A-Nony-Mous, 60,000 people
Dec. 28, 2012

Just when I think I have things planned and settled and all is comfortable and known, then sometimes it isn’t.  And for us just now, it isn’t, which is okay but different.  Now I am feeling pretty anonymous, very unusual after living in the same town for 35 years and scarcely being able to go anywhere in the region without seeing multiple people I know and experience places that are familiar - kind of a warm snuggy feeling. 

I am told there approximately 60,000 additional people, transient workers (60,002 if you count Chris and me) in this area, utilizing an infrastructure developed for 60,000 fewer people.  Doesn’t take much imagination to conjure the congested conditions on roads, in stores and pretty much everywhere.  We are in the Permian Basin (I’ll let you look it up; it’s the underlying geologic structure), thus many business names incorporate “Permian”, “Basin”, “Midland”, “Odessa” or “Midessa”.

I have discovered that I am able to venture out into an unknown city in crazed traffic with unfamiliar driving situations and continue to function as a fully competent adult.  Admittedly, it is odd zooming along looking for things I need having no idea where they may be whilst dodging this way and that and keeping a close eye on who is changing lanes, pulling out in front of me and slowing down.  Today, I found a car wash (I even remember it is north of Wadley on Big Springs), a drug store, a dollar store (in a bad part of town - kinda nervous making), a water dispensary, got back to the downtown library where I obtained a library card and checked out a book) and back to the HEB, easily the most frenetic grocery I’ve ever entered.

The young men at the car wash could not remove my radio antenna nor could I so we went ahead with crossed fingers.  Expected scenario tonight: Chris comes home, says “Oh good, you washed the car” (it was the dirtiest car in town after three dust storms laid a thick layer of white caliche on it and a light sprinkle set it like cement and the birds that I was - past tense - feeding deposited their droppings all over it) and I say, “Yes, that’s the good news.”  I suspect I will not be listening to the radio in the car anytime soon.

Now the HEB: One lines up for a parking space, lines up to get inside, lines up to pay and lines up to get out the door.  It is huge and wonderful.  Stupendous garden shop, bakery, cheese shop, produce section, dairy: fresh baked bread of all kinds, tortillas being made before your very eyes, samples to make you not miss Costco and more stuff than I’ve ever seen in a grocery - very fun, just don’t try it in a hurry.

Water dispensary is to save some bucks that we’ve been spending on bottled water.  On C’s first morning here, he noticed an oil slick on his coffee and was quickly converted to bottled water.

Brrrrr . . .

Time out to whine - temp this a.m. is 28 degrees and we have not heat nor hot water because we ran out of propane last night.  Chris: “I was just so happy you were here I forgot to check it”.  Oh well, any excuse in a storm.  We do have an electric radiator for backup so there are no icicles hanging off my nose but it’s damn shivery in here as we await the office opening at 9.

Local attractions . . .

I check the Midland RV Park website and see a tab marked “local attractions”.  Anticipatorily, I click it to discover what awaits me in the discovery world: Blank.  Yes, a big white page with nothing.  I check again; perhaps the internet wasn’t loading correctly.  Yup, still blank.

Not only are there no local attractions, it’s a billion miles to anywhere. 

No matter, we figure out something and take a jaunt off to see what we can see.  Mostly what we see out of town is more oil wells and vast seas of mesquite-covered plains. 

Monahans Sand Hills State Park, private property, birds, Roy . . .

For a break, we find a mono-scenery within the larger mono-scenery: the Monohans sand hills.  We have been here only briefly previously, so determine to explore at more length.  The opportunity to walk somewhere is overwhelming for me.  I am so accustomed to turning my nose any direction at home and setting off cross-country on an explore.  That is not possible in this great state; virtually every square inch is private and posted or private and posted.  The rare exceptions are seashore (none of that anywhere around Midland, aptly named) and State parks a la Monahans.


Back to the desert within a desert: We spot quite a surprising number of birds while we’re driving in, so set off afoot with binoculars, spotting scope and bird book - freed of sitting in the trailer or sitting in the car.  The place fascinates and provides excellent exercise both: walking up and down sand dunes is quite the workout.  Who would guess there would be so much wildlife in these Sahara-like surroundings but an abundance of critter prints proves it so.




