banging on door. I went to door and found adolescent male in advanced state of inebriation. I told him to go away. He did.
Went to mountains outside Tucson. Had very nice walk but suffering acute sinus pain, so bailed out after a while.
Have come back to Tucson. Will make another attempt to find 4th Avenue, but have long drive tomorrow (aiming for Imperial Valley in California) so will not try for long.
5 days left.
I had heard a lot about Santa Fe, all of it good. My first impressions were that I must have come to the wrong Santa Fe. I came in down Guadalupe Street and parked near the railway line. Unprepossessing would be a polite term for this part of town. I had a totally useless map and could not work out from it where the main part of town was. I went into a cafe and the guy and told me where to go. As I was walking, it started to rain. I ran back to the car, looked again at the map and worked out where the Visitors Centre which was the opposite direction of where the guy told me. Either that or I didn't listen to him, which is probably more likely.
I found the Visitors Centre. It's very close to the centre of town and around here you can see the appeal of the place. Adobe buildings everywhere, gardens, it is all very elegant, more like a Spanish than an American town. If you fell asleep or into a space time warp, the ubiquitous pick up trucks would be a dead giveaway that you're in the USA.
I learnt that Santa Fe is the oldest capital in the USA, established in 1612 or so by the Spanish.
It's full of art galleries, I would say more per capita than any town I've ever been in. A big call, I know, but I think it is right. This was reinforced when the headline of the local paper which was about a drop in prices being received at art auctions in Europe. I have since learnt that Santa Fe is one of the top 5 or so art markets in the world.
In the late afternoon of my first day here, I went for a walk around the downtown area, and around the Plaza. The Plaza is currently surrounded by high fences, while it is being refurbished. I think I've been in 3 towns with these Plazas and 2 of them have been surrounded by scaffolding. I suppose they get punished in the summer by all the tourists.
There are a couple of unique features of Santa Fe, which aren't listed in the literature. I'm working off very little evidence, but it seems to me that Santa Fe has a higher than State average per capita population of gay men. Secondly, I have seen an unusually high number of people who like famous people. The guy in the Visitors Centre looked pretty unusual and it was only afterwards that I realised he looked like Don King, Muhammed Ali's manager/promoter. Half an hour later I saw a dead ringer for Carlos Santana. I also saw someone who looked like Jimi Hendrix with an expanded head, but I have to admit he was in Taos, not Santa Fe.
I also saw a gang of too cool for school looking people walk out of an art gallery. I assumed they were there for an opening, but then I saw that they all climbed into a mini bus together and I thought something else might be going on. I have seen them every day since and I now know they are here making filming something called 'The Seeker'. I have googled this and found there was a movie of this title based on a fantasy novel, so that's probably not it. I suppose I should ask someone but I don't care enough.
On my first full day, I did a day trip to Taos, which is about 60 miles away. I went via the 'High Road to Taos', which goes through villages such as Chimayo and Truchas and some of the prettiest country you could hope to seen anywhere. In fact, I think this is one of the pretttiest day trips I've ever done, including urgent trips from Canberra to the coast to jump in the ocean.
In Chimayo there is a very old church and sanctuary. This place is known as America's Lourdes, as it has a reputation for healing the sick. Instead of a spring, it has holy dirt, which you can collect from a hole in the sacristy of the church. One woman I saw was in there for a good 5 minutes collecting dirt with a spade and putting it in plastic bags. I'm not sure that this is in the spirit of things, but maybe she comes from a long way away. I took 2 teaspoons.
Further up the road, Truchas sprawls across a ridge. I understand that it is where the Milagro Beanfield Way was filmed. There is a lookout on another ridge across from it and again, it is one of the most appealing views of a town that you can imagine. Just as I got to the viewpoint, I saw 2 birds collide in the air and plummet to the ground.
All along the High Road, the cottonwood trees are changing colour and the yellow of the leaves makes them look like they are on fire. I spent the whole day with my newly cleaned camera trying to get a good photo but I don't think I managed.
It's all so beautiful, it almost hurts.
Taos itself is jam packed with touristy shops but probably no more so than Santa Fe. The coutnry around it is stark and striking. On the day I was there there was a big wind blowing. I was told to check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, about 10 miles out of town. It is the second highest suspension bridge in either the world or the USA, I can't remember which. (I tend to zone out when I hear -est now). I parked at the Taos end of the bridge and started to walk across. It was a huge distance to the water below and the wind was so strong I felt like it would blow me off. Then a semi trailer came across and the whole bridge and I decided to get off, which I did.
I drove back into Taos and took a walk around the downtown area, but was put off by all the shops selling Chinese made clothing. I saw a sign for Raton. Before I came to the USA one of my plans was to go to Raton Pass, solely because of one of my favourite songs, Snowing on Raton. I asked a postwoman how far Raton was and she said about 2 hours. She also said I should stay in Taos because there's nothing in Raton. I didn't bother telling her about the song but decided 2 hours would be a bit too much given I had to get back to Santa Fe at the end of it.
I drove back to Santa Fe on Highway 64, which runs along the Rio Grande. The Rio Grande looks reasonably healthy here, unlike most of the places where I saw it in Texas a few years ago. It looked particularly grand in the setting sun, with the huge cliffs on one side and the cottonwoods on fire.
I will put in a plug for the Ipod here. Its selection of music was perfect, although it did play an disproportianate number of Link Wray tunes. A highlight was Long Ride by the Audreys and Fanny Mae by Buster Brown, very topical given the current financial crisis.
I stayed in that night, eating a WholeFoods meal.
Next morning I walked up a mountain just outside Santa Fe. At the top I met a couple who were training to walk up an 18,000 foot mountain in Mexico. It was frigidly cold up there. I initially intended to keep walking along the ridge for another few miles but it was just too uncomfortable so I returned to town.
In the afternoon I drove north into Georgia O'Keefe country. I'd never heard of here until I came here. For those other ignoramuses who haven't heard of her, she was an artist, famous for painting landscapes of red rock country. I dropped in at the Ghost Ranch. I'm not sure why it's named that, but it does have impressive dinosaur fossils around which they've built a museum. It is now run by the Presbyterian Church, who were granted it by the previous owners on the proviso that they use it for educational purposes. I only spent half an hour there so I can't really say any more about it.
In the evening I went to the Cowgirl Bar, which had been described by a friend of Gabrielle and Ben's as 'kickass'. I initially went in to the Dining Room and had a meal of pork spare ribs, which I can't describe as 'kickass'. It was pretty awful really. There was supposed to be music on that night but I finished eating by 7.30 and the music didn't start until 9. I'm not that big on sitting around in bars so I went back to the motel, fully expecting not to go back. However, around ten to nine I had a hankering and I did go back and I'm glad I did. Ken Valdez was having his going away party. I didn't get a chance to find out where he was going to but anyway he was pretty damned good, a bit like Los Lobos, but acoustic.
People in the bar were friendly and I had a long talk with an Iranian mathematician about water. As you do.
Today's my last day here. I'm going to Albu... (you know the place I'm talking about I'm sure) this afternoon. I think I'll just mooch around Santa Fe until I have to check out.
A couple of media updates before I finish.
Two border patrol guys have been arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants from Mexico and Brazil. Is that an inside job or what?
A high office holder in the Republican Party in New Mexico wrote a letter to one of the papers stating that Obama is a Muslim socialist. Despite a lot of letters pointing out that she is wrong she is sticking to her guns.
I saw Bryant Gumble on television this morning. He has a beard now and looks like he's just crawled out of a dumpster. He now hosts some sort of sports show. How the might have fallen.
I'm a bit short of photos, as my main camera ran out of juice. I used my backup old one but I have no way of uploading photos from it at the moment. There's photo of the crucifixes at that sanctuary I was talking about, the sign of Truchas and a view of Santa Fe from the mountain. A poor offering, sorry.
I found the Visitors Centre. It's very close to the centre of town and around here you can see the appeal of the place. Adobe buildings everywhere, gardens, it is all very elegant, more like a Spanish than an American town. If you fell asleep or into a space time warp, the ubiquitous pick up trucks would be a dead giveaway that you're in the USA.
I learnt that Santa Fe is the oldest capital in the USA, established in 1612 or so by the Spanish.
It's full of art galleries, I would say more per capita than any town I've ever been in. A big call, I know, but I think it is right. This was reinforced when the headline of the local paper which was about a drop in prices being received at art auctions in Europe. I have since learnt that Santa Fe is one of the top 5 or so art markets in the world.
In the late afternoon of my first day here, I went for a walk around the downtown area, and around the Plaza. The Plaza is currently surrounded by high fences, while it is being refurbished. I think I've been in 3 towns with these Plazas and 2 of them have been surrounded by scaffolding. I suppose they get punished in the summer by all the tourists.
There are a couple of unique features of Santa Fe, which aren't listed in the literature. I'm working off very little evidence, but it seems to me that Santa Fe has a higher than State average per capita population of gay men. Secondly, I have seen an unusually high number of people who like famous people. The guy in the Visitors Centre looked pretty unusual and it was only afterwards that I realised he looked like Don King, Muhammed Ali's manager/promoter. Half an hour later I saw a dead ringer for Carlos Santana. I also saw someone who looked like Jimi Hendrix with an expanded head, but I have to admit he was in Taos, not Santa Fe.
I also saw a gang of too cool for school looking people walk out of an art gallery. I assumed they were there for an opening, but then I saw that they all climbed into a mini bus together and I thought something else might be going on. I have seen them every day since and I now know they are here making filming something called 'The Seeker'. I have googled this and found there was a movie of this title based on a fantasy novel, so that's probably not it. I suppose I should ask someone but I don't care enough.
On my first full day, I did a day trip to Taos, which is about 60 miles away. I went via the 'High Road to Taos', which goes through villages such as Chimayo and Truchas and some of the prettiest country you could hope to seen anywhere. In fact, I think this is one of the pretttiest day trips I've ever done, including urgent trips from Canberra to the coast to jump in the ocean.
In Chimayo there is a very old church and sanctuary. This place is known as America's Lourdes, as it has a reputation for healing the sick. Instead of a spring, it has holy dirt, which you can collect from a hole in the sacristy of the church. One woman I saw was in there for a good 5 minutes collecting dirt with a spade and putting it in plastic bags. I'm not sure that this is in the spirit of things, but maybe she comes from a long way away. I took 2 teaspoons.
Further up the road, Truchas sprawls across a ridge. I understand that it is where the Milagro Beanfield Way was filmed. There is a lookout on another ridge across from it and again, it is one of the most appealing views of a town that you can imagine. Just as I got to the viewpoint, I saw 2 birds collide in the air and plummet to the ground.
All along the High Road, the cottonwood trees are changing colour and the yellow of the leaves makes them look like they are on fire. I spent the whole day with my newly cleaned camera trying to get a good photo but I don't think I managed.
It's all so beautiful, it almost hurts.
Taos itself is jam packed with touristy shops but probably no more so than Santa Fe. The coutnry around it is stark and striking. On the day I was there there was a big wind blowing. I was told to check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, about 10 miles out of town. It is the second highest suspension bridge in either the world or the USA, I can't remember which. (I tend to zone out when I hear -est now). I parked at the Taos end of the bridge and started to walk across. It was a huge distance to the water below and the wind was so strong I felt like it would blow me off. Then a semi trailer came across and the whole bridge and I decided to get off, which I did.
I drove back into Taos and took a walk around the downtown area, but was put off by all the shops selling Chinese made clothing. I saw a sign for Raton. Before I came to the USA one of my plans was to go to Raton Pass, solely because of one of my favourite songs, Snowing on Raton. I asked a postwoman how far Raton was and she said about 2 hours. She also said I should stay in Taos because there's nothing in Raton. I didn't bother telling her about the song but decided 2 hours would be a bit too much given I had to get back to Santa Fe at the end of it.