The sport of choice at the sand dunes is disking.  The day was too chilly for me to try it, but the younger set was having quite a time sliding downhill and trudging back to the top to do it again.

We manage to identify a few birds while there: Brewer’s blackbird, kestrel, northern mocking bird, western wood peewee, chipping sparrow, spotted towhee, white-crowned sparrow, raven, western scrub jay, house sparrow and a amazingly: a life bird, the sage thrasher.

An avian aside: at “home”, we had house sparrows, house finches, white-winged doves, a cardinal and a million common and great-tailed grackles.  I say had because I have removed the feeder due to the overwhelming numbers of feathered friends and their messes.

Once when Texas cousin Art was visiting in Arizona, I mentioned how much I enjoyed the grackles at my house, especially when they came to devour the hordes of cicadas, and he opined strongly the opposite.  Okay, now I get it: they are legion here and they are large, raucous, messy pests that gather by the thousands.

Venturing on, we check out various abandoned buildings (a particular fascination of mine) and old neighborhoods in Monahans, Pyote and Wink. 























I love Monahans' street signs with a metal galloping horse scene atop each one.








Chris was fascinated by the Pyote Town Hall, about the size of my bedroom and office.  I followed the signs to their museum but it was no more or at least not right now.


















Wink was interesting, to say the least.

It houses a Roy Orbison museum, it being that singer’s boyhood home, a facility open only by appointment; one surmises that may not be often. 












Also in Wink was this scene that still has us scratching our heads - bundles of some kind of paper stacked at the top of a building whence they are about to topple out onto the sidewalk because the facade is missing.  I’d give a quarter to anyone who could explain this to me.

Not to be left behind . . .
Dec. 18, 2012

“So here we are in the Tijuana jail.  Can’t find no one to go our bail.”

No, we are not really in jail - Tijuana or anywhere; I just have song titles popping up as they suit the situation, so actually, here we are in Midland, Texas.  Elvis’ “It’’s now or never” also comes to mind: start this installment of the blog or admit that it’s too late to do so.

Yes, I have joined Chris, the previous blog post being my sole attempt to journal our separation.  We had not made solid plans beyond Chris going to Texas and getting a job.  Would I remain at home?  Would he be able to travel back & forth or would I?  Would he even find suitable employment?

The answer is that he obtained a good job and as soon as he conveyed that information on Friday, I began preparations to leave on Tuesday, a wholly inadequate length of time for said preparations.

A house sitter engaged; Christmas packages prepared and shipped; fallen-leaf-strewn premises raked; pantry, refrigerator and freezers cleaned out; arrangements made for commitments to which I was uncommitting; a zillion other things attended to as stress levels rose to volcanic levels (many apologies to those who experienced the resulting Mount St. Helens-like explosions) - Tuesday morning and Rowdy and I were on our way, Ruby loaded to the gills.

Never one to appreciate cities or city traffic, we nevertheless rolled on through Phoenix and Tucson with ease, arriving in Benson just in time for a scrumptious lunch prepared by my sister-in-law, Pat, and a nice-but-too-short visit with her and my brother, Frank, at their winter RV haven.

I shot their portrait with Bubba by their Arizona Christmas tree, exchanged gifts and came away with a heart rock that Frank found on one of his forays into the southern Arizona desert so beloved by me and others of my Kelley kin.

Arizona behind us, we arrived at our night’s lodging in Deming, New Mexico, in good time, able to kick back and breathe after the intensity of the previous weeks and especially those last few days.  Rowdy took his role of guard of all things Wuehrmann very seriously.  Besides prowling the room’s circuit throughout the night, he made sure to peer out front the better to see danger as it approached.

Wind & dust . . .

Ai yi yi!  Beginning our second day of driving in strong wind but with a beauteous sunrise (one disadvantage to traveling alone is the inability to shoot photos and make notes along the way, thus blessedly shortening the resultant blog), the rosy clouded prairie viewed through the windshield reveals distant plumes of dust kicking across the landscape.