I drove back to Santa Fe on Highway 64, which runs along the Rio Grande. The Rio Grande looks reasonably healthy here, unlike most of the places where I saw it in Texas a few years ago. It looked particularly grand in the setting sun, with the huge cliffs on one side and the cottonwoods on fire.
I will put in a plug for the Ipod here. Its selection of music was perfect, although it did play an disproportianate number of Link Wray tunes. A highlight was Long Ride by the Audreys and Fanny Mae by Buster Brown, very topical given the current financial crisis.
I stayed in that night, eating a WholeFoods meal.
Next morning I walked up a mountain just outside Santa Fe. At the top I met a couple who were training to walk up an 18,000 foot mountain in Mexico. It was frigidly cold up there. I initially intended to keep walking along the ridge for another few miles but it was just too uncomfortable so I returned to town.
In the afternoon I drove north into Georgia O'Keefe country. I'd never heard of here until I came here. For those other ignoramuses who haven't heard of her, she was an artist, famous for painting landscapes of red rock country. I dropped in at the Ghost Ranch. I'm not sure why it's named that, but it does have impressive dinosaur fossils around which they've built a museum. It is now run by the Presbyterian Church, who were granted it by the previous owners on the proviso that they use it for educational purposes. I only spent half an hour there so I can't really say any more about it.
In the evening I went to the Cowgirl Bar, which had been described by a friend of Gabrielle and Ben's as 'kickass'. I initially went in to the Dining Room and had a meal of pork spare ribs, which I can't describe as 'kickass'. It was pretty awful really. There was supposed to be music on that night but I finished eating by 7.30 and the music didn't start until 9. I'm not that big on sitting around in bars so I went back to the motel, fully expecting not to go back. However, around ten to nine I had a hankering and I did go back and I'm glad I did. Ken Valdez was having his going away party. I didn't get a chance to find out where he was going to but anyway he was pretty damned good, a bit like Los Lobos, but acoustic.
People in the bar were friendly and I had a long talk with an Iranian mathematician about water. As you do.
Today's my last day here. I'm going to Albu... (you know the place I'm talking about I'm sure) this afternoon. I think I'll just mooch around Santa Fe until I have to check out.
A couple of media updates before I finish.
Two border patrol guys have been arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants from Mexico and Brazil. Is that an inside job or what?
A high office holder in the Republican Party in New Mexico wrote a letter to one of the papers stating that Obama is a Muslim socialist. Despite a lot of letters pointing out that she is wrong she is sticking to her guns.
I saw Bryant Gumble on television this morning. He has a beard now and looks like he's just crawled out of a dumpster. He now hosts some sort of sports show. How the might have fallen.
I'm a bit short of photos, as my main camera ran out of juice. I used my backup old one but I have no way of uploading photos from it at the moment. There's photo of the crucifixes at that sanctuary I was talking about, the sign of Truchas and a view of Santa Fe from the mountain. A poor offering, sorry.
There are 2 major routes I could take to Monument Valley in Utah. One was back up past Bryce and the other was down into Arizona and eastwards across Northern Arizona. I decided on the Arizona way, because I didn't want to drive through the mile long Zion tunnel again and backtrack up past Bryce.
I got away about 10, which is good for me on this trip. Outside Fredonia (lovely name that, you can take any old christian name and add onia to it - Bruconia sounds very good to me, by all means play around with your own names)I picked up a hitchiker, a German fellow called Sven. His girlfriend comes from Las Cruces New Mexico and while she is overseas for a couple of weeks he has been hitchiking around the Rockies and got as far as Aspen. He's an outdoorsman. He walked up a 14,000 foot mountain in Colorado and he was now on his way to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to walk from there to the South Rim, which is a pretty long way. I believe Ashea did it in one day on her thirtieth birthday. By comparison, Sven's a wimp because he is spending a night at the bottom. In November, he and his girlfriend start riding bicycles to Patagonia. That will take a year, which also sounds like a ridiculously long time. Those 2 ought to pull their fingers out and get real.
I didn't originally plan to go the North Rim but I was enjoying talking to him and it was only 40 miles out of my way. I dropped him off at the place where you get Back Country permits and went down to where all the average Joe the Plumbers/Six Packs like me go, the Lodge. It was closed for the winter, but you could still walk out on to the rim. It was pretty hazy but you could see across to the South Rim, where I'd been just a few days before.
Back on to Highway 69 and I drove past Vermillon Cliffs and crossed the Colorado River via the Navajo Bridge at Marble Canyon. There is a little Visitors Centre there which tells the story of the original bridge which was built in the 1930s. It was the only crossing of the River for 400 miles. The River looks pretty depleted here, not surpising because Glen Canyon Dam is just upstream of it. The guy in the Visitors Centre was a bit of a firebrand, very angry at what had happened and is continuing to happen to the river, as well as the plight of the local towns. He said that there was basically nothing other than the tourism industry for employment and it dies out in winter. I asked him what he does in winter and he said 'Starve'. I bought a book there in an effort to cheer him up. It's called Cadillac Desert and amongst other things, tells the story of the Owens Valley which had all its water taken by Los Angeles. He said it was compulosry reading. Coincidentally, he was reading a book which talks about Australia's water problems.
I drove on to Kayenta that night. It is the closest town in Arizona to Monument Valley. It's a weird place, purpose built it appears to provide lodging for people visiting the Valley. It has no town centre and most of its commercial establishments are out on the highway. It's not the kind of place to hang out in.
Next morning at breakfast in the motel, I shared a table with a young German couple. They had taken pretty much the same course as me from San Francisco, although I don't think they made it to Tonopah.
I've always liked German people and I find them consistently pretty friendly, as are most European tourists. The one exception is the French. You expect them to be up themselves in France but it is galling when they carry their attitude with them overseas. Walking 3 abreast on hiking trails, muttering to each other about how crap everything is. What the hell have the French ever done to justify being arrogant?. Their food's alright I suppose, and they have culture, but that's all old. They're no good at war, they are atrocious drivers and their plumbing is a disgrace.
I went out to Monument Valley in the morning. Most people are probably aware that it is has been the setting for a lot of movies, especially Westerns, including one of the best ever, The Searchers. You may not know that it is also sacred territory for the Navajo, who manage it as a Tribal Park. You pay a small fee to enter and have the choice of driving yourself around for a loop trail or taking a guided tour on an open backed jeep, driven by a Navajo person who gives a running commentary. I thought about taking a tour, but it looked really dusty on the back and I didn't think I'd take in much information about the heights of mesas, buttes and mountains.
I drove myself instead but I had second thoughts when I discovered how rough the road was. You might be tempted that the proprietors deliberately don't maintain it so as to deter people from going it alone, but the truth would be that they have so many vehicles going through it and the terrain is so rough, that they simply can't maintain it. There were tens, if not hundreds of vehicles driving the loop, including a good 20 or so of the tour vehicles. The dust was revolting in some places. Still, it is amazingly striking and powerful feeling country and for me, well worth the discomfort. One of the best spots on the look is John Ford's Point, a cliff which juts out over part of the Valley, where he apparently used to go to search for inspiration. Now an Indian bloke hangs out there with his horse and you can pay $2 to sit on the horse and presumably have your picture taken. The thing is though, it looks like the Indian guy doesn't take pictures. I saw one bloke go out on his own, climb on the horse and just sit there. I didn't bother. Horses and I don't mix.
From Monument Valley I drove north to Mexican Hat, a top little spot on the San Juan River. It's named after a rock outside town. I was very tempted to take a room at the Hat Rock Inn and watch the river for the afternoon but I really wanted to get to New Mexico so I kept going. The next town was Bluff. There is a town of the same name in Central Queensland, a town with virtually no appeal. This Bluff though is full of it. I stopped on a whim at a little cafe. It was 10 minutes before closing but the lady there was happy to serve me. I had a big glass of what she called cold chocolate, which was basically a huge lump of frozen milk chocolate. They had apparently just had some kind of event and had quite a lot of food left over and every few minutes she'd bring something else over to me to eat. As I said to her, stopping there was the best decision I'd made that day.
Up until this time, my favourite little town on this trip was probably Wind River in Wyoming but Bluff looked damned good to me. However, the cafe lady told me that the town was actually 'full of bitches'. Apparently these bitches are involved in running the local museum and dirked one of her friends over some case of maladministration. Coincidentally, I think Bluff in Queesland is full of bastards, some of whom I went to school with.
From Bluff, I drove to the 4 Corners, where the Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico meet. In the space of about 30 minutes, I drove through all 4 states. In the scheme of things, this is no doubt not much of an achievement, but I felt very proud.
I stayed overnight in a Motel 8 at Bloomfield. They are extremely cheap and this time I found out why. I was woken at least 3 times by a sound of jackhammers going off which was in fact people using their plumbing in their rooms. The walls appear to be made of papier mache or tissue paper.
I took a very pretty route from there to Santa Fe the next day. I went through the Valles Caldera and the Jemez Mountains and then to Los Alamos. Nothing was doing in Los Alamos, as all the local museums were temporarily shut. It's a strange thing, Los Alamos. From the west, you drive past the Nuclear Laboratory and through a security checkpoint, before you get to the town itself. The town is all concrete and construction sites. I thought it was all pretty weird, so I headed on to Santa Fe.
Before I finish, I've been meaning to mention an advertisement I saw on television the other day. It was for a private amplifier. The first part of the ad showed a couple in bed with the man watching tele while the wife is trying to sleep. She is very angry but in the next scene he has this dooberlacky which enables him to hear the TV without the need for unsightly and dangerous wires and cables. They show a couple of other domestic situations but finish with a woman sitting on a park bench while 2 other women walk along a footpath on the other side of the road. The voice over says you can listen in to conversations across the street. This is confirmed when the woman on the bench smirks at something the women say.
I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it seems kind of irresponsible, if not immoral, although perhaps a fairly logical outcome from our Governments' urging us to be alert to suspicious activity. On the other hand, I often have the feeling that people are talking about me and would like to know what they are saying.
If anybody in Australia is interested in one of these devices, let me know and I'll see if I can get one by mail order off the tele, although this might be a remote chance of bringing this off as I can't remember what time of day I was watching.
On a final note, I have just noticed that Australia's darling Stephanie Rice and Michael Phelps are smitten. Readers may recall my report from Baltimore that Phelps is a jerk. Stephanie seems such a nice girl, so this is very bad news.
There are a couple of photos at the end of this, the first of the once mighty Colorado River at Navajo Bridge, a couple of Monument Valley, and one of a classic car in front of a classic shop. Keen eyed observers may notice a streak across a couple of a photos. This is a deliberate effect I have achieved by smearing the lens of the camera with something or other. I hope ya'lls like it.
I got away about 10, which is good for me on this trip. Outside Fredonia (lovely name that, you can take any old christian name and add onia to it - Bruconia sounds very good to me, by all means play around with your own names)I picked up a hitchiker, a German fellow called Sven. His girlfriend comes from Las Cruces New Mexico and while she is overseas for a couple of weeks he has been hitchiking around the Rockies and got as far as Aspen. He's an outdoorsman. He walked up a 14,000 foot mountain in Colorado and he was now on his way to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to walk from there to the South Rim, which is a pretty long way. I believe Ashea did it in one day on her thirtieth birthday. By comparison, Sven's a wimp because he is spending a night at the bottom. In November, he and his girlfriend start riding bicycles to Patagonia. That will take a year, which also sounds like a ridiculously long time. Those 2 ought to pull their fingers out and get real.
I didn't originally plan to go the North Rim but I was enjoying talking to him and it was only 40 miles out of my way. I dropped him off at the place where you get Back Country permits and went down to where all the average Joe the Plumbers/Six Packs like me go, the Lodge. It was closed for the winter, but you could still walk out on to the rim. It was pretty hazy but you could see across to the South Rim, where I'd been just a few days before.
Back on to Highway 69 and I drove past Vermillon Cliffs and crossed the Colorado River via the Navajo Bridge at Marble Canyon. There is a little Visitors Centre there which tells the story of the original bridge which was built in the 1930s. It was the only crossing of the River for 400 miles. The River looks pretty depleted here, not surpising because Glen Canyon Dam is just upstream of it. The guy in the Visitors Centre was a bit of a firebrand, very angry at what had happened and is continuing to happen to the river, as well as the plight of the local towns. He said that there was basically nothing other than the tourism industry for employment and it dies out in winter. I asked him what he does in winter and he said 'Starve'. I bought a book there in an effort to cheer him up. It's called Cadillac Desert and amongst other things, tells the story of the Owens Valley which had all its water taken by Los Angeles. He said it was compulosry reading. Coincidentally, he was reading a book which talks about Australia's water problems.
I drove on to Kayenta that night. It is the closest town in Arizona to Monument Valley. It's a weird place, purpose built it appears to provide lodging for people visiting the Valley. It has no town centre and most of its commercial establishments are out on the highway. It's not the kind of place to hang out in.
Next morning at breakfast in the motel, I shared a table with a young German couple. They had taken pretty much the same course as me from San Francisco, although I don't think they made it to Tonopah.
I've always liked German people and I find them consistently pretty friendly, as are most European tourists. The one exception is the French. You expect them to be up themselves in France but it is galling when they carry their attitude with them overseas. Walking 3 abreast on hiking trails, muttering to each other about how crap everything is. What the hell have the French ever done to justify being arrogant?. Their food's alright I suppose, and they have culture, but that's all old. They're no good at war, they are atrocious drivers and their plumbing is a disgrace.
I went out to Monument Valley in the morning. Most people are probably aware that it is has been the setting for a lot of movies, especially Westerns, including one of the best ever, The Searchers. You may not know that it is also sacred territory for the Navajo, who manage it as a Tribal Park. You pay a small fee to enter and have the choice of driving yourself around for a loop trail or taking a guided tour on an open backed jeep, driven by a Navajo person who gives a running commentary. I thought about taking a tour, but it looked really dusty on the back and I didn't think I'd take in much information about the heights of mesas, buttes and mountains.
I drove myself instead but I had second thoughts when I discovered how rough the road was. You might be tempted that the proprietors deliberately don't maintain it so as to deter people from going it alone, but the truth would be that they have so many vehicles going through it and the terrain is so rough, that they simply can't maintain it. There were tens, if not hundreds of vehicles driving the loop, including a good 20 or so of the tour vehicles. The dust was revolting in some places. Still, it is amazingly striking and powerful feeling country and for me, well worth the discomfort. One of the best spots on the look is John Ford's Point, a cliff which juts out over part of the Valley, where he apparently used to go to search for inspiration. Now an Indian bloke hangs out there with his horse and you can pay $2 to sit on the horse and presumably have your picture taken. The thing is though, it looks like the Indian guy doesn't take pictures. I saw one bloke go out on his own, climb on the horse and just sit there. I didn't bother. Horses and I don't mix.
From Monument Valley I drove north to Mexican Hat, a top little spot on the San Juan River. It's named after a rock outside town. I was very tempted to take a room at the Hat Rock Inn and watch the river for the afternoon but I really wanted to get to New Mexico so I kept going. The next town was Bluff. There is a town of the same name in Central Queensland, a town with virtually no appeal. This Bluff though is full of it. I stopped on a whim at a little cafe. It was 10 minutes before closing but the lady there was happy to serve me. I had a big glass of what she called cold chocolate, which was basically a huge lump of frozen milk chocolate. They had apparently just had some kind of event and had quite a lot of food left over and every few minutes she'd bring something else over to me to eat. As I said to her, stopping there was the best decision I'd made that day.
Up until this time, my favourite little town on this trip was probably Wind River in Wyoming but Bluff looked damned good to me. However, the cafe lady told me that the town was actually 'full of bitches'. Apparently these bitches are involved in running the local museum and dirked one of her friends over some case of maladministration. Coincidentally, I think Bluff in Queesland is full of bastards, some of whom I went to school with.
From Bluff, I drove to the 4 Corners, where the Utah, Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico meet. In the space of about 30 minutes, I drove through all 4 states. In the scheme of things, this is no doubt not much of an achievement, but I felt very proud.
I stayed overnight in a Motel 8 at Bloomfield. They are extremely cheap and this time I found out why. I was woken at least 3 times by a sound of jackhammers going off which was in fact people using their plumbing in their rooms. The walls appear to be made of papier mache or tissue paper.
I took a very pretty route from there to Santa Fe the next day. I went through the Valles Caldera and the Jemez Mountains and then to Los Alamos. Nothing was doing in Los Alamos, as all the local museums were temporarily shut. It's a strange thing, Los Alamos. From the west, you drive past the Nuclear Laboratory and through a security checkpoint, before you get to the town itself. The town is all concrete and construction sites. I thought it was all pretty weird, so I headed on to Santa Fe.
Before I finish, I've been meaning to mention an advertisement I saw on television the other day. It was for a private amplifier. The first part of the ad showed a couple in bed with the man watching tele while the wife is trying to sleep. She is very angry but in the next scene he has this dooberlacky which enables him to hear the TV without the need for unsightly and dangerous wires and cables. They show a couple of other domestic situations but finish with a woman sitting on a park bench while 2 other women walk along a footpath on the other side of the road. The voice over says you can listen in to conversations across the street. This is confirmed when the woman on the bench smirks at something the women say.
I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it seems kind of irresponsible, if not immoral, although perhaps a fairly logical outcome from our Governments' urging us to be alert to suspicious activity. On the other hand, I often have the feeling that people are talking about me and would like to know what they are saying.
If anybody in Australia is interested in one of these devices, let me know and I'll see if I can get one by mail order off the tele, although this might be a remote chance of bringing this off as I can't remember what time of day I was watching.
On a final note, I have just noticed that Australia's darling Stephanie Rice and Michael Phelps are smitten. Readers may recall my report from Baltimore that Phelps is a jerk. Stephanie seems such a nice girl, so this is very bad news.
There are a couple of photos at the end of this, the first of the once mighty Colorado River at Navajo Bridge, a couple of Monument Valley, and one of a classic car in front of a classic shop. Keen eyed observers may notice a streak across a couple of a photos. This is a deliberate effect I have achieved by smearing the lens of the camera with something or other. I hope ya'lls like it.
This is the tale of 2 National Parks and 2 B&Bs.
I left Grand Canyon in the early afternoon. The trip to Zion NP would be about 5 hours. The woman I'd met on the trail at the Canyon told me that the accommodation in an around Zion booked up quickly and I should either get there early or book ahead. It was quite difficult finding any information but I did locate a B&B at a place called Rockville, just outside the Park.
I told the B&B woman that I wouldn't be there until 7 o'clock at the earliest. She said that they would be at church in a town about an hour away and wouldn't be back until 8.30. This was a Wednesday night so I wondered which church they might belong to. Mormons, perhaps?
The drive up was reasonably interesting. Shortly after leaving the Park, roadside stalls started appearing. All were selling Navajo jewelry and other handicrafts. There was a stall at a scenic spot turnout. Interestingly the German and French flags were flying nearby. There was a bumper sticker on the guy's car, saying "Keep honking, I'm reloading".
It all looked very Third World. Coupled with the landscape, it might have been Morocco (if Morocco is indeed Third World).
I eventually arrived at the B&B at 7.30. As the owner had warned, they were not at home. There was one German lady sitting in the living room. I think she was quite alarmed by me. Unfortunately, she didn't speak much English so I couldn't explain the situation to her. Still, she wasn't alarmed enough to go get her husband, who was upstairs watching the Presidential debate.
They turned on a huge breakfast the next morning. The other guests were all quite pleasant. After breakfast, Susan's husband came in with the mail, which included two voter registration cards. I said to her I hadn't seen one before. She told me that they were registered Republican voters. I said I didn't really understand the concept of being registered for either party. She seemed to take this as a question about her political beliefs, so she told me that the Republicans and Democrats were very different, particularly in regard to morals and that she ascribed to the Republicans' moral view. I said I understood there was a difference between the parties but what I didn't understand was the system of being registered with either party. She took this as a question about registration in general and said that you needed to have registration to be sure that the voter was a legitimate citizen, which was a problem because the United States is full of illegal immigrants (most of whom presumably would vote for the Democrats). She also said that there were many cases of dead people voting (again for the Democrats, I assume, why would a dead person vote Republican?)
At this point, I gave up.
Before this conversation, I had decided I needed to stay another night and asked her whether I could stay another night. Fortunately,as it turned out, she didn't have any rooms available, but she found one in the house next door.
I cleared my room, none too soon for Susan, and went next door. This was a much smaller house, very cluttered inside and I immediately felt good here. NPR was on the radio, which was promising and there was a lot of literature around about environmental issues and there was a sticker on the wall proclaiming the place as a Green Business. I found out that they grow organic fruit and veges and make their own fuel for their cars. All food in the house is organic. I wondered how they got along with the neighbours but I didn't ask.
I talked to Megan for quite a while so it was 11 oclock before I got moving properly. The woman at Grand Canyon and Megan both told me that I should 'hike the Narrows'. The Narrows is a canyon, through which flows a river, and hiking the Narrows means walking up the river, actually in the river. The water is very cold, so it is best to hire water proof shoes and neoprene socks, which I did. I also hired a pair of dry pants and a walking stick, the latter of which I left behind at the hire shop.
The only road access to the Narrows is by shuttle bus. I didn't get out to the Trail Head until 1pm. My late start was one thing, but there were also huge crowds everywhere. The buses were absolutely packed and what was normally a 45 minute trip became a 70 minutes.
I was feeling a bit trepidatious about it all. The concept of walking in water for miles and miles was strange enough but I was additionally concerned about not having a walking stick. They serve 2 purposes, giving you extra balance, but more importantly I think, for feeling around ahead of you for holes.
As it happened, I didn't have any problems at all without the stick. Everything else worked well, and I could see easily where the best spots for walking were. The other hazard are rapids but I pretty quickly worked out how to negotiate them.
After about an hour, I linked up with a black guy from NYC. He was good company. We both decided we needed to be back at the head of the trail by 4pm, so it made sense to go together. We separated at a junction. I started heading back alone. At first, I was going just as well as I had on the way up, with the added advantage of having the water flowing with me. But it was that little bit darker. Perhaps I was also a little overconfident, because when I decided to cross the river just above a rapids, I stepped straight into a very deep hole, which looked really shallow to me. I went under completely, and boy it was cold. I recovered pretty quickly but when I got out I knew I couldn't proceed with my shirt and jacket absolutely sodden (the dry pants kept my trousers dry). Fortunately I had a spare shirt in my pack and I put that on. At least I got one thing right.
My detour into the hole held me up long enough for the NYC guy to catch up and I followed him all the way back (he had a stick). He kept complimenting me on managing without one, but I pointed out to him that I hadn't really. Of course, his stick couldn't help me when I was crossing rapids and there was one particular one where I nearly fell, but again the incredible core strength and balance developed through years of dedicated Pilates training saved me.
Before I went back to the B&B I drove out to a ghost town just outside Rockville, called Grafton. This was where the bicycle riding scenes in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were filmed. The house used burnt down after a couple of kids lost control of a little fire. It was close to dusk and it was absolutely beautiful out there. The town is on the Virginia River and it is an idyllic spot. It was settled by Mormons not that long after the Mormons first went to Utah. They tried to grow cotton there but they had problems with that, and they were also harassed by Indians. Brigham Young directed that all Mormons coalesce into settlements of at least 150 people so everybody upped and relocated to Rockville.
A couple of people stayed behind and the last person left in the 1940s. Now it is surrounded by farmland.