I swallow panic and assure myself I will be able to find a safe pullout if necessary.

Two cities traversed yesterday, two more coming right up: Las Cruces and El Paso, scary enough to this spoiled country girl but in gale-force (not sure what that is exactly but it felt that way to me) winds and legendary dust storms, I find my hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel as I hurtle at 75 miles per hour in rush hour city traffic allllllll the way through El Paso cheek by jowl with big rigs.

Finally free of the metropolitan area, I remain at alert as the wind whips across the highway.  Even in these conditions, I can appreciate that my fellow travelers are courteous and law-abiding.  Texas law requires travel in the right lane with the left lane only for passing and that is being obeyed to the letter, making for orderly proceedings.

The end in sight, Toyah, Rattlesnake Bomber Base . . .

Holy moley, there is not much out here in the vastness of the West Texas plains, but then we knew that - it still makes an impression, though, every time I encounter it. 

After I turn northward toward Midland, I see the sad but begging-to-be-photographed remains of the ghost town, Toyah, bringing back memories of a previous trip along this route; however, I cannot interrupt my pell-mell forward motion to wander anywhere camera in hand.

After much more featureless time seeing the pavement disappear beneath the car's hood,  I am relieved to see a roadside rest area that appears to have facilities (or faculties, as Dad W. would say).  This calls for sorely needed leg stretching, use of those “faculties” and munching on my lunch which is not nearly as nice as yesterday’s, consisting sparsely of cherry tomatoes and Clementines.

Inside the hangar-like building, I encounter a zealous Texas State employee who gives me an unsolicited personal introduction to why this rest area is constructed to resemble airport structures and what the structure within it represents plus quite a bit more of his newly acquired knowledge.

A highway sign had earlier pointed the way to something called the Rattlesnake Bomber Base Museum.  These edifices are designed to summon the ghost of that once-burgeoning United States Army Air Force base now succumbed to the Texas plains.  Interestingly, the Enola Gay, the B-29 that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, was among the thousands of aircraft mothballed there after World War II.  The building’s interior contains an accurately sized superstructure replica of that infamous plane with period photographs and information.

The Rattlesnake moniker attested to the thousands of venomous reptiles disturbed from their winter hibernation dens during the training base’s construction.  Officially, it was the Pyote Air Force Base.

Destination achieved . . .

Along about the height of the wind-borne grit storm, we arrived at the Midland RV Park and our semi-safe haven from more dust-laden air than I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot for someone born and raised in the Valley of the Sun, renowned for its periodic miles-high walls of dust.

This was not as dramatic as those awesome displays, but suffice it to say that a person could open their eyes only the merest slits or suffer serious complications.  What an introduction!  I valiantly (if I do say so myself none too modestly) unpacked Ruby, managed not to let any doors crash open in the dusticane and at last was settled inside the rockin’ & rollin’ little snuggery to await the señor's arrival home from work.

In preparation for our arrival, Chris went all out with festive Christmas decorations.

Rowdy was hopeful about packing himself to head back home.

My first sunrise at my new home - and dust-free!

Texas or bust
December 4, 2012

I’ve thought for a few days that I would journal the most recent adventure, but it has been easy to defer taking action.  Reasons for that inactivity abound.  Primary among them is that it is not exactly my adventure.  Chris is the one who is away from home, so the journey is mine only in a vicarious way.

I easily discern that it will be beneficial for me in an emotional sense to spend time writing about this episode in our lives, but then I wonder if I should actually post it as a blog.  If so, it will necessarily be without photographs, at least at this juncture, because I am home, camera in hand (well, okay, more like at hand), so for those who consume my travel blogs primarily via pictures, boredom may set in.

For now, I will call this my journal, helpful for me to ease the thoughts swirling in circles, and mayhaps it will be a blog posting, too, albeit more personal than most.

Chris departed these premises last Saturday morning.  What a shocking sight - I stood in the living room watching him drive away in the Toyota Tundra Toter, as we refer to our pickup, pulling our Totee travel trailer.  We waved at each other as he passed the window and I watched until he reached the corner and I could no longer see him.