I had a good chat with Megan and her husband that night. I got further evidence of difference with the neighbours in that they are both Democrat supporters.
Next morning while eating breakfast with Megan, I noticed a pile of plastic chairs in the backyard. Thinking it might have been a Democratic party thing, I asked her whether they had events in the backyard. She told me that she and her husband are recovering alcoholics and they have meetings with their compadres every second Saturday. There is a lot to like and respect about these 2 people.
My plan for the day was to go to Bryce Canyon and continue on south eastwards from there. I packed the car and was about to put the last couple of items in when Megan asked me whether there was no way they could persuade me to stay another night. I initially said no, but when I thought about it some more, I thought that I could do a lot worse than stay another night in such a comfortable place, so I changed my mind.
Bryce is only a couple of hours drive, so is an easy day trip and that is what I did. The drive up goes through some really very beautiful valleys with fast running creeks and lush pastures. And behind them are spectacular, craggy rocky mountains.
Bryce is extraordinary. Ben and Denise raved about it and I can only do the same. The so-called Ampitheatre is a truly bizarre place. It is full of eroded sandstone pillars which they call hoodoos. I think of them more as really big greeblies. There is a good network of trails throughout them and I walked around for a couple of hours. It seems like they might get a bit monotonous but then you go around a turn and there is yet another strange arrangement of shapes.
It is all amazing but after a while I saw a certain theme emerging. In short, Bryce Canyon is plain rude. If there was a God that made this, it was an adolescent boy God. It is a big collection of phallic symbols. Why the Mormons have not done something about this I don't know. Instead, they've selected some of the more harmless ones and given them names like Altar and Tabernacle.
I averted my gaze from the more blatant ones and had an excellent time.
Megan and husband were at an AA meeting in a town about an hour away when I got home and so I had the house to myself, until their friend Genevieve, who lives in a cabin out back, came in. I think they must have asked her to keep me company while they were out. She is a very nice person, Genevieve. She has lived in every Western State except Montana and Wyoming. She is also a free spirit. She has never voted, doesn't pay taxes and has an Oregon Drivers Licence from 10 years ago. Basically, she likes to keep under the radar, not unlike our own Bill Hughes of Bruny Island.
She is a big Obama fan but is fearful that Bush and Cheney will try to subvert the election again. I said she should trust the bureaucracy, but this didn't seem to persuade her.
We talked about how crappy Nevada is and she told me that Tonopah, where I had stayed the week before, is where they made the Stealth Bomber. I imagine it was actually in the huge Nellis Air Force base nearby, because there sure weren't any factories in Tonopah that I could see. Unless they were underground.
By the time Megan and husband returned I was knackered and went to bed.
Before I finish, I want to note that I am drinking huge amounts of water, since I received an email from Ashea, laden with subliminal messages. The main danger now is that I will drown my brain.
That's all for now. I must watch the baseball.
The pictures below are of Bryce.
I left Grand Canyon in the early afternoon. The trip to Zion NP would be about 5 hours. The woman I'd met on the trail at the Canyon told me that the accommodation in an around Zion booked up quickly and I should either get there early or book ahead. It was quite difficult finding any information but I did locate a B&B at a place called Rockville, just outside the Park.
I told the B&B woman that I wouldn't be there until 7 o'clock at the earliest. She said that they would be at church in a town about an hour away and wouldn't be back until 8.30. This was a Wednesday night so I wondered which church they might belong to. Mormons, perhaps?
The drive up was reasonably interesting. Shortly after leaving the Park, roadside stalls started appearing. All were selling Navajo jewelry and other handicrafts. There was a stall at a scenic spot turnout. Interestingly the German and French flags were flying nearby. There was a bumper sticker on the guy's car, saying "Keep honking, I'm reloading".
It all looked very Third World. Coupled with the landscape, it might have been Morocco (if Morocco is indeed Third World).
I eventually arrived at the B&B at 7.30. As the owner had warned, they were not at home. There was one German lady sitting in the living room. I think she was quite alarmed by me. Unfortunately, she didn't speak much English so I couldn't explain the situation to her. Still, she wasn't alarmed enough to go get her husband, who was upstairs watching the Presidential debate.
They turned on a huge breakfast the next morning. The other guests were all quite pleasant. After breakfast, Susan's husband came in with the mail, which included two voter registration cards. I said to her I hadn't seen one before. She told me that they were registered Republican voters. I said I didn't really understand the concept of being registered for either party. She seemed to take this as a question about her political beliefs, so she told me that the Republicans and Democrats were very different, particularly in regard to morals and that she ascribed to the Republicans' moral view. I said I understood there was a difference between the parties but what I didn't understand was the system of being registered with either party. She took this as a question about registration in general and said that you needed to have registration to be sure that the voter was a legitimate citizen, which was a problem because the United States is full of illegal immigrants (most of whom presumably would vote for the Democrats). She also said that there were many cases of dead people voting (again for the Democrats, I assume, why would a dead person vote Republican?)
At this point, I gave up.
Before this conversation, I had decided I needed to stay another night and asked her whether I could stay another night. Fortunately,as it turned out, she didn't have any rooms available, but she found one in the house next door.
I cleared my room, none too soon for Susan, and went next door. This was a much smaller house, very cluttered inside and I immediately felt good here. NPR was on the radio, which was promising and there was a lot of literature around about environmental issues and there was a sticker on the wall proclaiming the place as a Green Business. I found out that they grow organic fruit and veges and make their own fuel for their cars. All food in the house is organic. I wondered how they got along with the neighbours but I didn't ask.
I talked to Megan for quite a while so it was 11 oclock before I got moving properly. The woman at Grand Canyon and Megan both told me that I should 'hike the Narrows'. The Narrows is a canyon, through which flows a river, and hiking the Narrows means walking up the river, actually in the river. The water is very cold, so it is best to hire water proof shoes and neoprene socks, which I did. I also hired a pair of dry pants and a walking stick, the latter of which I left behind at the hire shop.
The only road access to the Narrows is by shuttle bus. I didn't get out to the Trail Head until 1pm. My late start was one thing, but there were also huge crowds everywhere. The buses were absolutely packed and what was normally a 45 minute trip became a 70 minutes.
I was feeling a bit trepidatious about it all. The concept of walking in water for miles and miles was strange enough but I was additionally concerned about not having a walking stick. They serve 2 purposes, giving you extra balance, but more importantly I think, for feeling around ahead of you for holes.
As it happened, I didn't have any problems at all without the stick. Everything else worked well, and I could see easily where the best spots for walking were. The other hazard are rapids but I pretty quickly worked out how to negotiate them.
After about an hour, I linked up with a black guy from NYC. He was good company. We both decided we needed to be back at the head of the trail by 4pm, so it made sense to go together. We separated at a junction. I started heading back alone. At first, I was going just as well as I had on the way up, with the added advantage of having the water flowing with me. But it was that little bit darker. Perhaps I was also a little overconfident, because when I decided to cross the river just above a rapids, I stepped straight into a very deep hole, which looked really shallow to me. I went under completely, and boy it was cold. I recovered pretty quickly but when I got out I knew I couldn't proceed with my shirt and jacket absolutely sodden (the dry pants kept my trousers dry). Fortunately I had a spare shirt in my pack and I put that on. At least I got one thing right.
My detour into the hole held me up long enough for the NYC guy to catch up and I followed him all the way back (he had a stick). He kept complimenting me on managing without one, but I pointed out to him that I hadn't really. Of course, his stick couldn't help me when I was crossing rapids and there was one particular one where I nearly fell, but again the incredible core strength and balance developed through years of dedicated Pilates training saved me.
Before I went back to the B&B I drove out to a ghost town just outside Rockville, called Grafton. This was where the bicycle riding scenes in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were filmed. The house used burnt down after a couple of kids lost control of a little fire. It was close to dusk and it was absolutely beautiful out there. The town is on the Virginia River and it is an idyllic spot. It was settled by Mormons not that long after the Mormons first went to Utah. They tried to grow cotton there but they had problems with that, and they were also harassed by Indians. Brigham Young directed that all Mormons coalesce into settlements of at least 150 people so everybody upped and relocated to Rockville.
A couple of people stayed behind and the last person left in the 1940s. Now it is surrounded by farmland.
I had a good chat with Megan and her husband that night. I got further evidence of difference with the neighbours in that they are both Democrat supporters.
Next morning while eating breakfast with Megan, I noticed a pile of plastic chairs in the backyard. Thinking it might have been a Democratic party thing, I asked her whether they had events in the backyard. She told me that she and her husband are recovering alcoholics and they have meetings with their compadres every second Saturday. There is a lot to like and respect about these 2 people.
My plan for the day was to go to Bryce Canyon and continue on south eastwards from there. I packed the car and was about to put the last couple of items in when Megan asked me whether there was no way they could persuade me to stay another night. I initially said no, but when I thought about it some more, I thought that I could do a lot worse than stay another night in such a comfortable place, so I changed my mind.
Bryce is only a couple of hours drive, so is an easy day trip and that is what I did. The drive up goes through some really very beautiful valleys with fast running creeks and lush pastures. And behind them are spectacular, craggy rocky mountains.
Bryce is extraordinary. Ben and Denise raved about it and I can only do the same. The so-called Ampitheatre is a truly bizarre place. It is full of eroded sandstone pillars which they call hoodoos. I think of them more as really big greeblies. There is a good network of trails throughout them and I walked around for a couple of hours. It seems like they might get a bit monotonous but then you go around a turn and there is yet another strange arrangement of shapes.
It is all amazing but after a while I saw a certain theme emerging. In short, Bryce Canyon is plain rude. If there was a God that made this, it was an adolescent boy God. It is a big collection of phallic symbols. Why the Mormons have not done something about this I don't know. Instead, they've selected some of the more harmless ones and given them names like Altar and Tabernacle.
I averted my gaze from the more blatant ones and had an excellent time.
Megan and husband were at an AA meeting in a town about an hour away when I got home and so I had the house to myself, until their friend Genevieve, who lives in a cabin out back, came in. I think they must have asked her to keep me company while they were out. She is a very nice person, Genevieve. She has lived in every Western State except Montana and Wyoming. She is also a free spirit. She has never voted, doesn't pay taxes and has an Oregon Drivers Licence from 10 years ago. Basically, she likes to keep under the radar, not unlike our own Bill Hughes of Bruny Island.
She is a big Obama fan but is fearful that Bush and Cheney will try to subvert the election again. I said she should trust the bureaucracy, but this didn't seem to persuade her.
We talked about how crappy Nevada is and she told me that Tonopah, where I had stayed the week before, is where they made the Stealth Bomber. I imagine it was actually in the huge Nellis Air Force base nearby, because there sure weren't any factories in Tonopah that I could see. Unless they were underground.
By the time Megan and husband returned I was knackered and went to bed.
Before I finish, I want to note that I am drinking huge amounts of water, since I received an email from Ashea, laden with subliminal messages. The main danger now is that I will drown my brain.
That's all for now. I must watch the baseball.
The pictures below are of Bryce.
I am four days behind so I am doing a couple of days at a time.
I had been told that the Skywalk at Grand Canyon East was worth checking out. It's only a couple of hours from the Dam so I thought I would. It's at the end of a fairly rough dirt road but the real problem is the cost - $30 to park, and $30 to get to the Skywalk in one of their buses. I said thanks but no thanks to the lady at the booth, which appeared to annoy her considerably. I have since found that the thing took 5 million to build and they are trying to recoup their investment in 2 years, which might explain her attitude.
This detour had been taken me a fair way north of the Interstate which runs to Williams, which is about an hour south of the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. But there is a dirt road which cuts across diagonally towards the Interstate and I took that. It was a great drive,the Canyon was visible in the distance and the landscape generally was pretty spectacular, plus there was virtually no traffic, apart from a rental RV driven by a German bloke who was lost.
Eventually the dirt road (designated 1) joined a bitumen road at the little town of Peach Springs. This road eventually links with the Interstate. I was driving for a few miles when I finally noticed the designation of the road - 66. Without meaning to, I was on the legendary road itself. I clearly needed a soundtrack and I fumbled around and found Tony Joe White which seemed the best fit.
The music was good but the road was just a road, pretty much like driving from Brisbane to Chinchilla.
I stopped for the night in Seligman. For a small town it is a lot of motels. The one I picked was run by an Indian (from India) man. He was quite different to most Indians I have met. He was very talkative, for a start. He swore off watching cricket more than 20 years ago because of the corrupt behaviour of the Pakistanis. He was particularly scathing about Javed Miandad, calling him 'that dick cock Miandad'. (For any non Australians reading this Javed Miandad was a very combative Pakistani cricketer. As you can imagine, the Indians and Pakistanis have a very fierce rivalry in cricket and there was a controversial incident where some Pakistanis were accused of tampering with the ball, a heinous crime in cricket).
He was also scathing about his homeland. He said it was totally corrupt and for that reason he will never live there again.
The next morning I went for a walk up the road and discovered a whole collection of Route 66 themed shops. A bunch of pot bellied Harley Davidson riders were having their photos taken by European tourists. I thought it was all a bit much. That didn't stop me from taking a couple of snaps though.
I drove on to Williams. Ben and Denise had recommended a cafe there but I had a belly full of oatmeal from Seligman so only took enough time to fill up the tank. I drove up to the Grand Canyon then.
The first thing I noticed was the crowds. It was absolutely teeming with mostly European tourists. After wasting an hour or so looking for accommodation (one hotel I went to said they thought they had rooms but their computers were down), I went for a walk on the South Kaibab Trail. This goes down into the canyon. You can use this trail to go to the Phantom Ranch in the bottom of the canyon and it is used by mule trains which take supplies and people to the Ranch. I was walking for about 20 minutes when a group of 6 mules came up. It was very reminiscent of a scene in Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridien, where a vigilante group riding down the side of a cliff encounters a bunch of donkeys carrying mercury up the cliff and they kick them all off the track so they all plummet to their deaths. I let the mules and their driver pass though.
After an hour or so of going down, I was starting to wonder how far I should go. I asked a women walking up the trail how far she had gone and she told me, in a clearly Australian accent that she had gone as far as Skeleton Point. We talked for a while about this and that. She is over here doing a variety of spiritual activities, Buddhist retreats and the like. She also went hiking in Alaska with a group of British Army people. Tough girl.
She insisted that I should go to Zion National Park in Utah and told me that there would be a moonlight walk led by a Ranger that night. She had gone on the walk the night before and given it was to be a full moon this night, this promised to be pretty good.
I decided to go on to Skeleton Point as she had. It took me about an hour and a half to get down there. It was 4 oclock when I got there and the sun set at about 6. It was all uphill on the way back and fairly steep in parts, so it would be touch and go whether I could get to the top before dark. I made it back by 5.30, testament to all the high altitude work I did in Colorado and Montana. But clearly I should either get going earlier or not talk to strange women on the trail. And just in case I was getting cocky about my level of fitness, a motel receptionist asked me if I was over 60, in which case I would get a Senior's discount.
I rang the hotel which had the computer problems earlier in the day. Their computers were fixed but there were no rooms available. I found a room in a little town just outside the Park. I rushed in there, went to the room they assigned me, found that it stunk like a sewer, checked out the next room they gave me, found it was okay, jumped back in the car and drove back to the Park to join the moonlight walk which started at 7. Life in the fast lane.
The walk was special on a number of fronts. Firstly, there were upwards of 150 people there. The Ranger was a bit of a character. He said that when he had started these walks he wondered whether anybody would come on them and 200 people showed up on the first night. The theme of the walk was how different people and animals relate to the moon. He started off by explaining how the 3 Indian tribes around here explain the moon's existence and the influence it has on their lives. He then told us that there was a female ranger stationed at Phantom Ranch who walks up out of the Canyon on every full moon night, so she would be on her way now. It's about 8 miles on the trail, apparently. He also talked about animals. Predators, such as mountain lions love full moons, so they are called the hunting moon. There are known to be 12 mountain lions in the South Rim area.
Now you might think, given my thing about bears, that this might have caused me concern. One, I was with 150 people. Two, since visiting Big Bend National Park 4 years ago, where there also mountain lions, I have come to the conclusion that if a mountain lion is going to get you, it will get you. There really is nothing much you can do about it. It's pretty hard to surprise a mountain lion, so chances are if you come across one, it has intentions.
Here's my problem with bears. It seems to me that you can be as good as gold, well prepared, singing the right songs, banging the right bells, but pure dumb luck could put you between a mother and her cub, or have you suprise a bear which is asleep or has its nose down in hyper feeding mode and you're stuffed.
Mind you, I don't want to be attacked by a mountain lion and I don't think it would necessarily be any more fun than being attacked by a bear.
I skived off from the group after an hour and a half and walked back to the car alone. It was a bit spooky but I took a lot of photos of trees, which was good fun. I took a couple of the canyon too but they didn't turn out very well at all. I might as well have taken a photo of inside of a closed cupboard.
Next day, I did part of another walk down into the canyon, recommended by Ashea. This path was quite different to the one of the day before. As or more steep, but much narrower and rougher and readier. It was built by miners to take them to their mine. Signs said that they were not thinking of tourists when they made it. They can't have been thinking too much of themselves either.
I meant to go only as far as a saddle but I saw no signs and ended up going most of the way to the mine before deciding I needed to turn around so I could get on the road. I needed to get to Zion National Park that night and that would take 5 or 6 hours. I feel National Parks were very tardy in their signposting. This is not the first time I have passed places named on maps. Doesn't National Parks understand the need for a people to feel the sense of arrival that only a sign can provide? Otherwise, naturally, we keep walking until it is clear that we have reached somewhere.
I have reached the end of this post.
I've put in one photo of one of the Route 66 places in Seligman. I'll see if I can get a couple of Grand Canyon ones on too at some stage.
I had been told that the Skywalk at Grand Canyon East was worth checking out. It's only a couple of hours from the Dam so I thought I would. It's at the end of a fairly rough dirt road but the real problem is the cost - $30 to park, and $30 to get to the Skywalk in one of their buses. I said thanks but no thanks to the lady at the booth, which appeared to annoy her considerably. I have since found that the thing took 5 million to build and they are trying to recoup their investment in 2 years, which might explain her attitude.
This detour had been taken me a fair way north of the Interstate which runs to Williams, which is about an hour south of the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. But there is a dirt road which cuts across diagonally towards the Interstate and I took that. It was a great drive,the Canyon was visible in the distance and the landscape generally was pretty spectacular, plus there was virtually no traffic, apart from a rental RV driven by a German bloke who was lost.
Eventually the dirt road (designated 1) joined a bitumen road at the little town of Peach Springs. This road eventually links with the Interstate. I was driving for a few miles when I finally noticed the designation of the road - 66. Without meaning to, I was on the legendary road itself. I clearly needed a soundtrack and I fumbled around and found Tony Joe White which seemed the best fit.
The music was good but the road was just a road, pretty much like driving from Brisbane to Chinchilla.
I stopped for the night in Seligman. For a small town it is a lot of motels. The one I picked was run by an Indian (from India) man. He was quite different to most Indians I have met. He was very talkative, for a start. He swore off watching cricket more than 20 years ago because of the corrupt behaviour of the Pakistanis. He was particularly scathing about Javed Miandad, calling him 'that dick cock Miandad'. (For any non Australians reading this Javed Miandad was a very combative Pakistani cricketer. As you can imagine, the Indians and Pakistanis have a very fierce rivalry in cricket and there was a controversial incident where some Pakistanis were accused of tampering with the ball, a heinous crime in cricket).
He was also scathing about his homeland. He said it was totally corrupt and for that reason he will never live there again.
The next morning I went for a walk up the road and discovered a whole collection of Route 66 themed shops. A bunch of pot bellied Harley Davidson riders were having their photos taken by European tourists. I thought it was all a bit much. That didn't stop me from taking a couple of snaps though.
I drove on to Williams. Ben and Denise had recommended a cafe there but I had a belly full of oatmeal from Seligman so only took enough time to fill up the tank. I drove up to the Grand Canyon then.
The first thing I noticed was the crowds. It was absolutely teeming with mostly European tourists. After wasting an hour or so looking for accommodation (one hotel I went to said they thought they had rooms but their computers were down), I went for a walk on the South Kaibab Trail. This goes down into the canyon. You can use this trail to go to the Phantom Ranch in the bottom of the canyon and it is used by mule trains which take supplies and people to the Ranch. I was walking for about 20 minutes when a group of 6 mules came up. It was very reminiscent of a scene in Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridien, where a vigilante group riding down the side of a cliff encounters a bunch of donkeys carrying mercury up the cliff and they kick them all off the track so they all plummet to their deaths. I let the mules and their driver pass though.
After an hour or so of going down, I was starting to wonder how far I should go. I asked a women walking up the trail how far she had gone and she told me, in a clearly Australian accent that she had gone as far as Skeleton Point. We talked for a while about this and that. She is over here doing a variety of spiritual activities, Buddhist retreats and the like. She also went hiking in Alaska with a group of British Army people. Tough girl.
She insisted that I should go to Zion National Park in Utah and told me that there would be a moonlight walk led by a Ranger that night. She had gone on the walk the night before and given it was to be a full moon this night, this promised to be pretty good.
I decided to go on to Skeleton Point as she had. It took me about an hour and a half to get down there. It was 4 oclock when I got there and the sun set at about 6. It was all uphill on the way back and fairly steep in parts, so it would be touch and go whether I could get to the top before dark. I made it back by 5.30, testament to all the high altitude work I did in Colorado and Montana. But clearly I should either get going earlier or not talk to strange women on the trail. And just in case I was getting cocky about my level of fitness, a motel receptionist asked me if I was over 60, in which case I would get a Senior's discount.
I rang the hotel which had the computer problems earlier in the day. Their computers were fixed but there were no rooms available. I found a room in a little town just outside the Park. I rushed in there, went to the room they assigned me, found that it stunk like a sewer, checked out the next room they gave me, found it was okay, jumped back in the car and drove back to the Park to join the moonlight walk which started at 7. Life in the fast lane.
The walk was special on a number of fronts. Firstly, there were upwards of 150 people there. The Ranger was a bit of a character. He said that when he had started these walks he wondered whether anybody would come on them and 200 people showed up on the first night. The theme of the walk was how different people and animals relate to the moon. He started off by explaining how the 3 Indian tribes around here explain the moon's existence and the influence it has on their lives. He then told us that there was a female ranger stationed at Phantom Ranch who walks up out of the Canyon on every full moon night, so she would be on her way now. It's about 8 miles on the trail, apparently. He also talked about animals. Predators, such as mountain lions love full moons, so they are called the hunting moon. There are known to be 12 mountain lions in the South Rim area.
Now you might think, given my thing about bears, that this might have caused me concern. One, I was with 150 people. Two, since visiting Big Bend National Park 4 years ago, where there also mountain lions, I have come to the conclusion that if a mountain lion is going to get you, it will get you. There really is nothing much you can do about it. It's pretty hard to surprise a mountain lion, so chances are if you come across one, it has intentions.
Here's my problem with bears. It seems to me that you can be as good as gold, well prepared, singing the right songs, banging the right bells, but pure dumb luck could put you between a mother and her cub, or have you suprise a bear which is asleep or has its nose down in hyper feeding mode and you're stuffed.
Mind you, I don't want to be attacked by a mountain lion and I don't think it would necessarily be any more fun than being attacked by a bear.
I skived off from the group after an hour and a half and walked back to the car alone. It was a bit spooky but I took a lot of photos of trees, which was good fun. I took a couple of the canyon too but they didn't turn out very well at all. I might as well have taken a photo of inside of a closed cupboard.