That departure was the culmination of several months of discussing, planning and researching whether we ought to pursue the possibility of his obtaining employment associated with the oil field boom towns of Midland and Odessa, Texas.

Hoping to allay financial setbacks, our scheme was for him to work there over the winter at wages more lucrative than what is available in our locality.  The alternative seemed to be a whole new full-time career here to get to the same fiscal freedom, but the long-term sense of that was not at all to our liking.  More money, shorter time period: why not give it a try.

Well, now I know why not.  After 33 years together, it is feeling decidedly awful not to be together.

Amarillo be damned - he made it to El Paso the first night and I wanted nothing in the world more at that moment than for him to turn around and come home; the feeling was fairly mutual as we talked on the phone that night.  In the light of the next morning, we agreed that after all we had done to get to that point, it would be absurd not to pursue the goal as best we could.

We knew from contacts that a 64-year-old retired college administrator/archaeologist/geologist/teacher was not going to be among the more common applicants in the oil field industry, but Chris’ physical labor pursuits convinced us he has what it takes.  Convincing someone else, however, is an entirely different matter.

All of which brings me to now - Wednesday - because of the boom town nature of Midland/Odessa,  housing is not only at a premium, there is no room in the inn, any of them, thus the advantage of the Totee.  A semi-advantage only; there is no room in the the RV parks, either.  His departure was put back and put back and put back as we waited for his place on a waiting list to advance.

In fact, I became so accustomed to his departure being deferred that it was shocking when an opening was announced.  Last-minute packing, reminders, reassurances and arrangements and he was on his way.

Once we surmounted the El Paso doubts, he rolled into his destination mid-day Sunday.  His descriptions of the changes to the city are astounding.  Miles and miles of industrial and oil-related businesses have popped up like mushrooms in the rainy season during the past two years.  Of course all that increased industry demands additional businesses to serve additional workers and workers' families.

Shades of 19th century gold rushes!  Those stories that shimmer as if they were legends are suddenly made real.  It has happened in Midland before and likely will occur again after this one busts, but for now, it has changed us as those of long ago transformed other families - to their advantage or not.

Verde Valley vacay
October 20-24, 2012

The ups and downs of life - I am pondering it all: the challenges, the joys, the hardships, the work and play of it all.  So much of it is self-imposed; sometimes it seems as if we set a hard road for ourselves and other times, the bumps in the road just jump up and grab us.

At this moment, though, I am grateful for this special day, one day of four that we are spending in the Verde Valley as a mini-much-appreciated get-away.  The summer has been one filled with sad anticipation and grieving for a loved friend and all the confusion and mixed feelings that go with that - feeling sorry for my own loss and feeling guilty for that selfishness.

That aside now as it is mine to sort out, knowing that each of us has our own path to follow and with gratitude for those whose paths converge with mine.

Public speaking - argh! . . .

We have with difficulty carved out four days that we can be here in the travel trailer doing exactly as we choose at any given moment.  For reasons unfathomable to me now, I agreed to do a one-hour presentation at the Northern Arizona Genealogical Society’s annual workshop on Saturday morning.  Not comfortable as a public speaker but having unbounded enthusiasm for family history, I thought I could pull it off.  In reality, not so much.

The request was for me to speak on doing genealogy research on locality, which is a great favorite pastime for us.  I was nervous, but not overmuch; however, my chosen material was more than could be accommodated in the allotted time, causing me to leave out things I wanted to include and to rush through others.  Generally, it was just not a very good presentation; hopefully, I will refrain from such in the future.

Hummingbirds, Verde River, neighbors . . .

At any rate, it was my last big non-regular commitment for a spell and I am thrilled it is behind me and that I now sit on a bluff above the Verde River, temps in the 80s, a soft breeze cooling us and Anna’s hummingbirds sipping our offered nectar.

Our neighbors, Bob & Donna, just came home and are over for a visit and to enjoy hearing Chris play the keyboard.  They are full-time RVers in a beautiful 35-foot class A motorhome, originally from Ohio (actually, Bob & Donna are from Ohio; I have no idea whence came their RV).