Next day, I did part of another walk down into the canyon, recommended by Ashea. This path was quite different to the one of the day before. As or more steep, but much narrower and rougher and readier. It was built by miners to take them to their mine. Signs said that they were not thinking of tourists when they made it. They can't have been thinking too much of themselves either.
I meant to go only as far as a saddle but I saw no signs and ended up going most of the way to the mine before deciding I needed to turn around so I could get on the road. I needed to get to Zion National Park that night and that would take 5 or 6 hours. I feel National Parks were very tardy in their signposting. This is not the first time I have passed places named on maps. Doesn't National Parks understand the need for a people to feel the sense of arrival that only a sign can provide? Otherwise, naturally, we keep walking until it is clear that we have reached somewhere.
I have reached the end of this post.
I've put in one photo of one of the Route 66 places in Seligman. I'll see if I can get a couple of Grand Canyon ones on too at some stage.
I'm running a few days behind so I'll wrap a couple into one. Nevada won't take long anyway.
Firstly, sitrep on ghosts. There were a about 6 of these ghost hunters. The boss was a big fat ugly, person (BFUP), extremely unfriendly to boot. I guess he deals with the bad ghosts. He hosts an internet radio program in LA on ghosts. I met one of his team in the breakfast room and she was actually pretty friendly. She said one of their machines picked up a few things but it was oversensitve and could pick up 'false weirdness'. She said they were all off to be tourists that day, which included going to ghost towns. I wondered whether her heart was really in it.
Anyway, to the story of Marta Becket as told by Rich, the Town Manager/Executioner/GhostWrangler. She was apparently an extremely successful Broadway performer. She seemed to get sick of New York City. She hooked up with a big talking bloke called John Williams who convinced her she could do really well travelling around the USA performing in local theatres. According to one of the articles I read, he had booked the grand total of 12 in just under 18 months, which doesn't sound too sustaining to me. Some time in there she'd consulted a clairvoyant who told her that some place beginning with the letter a would become extremely important to her.
In 1968, they had a flat tyre near Death Valley Junction. She took a walk while John fixed the tyre and came across what is now the Opera House. It was falling to pieces but she decided that this was where she needed to be. She's basically spent the last 40 years restoring it and performing in it. In the 1980s she and a bunch of her friends bought the whole town.
Rich took me on a tour of the Opera House. It has murals all through it, all painted by her. It took her 4 years to do the walls and 2 to do the ceiling. Her Cistine Chapel. She claims she doesn't put anybody she knows in them, but Rich reckons a young girl who appears in a few of them is actually Marta.I bought the jerky because the sign promised it was 'very good jerky'.
In the middle of his spiel, there was a knock on the door of the Opera House. He called out for whoever it was to come in but nobody did. He looked at me and said 'That's strange'. I guessed he had detected a ghost, whereas I just thought it was a mortal who didn't hear him. Rich went to the door and it turned out I was right. It was a bloke who is helping Rich with the maintenance of the place.
I got moving a bit later and headed into Nevada. One hundred yards across the border I saw my first casino.
I stopped at Beatty and got some petrol (slot machines in the station) and then some jerky and pistachios. For some reason, this is a very common combination in certain retail establishments in Nevada, along with olives and honey. I bought the jerky because the sign promised it was 'very good jerky'. I have since found that this is also a very common claim. In fact, I saw a sign for www.verygoodjerky,com.
I took a back road into Death Valley NP to see Scotty's Mansion, another interesting tale of human something or other, maybe folly. The road was pretty rough and I was pretty impressed with the Ford Escape. I have found it much better than that dirty stinking laptop squashing, petrol guzzling Jeep.
Scotty of Scotty's Mansion was Death Valley Scotty, a bit of a scoundrel and con man in the early twentieth century. He pilfered some gold from a real gold mine and then went around places like Chicago schmoozing rich people, claiming he had hit it rich and needed financial backing to properly tap the seam. A bloke called Johnson, who was head a huge insurance company bought the story and stumped up a lot of money for the gold mine. He visited three or four times and was shown around the country by Scotty but was never shown a mine. In the process, he got to really like Scotty and they became great friends. He also got to like the country. His wife didn't go much on camping out and asked him to build a house and he went ahead and built something that looks pretty much like a castle. Hopefully I can get some photos up.
The tour by the way was conducted by a Park Ranger, done up in 1920s clothes. She acted the part of the housekeeper. Apparently the National Parks Service really wanted to have this place as part of the Park but decided that it didn't have the budget to maintain it. A group of Rangers came up with the plan to run tours of the building and to use the proceeds to support the building. It seems to be working.
Coincidentally, BFUP and his crew were there. At the end of the tour while we were standing around in the music room asking questions, he asked whether there were ghosts there. The Ranger said she hadn't met any, but this might be because she is insensitive, which I thought was a very diplomatic reply.
I drove back into Nevada. Before long I wondered whether I was back in Rawlins, the countryside and the towns were so unremittingly bleak. In between the towns were many derelict builings, some dwellings, some apparently mines. I spent the night in Tonopah. That place pretty much sums up this part of Nevada. It's almost like peeling layers of wallpaper in an old house. On the outskirts there are abandoned shanties while the middle of town is relatively thriving. In the morning I discovered why when I talked to a geologist who is there exploring for precious metals. He said the big mining boom had fizzled out in the '20s but was well and truly on now. He said that Nevada is one of the few states left that is pro mining. This could be bit jaundiced though.
My aim for the day was Henderson, just south of Las Vegas. I had no intention of going to Vegas itself.
I headed out of town continuing in the same direction I'd been travelling the day before. I got about 40 miles out of town when I came to an abandoned roadside diner and gas station. It reminded me of the TV series in the early 70s called the Invaders where some bloke stops at such a place at exactly the same time as a bunch of particularly nasty aliens land there. Anyway, this place was near the junction of 2 highways. What on earth went wrong? Why did the dream die? Aliens or ghosts maybe.
I checked my map and discovered I'd gone in the wrong direction.
I went back to Tonopah and found the road I was supposed to be on. Later still I turned on to a road called the Extraterrestrial Highway. If that abandoned diner/gas station had been on that road, I would have known what had happened. I didn't see any evidence of Extraterrestrials on that highway, but of course the lesson of the Invaders is that you can't tell them apart from normal humans, except for a telltale crook in one of their fingers. I didn't get that close to anyone on the highway. I would have thought by now they would have sorted that out anyway.
To cut a long story short, I finally got to Henderson at about 5.30 only to find that Las Vegas was clearly visible only about 10 miles away. Furthermore, Henderson, which advertises itself on NPR as having more than 40 parks, looks pretty much like any crap highway town. I got on to an interstate and drove south Boulder City and booked into the first motel I could find. The room had a jacuzzi in it.
It was a Sunday night and it was only 6 o'clock and I thought it would be good to see Las Vegas at night so I drove down there and cruised down the strip. This was very exciting indeed, until the point when I had an attack of the vapours and decided I needed to get out of there fast. I hung two rights and I was on an interstate to Salt Lake City and then another right and I was on the road to Boulder City and home for the night.
Next morning I had an excellent breakfast at Mel's Diner. I recommend it warmly to everybody and promised the owner I would do so.
There are a number of signs in Boulder City announcing that it is the city which built the Hoover Dam, which is just down the road. It is also on the way to Arizona.
I spent a couple of hours at the Dam. I found the whole thing quite impressive. At the same time, it was interesting to realise that one of the major reasons for building the dam was flood mitigation. The Colorado River was seen by horticulturalists downriver as a complete pain because if it wasn't in flood, there was drought. Congress, when it passed the Bill to build the dam, said it was an opportunity to change a force for evil to a force for good.
When Roosevelt inaugurated the bridge, he praised the workers who 'builded' the bridge.
The dam was done in art deco style. Does anybody know of any dams done in gothic? I think gargoyles on the dam wall would be very impressive indeed.
So that was Nevada. Something less than 48 hours there, not including Vegas, which is not really part of Earth.
The photos below are of the hotel and opera house and the last one is of Vegas from a hill next to the interstate. As an afterthought, I've also put in a photo of the derelict gas station and a sign for the ExtraTerrestrial Highway because I thought it might seem like a theme.
By the way, on the subject of Butte Montana, I have learnt there was once a postcard titled the most beautiful sight in Montana and it was a picture of Butte in the rear vision mirror.
Firstly, sitrep on ghosts. There were a about 6 of these ghost hunters. The boss was a big fat ugly, person (BFUP), extremely unfriendly to boot. I guess he deals with the bad ghosts. He hosts an internet radio program in LA on ghosts. I met one of his team in the breakfast room and she was actually pretty friendly. She said one of their machines picked up a few things but it was oversensitve and could pick up 'false weirdness'. She said they were all off to be tourists that day, which included going to ghost towns. I wondered whether her heart was really in it.
Anyway, to the story of Marta Becket as told by Rich, the Town Manager/Executioner/GhostWrangler. She was apparently an extremely successful Broadway performer. She seemed to get sick of New York City. She hooked up with a big talking bloke called John Williams who convinced her she could do really well travelling around the USA performing in local theatres. According to one of the articles I read, he had booked the grand total of 12 in just under 18 months, which doesn't sound too sustaining to me. Some time in there she'd consulted a clairvoyant who told her that some place beginning with the letter a would become extremely important to her.
In 1968, they had a flat tyre near Death Valley Junction. She took a walk while John fixed the tyre and came across what is now the Opera House. It was falling to pieces but she decided that this was where she needed to be. She's basically spent the last 40 years restoring it and performing in it. In the 1980s she and a bunch of her friends bought the whole town.
Rich took me on a tour of the Opera House. It has murals all through it, all painted by her. It took her 4 years to do the walls and 2 to do the ceiling. Her Cistine Chapel. She claims she doesn't put anybody she knows in them, but Rich reckons a young girl who appears in a few of them is actually Marta.I bought the jerky because the sign promised it was 'very good jerky'.
In the middle of his spiel, there was a knock on the door of the Opera House. He called out for whoever it was to come in but nobody did. He looked at me and said 'That's strange'. I guessed he had detected a ghost, whereas I just thought it was a mortal who didn't hear him. Rich went to the door and it turned out I was right. It was a bloke who is helping Rich with the maintenance of the place.
I got moving a bit later and headed into Nevada. One hundred yards across the border I saw my first casino.
I stopped at Beatty and got some petrol (slot machines in the station) and then some jerky and pistachios. For some reason, this is a very common combination in certain retail establishments in Nevada, along with olives and honey. I bought the jerky because the sign promised it was 'very good jerky'. I have since found that this is also a very common claim. In fact, I saw a sign for www.verygoodjerky,com.
I took a back road into Death Valley NP to see Scotty's Mansion, another interesting tale of human something or other, maybe folly. The road was pretty rough and I was pretty impressed with the Ford Escape. I have found it much better than that dirty stinking laptop squashing, petrol guzzling Jeep.
Scotty of Scotty's Mansion was Death Valley Scotty, a bit of a scoundrel and con man in the early twentieth century. He pilfered some gold from a real gold mine and then went around places like Chicago schmoozing rich people, claiming he had hit it rich and needed financial backing to properly tap the seam. A bloke called Johnson, who was head a huge insurance company bought the story and stumped up a lot of money for the gold mine. He visited three or four times and was shown around the country by Scotty but was never shown a mine. In the process, he got to really like Scotty and they became great friends. He also got to like the country. His wife didn't go much on camping out and asked him to build a house and he went ahead and built something that looks pretty much like a castle. Hopefully I can get some photos up.
The tour by the way was conducted by a Park Ranger, done up in 1920s clothes. She acted the part of the housekeeper. Apparently the National Parks Service really wanted to have this place as part of the Park but decided that it didn't have the budget to maintain it. A group of Rangers came up with the plan to run tours of the building and to use the proceeds to support the building. It seems to be working.
Coincidentally, BFUP and his crew were there. At the end of the tour while we were standing around in the music room asking questions, he asked whether there were ghosts there. The Ranger said she hadn't met any, but this might be because she is insensitive, which I thought was a very diplomatic reply.
I drove back into Nevada. Before long I wondered whether I was back in Rawlins, the countryside and the towns were so unremittingly bleak. In between the towns were many derelict builings, some dwellings, some apparently mines. I spent the night in Tonopah. That place pretty much sums up this part of Nevada. It's almost like peeling layers of wallpaper in an old house. On the outskirts there are abandoned shanties while the middle of town is relatively thriving. In the morning I discovered why when I talked to a geologist who is there exploring for precious metals. He said the big mining boom had fizzled out in the '20s but was well and truly on now. He said that Nevada is one of the few states left that is pro mining. This could be bit jaundiced though.
My aim for the day was Henderson, just south of Las Vegas. I had no intention of going to Vegas itself.
I headed out of town continuing in the same direction I'd been travelling the day before. I got about 40 miles out of town when I came to an abandoned roadside diner and gas station. It reminded me of the TV series in the early 70s called the Invaders where some bloke stops at such a place at exactly the same time as a bunch of particularly nasty aliens land there. Anyway, this place was near the junction of 2 highways. What on earth went wrong? Why did the dream die? Aliens or ghosts maybe.
I checked my map and discovered I'd gone in the wrong direction.
I went back to Tonopah and found the road I was supposed to be on. Later still I turned on to a road called the Extraterrestrial Highway. If that abandoned diner/gas station had been on that road, I would have known what had happened. I didn't see any evidence of Extraterrestrials on that highway, but of course the lesson of the Invaders is that you can't tell them apart from normal humans, except for a telltale crook in one of their fingers. I didn't get that close to anyone on the highway. I would have thought by now they would have sorted that out anyway.
To cut a long story short, I finally got to Henderson at about 5.30 only to find that Las Vegas was clearly visible only about 10 miles away. Furthermore, Henderson, which advertises itself on NPR as having more than 40 parks, looks pretty much like any crap highway town. I got on to an interstate and drove south Boulder City and booked into the first motel I could find. The room had a jacuzzi in it.
It was a Sunday night and it was only 6 o'clock and I thought it would be good to see Las Vegas at night so I drove down there and cruised down the strip. This was very exciting indeed, until the point when I had an attack of the vapours and decided I needed to get out of there fast. I hung two rights and I was on an interstate to Salt Lake City and then another right and I was on the road to Boulder City and home for the night.
Next morning I had an excellent breakfast at Mel's Diner. I recommend it warmly to everybody and promised the owner I would do so.
There are a number of signs in Boulder City announcing that it is the city which built the Hoover Dam, which is just down the road. It is also on the way to Arizona.
I spent a couple of hours at the Dam. I found the whole thing quite impressive. At the same time, it was interesting to realise that one of the major reasons for building the dam was flood mitigation. The Colorado River was seen by horticulturalists downriver as a complete pain because if it wasn't in flood, there was drought. Congress, when it passed the Bill to build the dam, said it was an opportunity to change a force for evil to a force for good.
When Roosevelt inaugurated the bridge, he praised the workers who 'builded' the bridge.
The dam was done in art deco style. Does anybody know of any dams done in gothic? I think gargoyles on the dam wall would be very impressive indeed.
So that was Nevada. Something less than 48 hours there, not including Vegas, which is not really part of Earth.
The photos below are of the hotel and opera house and the last one is of Vegas from a hill next to the interstate. As an afterthought, I've also put in a photo of the derelict gas station and a sign for the ExtraTerrestrial Highway because I thought it might seem like a theme.
By the way, on the subject of Butte Montana, I have learnt there was once a postcard titled the most beautiful sight in Montana and it was a picture of Butte in the rear vision mirror.
I started the day with a walk in Mosaic Canyon, which is close to the motel. The canyon is described in the literature as a geological museum. Of course, I have as much appreciation of this as a monkey, but I do like the pretty colours. And there are plenty of those in Mosaic. It also gives quite a fetching view of the valley below.
It was fairly cool up there, although I was told when I got back that it was in the high 60's on the valley floor. Clearly, canyons are cool.
After some general phaffing about, I finally got going and drove to the Visitors Centre in Death Valley. On the way, I stopped to take a photo of a place called the Devils Cornfield. I couldn't really see how it resembled a cornfield, but there you go.
As you would expect, the Visitors Centre had lots of good information about the Park. There were also a lot of people around, mainly European tourists.
The valley first became well known because of the experience of the 49ers, a group of people heading for the goldrush on the West Coast I think, who got lost in the Valley for a long time. I'm not sure that anybody actually died and there's a lot of statements in the Centre to the effect that the name is a misnomer. Hardly anybody dies here, apparently.
Not long after the 49ers, a group of explorers went through and stayed for a little while. The leader of the expedition wrote, '20 miles from wood, 20 miles from water, 20 feet from hell'. Again the people who put the material in the Centre together argue that this is unfair.
It was only established as a Park in the 1920s.
I drove south from the Centre for about 20 miles to Bad Water. This is a hugh dry lake, covered in salt. It is weird, weird, weird. This time I had water but no sunglasses and the reflection off the salt was blinding. There are a few holes in the surface containing water. Just for interest, I checked the water. It was cool, it was definitely bad.
This is the lowest point in the USA, 240 something feet below sea level. This no doubt adds to the eeriness of the place.
While I was there, 4 ambulances went zooming past, going who knows where.
On the way back to the Centre I looked at the Devils Golf Course. Here the salt has conglomerated into large blocks and there is a tessolated effect. This too is extremely eery, and while the Valley might not kill many people, it could turn a few mad.
The other strange thing about this valley is that it looked like it should be really hot, what with the salt and the haze, but it was actually quite pleasant, possibly 80 degrees.
After another couple of hours of wandering around in this amazing place, I finally left the Park. I had no clear destination in mind, although I thought I might try to make it to Beatty in Nevada. (My one definite idea was to not go to Las Vegas). About 15 miles out of the Park, there is a junction with a highway and at this junction is a 'town' called, appropriately enough, Death Valley Junction.
There is a cluster of buildings there, the biggest of which is a hotel, called the Amargosa. It looked quite intriguing and I thought I would have a quick look and a drink before continuing on up the road. The outside of the building is adobe and very Spanish looking. There were 3 dead petrol bowsers on a verandah. Some people would be aware that I have a special feeling for petrol bowsers and so obviously my interest was piqued more.
The walls of the lobby are dedicated to the story of a vaudeville performer, Marta Beckett, who has been living and performing here for almost 40 years. There is a building next to the hotel called the Amargosa Opera House. I will give more of the history in my next post.
There was a group of people in the lobby, one of whom was speaking to the woman behind the counter. When he finally moved off, I asked the woman if there were any rooms available. She said there were and showed me a couple. As she was showing me the room she mentioned that the other people were paranormal investigators, who were here to investigate the hotel because it is haunted. This is the second time I've come into contact with these types, the first one being in Rawlins. It's clearly a big industry here.
The rooms were a bit run down but kind of charming and presence of these people was intriguing but still I thought I might be better off continuing up to Beatty.
I started up the road but after about 5 miles I thought a Motel 6 in Beatty was going to be very boring after this, so I turned back. When I walked in, they greeted me like a long lost friend. One of the staff said "You missed us, didn't you?". Cute.
There was still plenty of light so I drove back in to the Park to Dante's View. This is a cliff directly above Bad Water where I'd been earlier in the day. By now, a very cold wind had started up, blowing from the north, Alaska in fact, and the air in the northern end of the valley was full of sand. It was brutally cold up there and the overall effect was as if you were looking into some netherworld or other.
I was quite happy to get back to the hotel, ghosts, ghost hunters and all.
I had a long chat with Rich, who is the manager of the hotel and, in fact, the whole town. The town was originally built by Pacific Borax to house workers at its borax mines here. When the mines were closed, the company sold the whole town. Eventually, it was bought by Marta Beckett and a bunch of her artistic friends. More on that in the next post.
He has all sorts of plans for the place, which is a registered not for profit organisation. But he has to be careful because Marta, although 84 and getting a little doddery, still lives there, peforms in the Opera House and has ultimate authority.
On the subject of the ghost hunters, Rich informed me that he has a very close connection with spirits and has encountered many in the hotel. Mostly, they are friendly, but he has been told to get out of certain rooms. I asked him whether Room 3, was one of them. He said that all the spooky rooms were in the other end of the hotel, which was the single men's quarters in the old days, and which they now call Spooky Hollow.
He was going to take them on a tour throughout the buildings during the night so they could use their monitoring equipment to detect 'presences'. As long as they didn't set up in my room, I would be happy.
I woke in the middle of the night to a rumbling sound on the roof. Of course, my immediate thought was ghosts, but then I realised that it was just the stupid wind.
I forgot to mention an interesting thing about the Owens Valley, where the internment camp was. I noticed as I was driving through a couple of pick up trucks with Los Angeles Water or something similar on the side of them. Given this place is a long way from LA, I thought it was a little strange. I later learnt that in the early twentieth century, the Owens Valley waa a very productive fruit and vegetable growing area. Then in the 1920s when Los Angeles was growing fast, it needed water and the Owens Valley was identified as a good source. So LA bought up all the orchards and built a canal from Owens to LA. You can see it from the road. It's wide and open and surely they lose a lot from evaporation. I find this story pretty interesting in the light of water issues in Australia. It also reminds me of the plot of Chinatown.
That's all for now.
It was fairly cool up there, although I was told when I got back that it was in the high 60's on the valley floor. Clearly, canyons are cool.
After some general phaffing about, I finally got going and drove to the Visitors Centre in Death Valley. On the way, I stopped to take a photo of a place called the Devils Cornfield. I couldn't really see how it resembled a cornfield, but there you go.
As you would expect, the Visitors Centre had lots of good information about the Park. There were also a lot of people around, mainly European tourists.
The valley first became well known because of the experience of the 49ers, a group of people heading for the goldrush on the West Coast I think, who got lost in the Valley for a long time. I'm not sure that anybody actually died and there's a lot of statements in the Centre to the effect that the name is a misnomer. Hardly anybody dies here, apparently.
Not long after the 49ers, a group of explorers went through and stayed for a little while. The leader of the expedition wrote, '20 miles from wood, 20 miles from water, 20 feet from hell'. Again the people who put the material in the Centre together argue that this is unfair.
It was only established as a Park in the 1920s.
I drove south from the Centre for about 20 miles to Bad Water. This is a hugh dry lake, covered in salt. It is weird, weird, weird. This time I had water but no sunglasses and the reflection off the salt was blinding. There are a few holes in the surface containing water. Just for interest, I checked the water. It was cool, it was definitely bad.
This is the lowest point in the USA, 240 something feet below sea level. This no doubt adds to the eeriness of the place.
While I was there, 4 ambulances went zooming past, going who knows where.
On the way back to the Centre I looked at the Devils Golf Course. Here the salt has conglomerated into large blocks and there is a tessolated effect. This too is extremely eery, and while the Valley might not kill many people, it could turn a few mad.
The other strange thing about this valley is that it looked like it should be really hot, what with the salt and the haze, but it was actually quite pleasant, possibly 80 degrees.
After another couple of hours of wandering around in this amazing place, I finally left the Park. I had no clear destination in mind, although I thought I might try to make it to Beatty in Nevada. (My one definite idea was to not go to Las Vegas). About 15 miles out of the Park, there is a junction with a highway and at this junction is a 'town' called, appropriately enough, Death Valley Junction.
There is a cluster of buildings there, the biggest of which is a hotel, called the Amargosa. It looked quite intriguing and I thought I would have a quick look and a drink before continuing on up the road. The outside of the building is adobe and very Spanish looking. There were 3 dead petrol bowsers on a verandah. Some people would be aware that I have a special feeling for petrol bowsers and so obviously my interest was piqued more.
The walls of the lobby are dedicated to the story of a vaudeville performer, Marta Beckett, who has been living and performing here for almost 40 years. There is a building next to the hotel called the Amargosa Opera House. I will give more of the history in my next post.
There was a group of people in the lobby, one of whom was speaking to the woman behind the counter. When he finally moved off, I asked the woman if there were any rooms available. She said there were and showed me a couple. As she was showing me the room she mentioned that the other people were paranormal investigators, who were here to investigate the hotel because it is haunted. This is the second time I've come into contact with these types, the first one being in Rawlins. It's clearly a big industry here.
The rooms were a bit run down but kind of charming and presence of these people was intriguing but still I thought I might be better off continuing up to Beatty.
I started up the road but after about 5 miles I thought a Motel 6 in Beatty was going to be very boring after this, so I turned back. When I walked in, they greeted me like a long lost friend. One of the staff said "You missed us, didn't you?". Cute.
There was still plenty of light so I drove back in to the Park to Dante's View. This is a cliff directly above Bad Water where I'd been earlier in the day. By now, a very cold wind had started up, blowing from the north, Alaska in fact, and the air in the northern end of the valley was full of sand. It was brutally cold up there and the overall effect was as if you were looking into some netherworld or other.
I was quite happy to get back to the hotel, ghosts, ghost hunters and all.
I had a long chat with Rich, who is the manager of the hotel and, in fact, the whole town. The town was originally built by Pacific Borax to house workers at its borax mines here. When the mines were closed, the company sold the whole town. Eventually, it was bought by Marta Beckett and a bunch of her artistic friends. More on that in the next post.
He has all sorts of plans for the place, which is a registered not for profit organisation. But he has to be careful because Marta, although 84 and getting a little doddery, still lives there, peforms in the Opera House and has ultimate authority.
On the subject of the ghost hunters, Rich informed me that he has a very close connection with spirits and has encountered many in the hotel. Mostly, they are friendly, but he has been told to get out of certain rooms. I asked him whether Room 3, was one of them. He said that all the spooky rooms were in the other end of the hotel, which was the single men's quarters in the old days, and which they now call Spooky Hollow.
He was going to take them on a tour throughout the buildings during the night so they could use their monitoring equipment to detect 'presences'. As long as they didn't set up in my room, I would be happy.
I woke in the middle of the night to a rumbling sound on the roof. Of course, my immediate thought was ghosts, but then I realised that it was just the stupid wind.
I forgot to mention an interesting thing about the Owens Valley, where the internment camp was. I noticed as I was driving through a couple of pick up trucks with Los Angeles Water or something similar on the side of them. Given this place is a long way from LA, I thought it was a little strange. I later learnt that in the early twentieth century, the Owens Valley waa a very productive fruit and vegetable growing area. Then in the 1920s when Los Angeles was growing fast, it needed water and the Owens Valley was identified as a good source. So LA bought up all the orchards and built a canal from Owens to LA. You can see it from the road. It's wide and open and surely they lose a lot from evaporation. I find this story pretty interesting in the light of water issues in Australia. It also reminds me of the plot of Chinatown.
That's all for now.
In the morning I read an article in the local paper about the finding of the wreckage of Steve Fosset's plane.
Mammoth Lakes is the closest town to where it was found and the hiker who found it manages a local sports store. He was out there looking for the remains of an old mine and came across 10 $100 bills and a few other bits and pieces. He didn't twig to who it might have been until he got home and spoke to his wife. It was only then that he realised that it might be 'that famous guy'. This is where it gets interesting. Excuse me if this has already been in the press but it's new to me. Rather than call the relevant authorities, he contacted his lawyer and asked him to get in touch with Fosset's family and/or lawyers to inform them of his find. He and his wife then went back out to the site and this time found some wreckage of the plane, about 1000 feet above where he had found the first lot of stuff.
On his return he told his boss and it was him who finally contacted the authorities, 36 hours after the initial discovery.
I really wonder what he was thinking. He had his own press conference, along with his boss, so if you were at all cynical you might think he was seeking some kind of personal gain.
Anyway, he's had his 15 minutes of fame. At the time of writing, he still hadn't had any contact from the Fossets or their lawyers.
I drove south from Mammoth Lakes. My initial intention was to go to Sequoia National Park but when I looked again at my map and checked on the internet at the motel, I discovered that there was no entrance from the east side and I would have to go well west in order to get in. I decided I would go to Death Valley instead. I was cruising down the road, enjoying the scenery when I saw a sign for the Manzanar National Historical Site. This rung some sort of bell in my memory. I went past but then decided to turn around and have a look at it. When I got close I saw that its full title was the Manzanar War Relocation Centre. I initially thought it might have been a staging post for troops going off to the Pacific but then I remembered what it was – a camp for Japanese internees.
The Visitors Centre is excellent. It tells the story of how Japanese people from all over the West Coast, as far north as Seattle, were sent here in early 1942, ostensibly to protect them from angry Americans. The truth seemed to be that, although noone would come straight out and say they were a threat to national security, they might well become involved in sabotage. The internees were given very little time to settle their affairs and many were forced to sell stuff at fire sale prices. Many lost their businesses and their homes while they were in there, because they were unable to keep the businesses running while they were interned, or make mortgage payments.
65 years after all this happened, in fact much earlier than that (there was lots of opposition to it at the time, Gerald Ford made an official apology and Reagan approved reparations) , there is unanimous agreement that it was horribly wrong. George W may well think it was wrong. There were plenty of comments in the Visitors Book about the need to honour the Constitution and what it says about the protection of liberty, freedom and all that stuff. Political leaders seem to have difficulty remembering that bit.
There was a self drive tour around the camp but I walked it. I remember Les Carlyon's forewords in both his books about the First World War about needing to walk the country to get a better feel for what happened there. I think he's spot on and in my own small way I think I got a lot out of seeing where the buildings were, the remnants of the gardens they established in the midst of this pretty harsh environment. I guess that shows it's not all bad, the human spirit blah blah, but generally you have to think that we don't need places like this to prove humans are resilient.
I drove down to Lone Pine which is where you turn off for the highway for Death Valley. There is a sign on the outskirts of town, announcing that the Lone Pine Film Festival was on that weekend. I have since read that Lone Pine has been the setting of a lot of films, mainly westerns but also one of my favourites, Bad Day in Black Rock (coincidentally about a WW2 veteran played by Spencer Tracey who comes to town to see one of his buddies from the war, who happens to be part Japanese – it's a beauty).
The drive into Death Valley is arresting, to say the least. Not so much at first, though. The town of Keeler, about 15 miles from Lone Pine is a one horse town at most. There was land for sale on the edge of it though, but in the current credit crunch, banks might be reluctant to lend the 75 cents it would be worth.
The road gradually climbs until you reach a lookout, named after a priest called Crowley who frequented these parts a long time ago. The view from here is a killer.
I continued on to Stovepipe Wells where there is a motel. By now, it was reasonably warm, around 90 F, and I thought this was as good a place to stay as any. It turned out to be an excellent idea. There is a big crop of sand dunes about a mile east of the motel and I went out there an hour before sunset and had a wonderful time clambering up and running down dunes. The changing light and shadows was something special. Enchanting is a word which came to mind.
I later learnt that someone died out in the dunes just this summer. They hadn't taken any water with them. I'm hardly in a position to call them foolish.
All in all, this was a great day, perhaps the best I've had outside of Yellowstone.
Mammoth Lakes is the closest town to where it was found and the hiker who found it manages a local sports store. He was out there looking for the remains of an old mine and came across 10 $100 bills and a few other bits and pieces. He didn't twig to who it might have been until he got home and spoke to his wife. It was only then that he realised that it might be 'that famous guy'. This is where it gets interesting. Excuse me if this has already been in the press but it's new to me. Rather than call the relevant authorities, he contacted his lawyer and asked him to get in touch with Fosset's family and/or lawyers to inform them of his find. He and his wife then went back out to the site and this time found some wreckage of the plane, about 1000 feet above where he had found the first lot of stuff.
On his return he told his boss and it was him who finally contacted the authorities, 36 hours after the initial discovery.
I really wonder what he was thinking. He had his own press conference, along with his boss, so if you were at all cynical you might think he was seeking some kind of personal gain.
Anyway, he's had his 15 minutes of fame. At the time of writing, he still hadn't had any contact from the Fossets or their lawyers.
I drove south from Mammoth Lakes. My initial intention was to go to Sequoia National Park but when I looked again at my map and checked on the internet at the motel, I discovered that there was no entrance from the east side and I would have to go well west in order to get in. I decided I would go to Death Valley instead. I was cruising down the road, enjoying the scenery when I saw a sign for the Manzanar National Historical Site. This rung some sort of bell in my memory. I went past but then decided to turn around and have a look at it. When I got close I saw that its full title was the Manzanar War Relocation Centre. I initially thought it might have been a staging post for troops going off to the Pacific but then I remembered what it was – a camp for Japanese internees.
The Visitors Centre is excellent. It tells the story of how Japanese people from all over the West Coast, as far north as Seattle, were sent here in early 1942, ostensibly to protect them from angry Americans. The truth seemed to be that, although noone would come straight out and say they were a threat to national security, they might well become involved in sabotage. The internees were given very little time to settle their affairs and many were forced to sell stuff at fire sale prices. Many lost their businesses and their homes while they were in there, because they were unable to keep the businesses running while they were interned, or make mortgage payments.
65 years after all this happened, in fact much earlier than that (there was lots of opposition to it at the time, Gerald Ford made an official apology and Reagan approved reparations) , there is unanimous agreement that it was horribly wrong. George W may well think it was wrong. There were plenty of comments in the Visitors Book about the need to honour the Constitution and what it says about the protection of liberty, freedom and all that stuff. Political leaders seem to have difficulty remembering that bit.
There was a self drive tour around the camp but I walked it. I remember Les Carlyon's forewords in both his books about the First World War about needing to walk the country to get a better feel for what happened there. I think he's spot on and in my own small way I think I got a lot out of seeing where the buildings were, the remnants of the gardens they established in the midst of this pretty harsh environment. I guess that shows it's not all bad, the human spirit blah blah, but generally you have to think that we don't need places like this to prove humans are resilient.
I drove down to Lone Pine which is where you turn off for the highway for Death Valley. There is a sign on the outskirts of town, announcing that the Lone Pine Film Festival was on that weekend. I have since read that Lone Pine has been the setting of a lot of films, mainly westerns but also one of my favourites, Bad Day in Black Rock (coincidentally about a WW2 veteran played by Spencer Tracey who comes to town to see one of his buddies from the war, who happens to be part Japanese – it's a beauty).
The drive into Death Valley is arresting, to say the least. Not so much at first, though. The town of Keeler, about 15 miles from Lone Pine is a one horse town at most. There was land for sale on the edge of it though, but in the current credit crunch, banks might be reluctant to lend the 75 cents it would be worth.
The road gradually climbs until you reach a lookout, named after a priest called Crowley who frequented these parts a long time ago. The view from here is a killer.
I continued on to Stovepipe Wells where there is a motel. By now, it was reasonably warm, around 90 F, and I thought this was as good a place to stay as any. It turned out to be an excellent idea. There is a big crop of sand dunes about a mile east of the motel and I went out there an hour before sunset and had a wonderful time clambering up and running down dunes. The changing light and shadows was something special. Enchanting is a word which came to mind.
I later learnt that someone died out in the dunes just this summer. They hadn't taken any water with them. I'm hardly in a position to call them foolish.
All in all, this was a great day, perhaps the best I've had outside of Yellowstone.
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