Early morning bird walk, Sunday relaxing . . .

Early this morning, we enjoyed a great walk down along the river to explore this stretch of waterway.  Much of the bank is inaccessible because of cattails and other vegetation, at least for getting to the water for fishing.  We did find a few spots that would lend themselves to angling, so we will give them a try later maybe.

While wandering, we spotted a life bird, a Vesper’s sparrow, in addition to white-crowned sparrows, Abert’s towhee and Say’s phoebe, plus three American coots that were dining enthusiastically on something in the floating aquatic plants.

Our roost for this trip is the Thousand Trails park, a membership group that rents spaces to non-members such as us.  It’s our first time to stay here, but surely will not be the last; after all, it is only an hour from home, warmer than home and right on the river - as fine a combination as can be imagined sans warm-water ocean beach.

We availed ourselves of a generous reasonably priced breakfast served at the park’s clubhouse and were off for another foray further upstream on the Verde.  Here we found better fishing access and will return to drop a line or two.

The cliffs in this area are pocked with caves, grottoes and overhangs, the soil consisting of white limestone. 

Two birds added to the trip list: northern harrier and belted kingfisher.

Friends, pickleball, Big Tex . . .

A lazy Sunday afternoon culminated in a welcome visit from Barb and Bud who ventured over the mountain to join us in conversation, jacuzzi and food.   The swimming pool and spa here are very nice; however, the pool’s water temperature was a bit too brisk for us in the cooling late afternoon. 

It was my sad task to inform the Bs about the demise of Big Tex, which news shocked them severely.  Big Tex is that iconic 40-foot tall figure who greets revelers at the Texas state fair every fall with a booming drawled “Howdy folks!” or that did so until last Friday when the tall Texan was mysteriously burned up (or should I say burned down - I’m never quite sure).  The promise is that the greeter extraordinaire will be restored for next year’s festivities at which time I hope to finally attend that granddaddy of all fairs.

Whilst basking in the warmer climes of the spa, I learned some about pickleball, which appears to be a marriage of tennis, ping pong and badminton.  Another Rita (what a thought!) educated me about the game’s particulars; it sounds like a sport I would enjoy and hopefully will get to try while I’m here.

The Verde, bobcats, snoozing raccoon, Alcantara

Monday morning, as we are bushwhacking our way upstream on the Verde, we find lots of riverbank access, at least for those who are willing to work their way through head-high grass, reeds and thick brush with the occasional catclaw thrown in for good measure.  And then there’s the footing: not so good, lots of river rubble hidden under thick Johnson grass mats.






















As a reward for that work, the scenes are wondrous.  I never tire of exploring and photographing the many moods of the Verde.  Unlike some watercourses, its temperament is chameleonesque, changing from wide and  slow-moving when the canyon opens up to swift falling rapids where it gouges through steep cliff faces.  It can be grassy-banked shaded by willows and cottonwoods or rushing through towering crumbling limestone faces.





We were having so much fun yesterday that we continued to explore up the river despite having no lunch munchies along.  That hunger-fest convinced me to write the Wuehrmann constitution.  This is it: Whereas we never know how far we will hike, explore, swim, kayak or drive and whereas we do not want to turn back from a boondock because we are hungry or thirsty, we will never again set foot outside without food and water.
In the end, we continued on for a long time and even longer distance with rumbling bellies because it was just too choice to turn back solely because of hunger.

The most exciting part of the day was even before we reached the canyon bottom.  As I looked across the canyon that we were winding downward through, I spotted movement, called a halt and was amazed to see two bobcats working their way up the opposite cliff.  They stopped briefly a couple of times to look over their shoulders at us and then on top disappeared into the brush.  We managed to snap one quick picture as the second one topped out.  I was thrilled to see them!

Wildlife bookended our day: Shortly before we climbed out of the riverbed, I glanced up into a tall willow tree and saw a bizarre sight about 30 feet up in the branches.  We soon realized it was a raccoon sound asleep, resting on what seemed to be too few branches for his bulk.  Trying out various angles for pictures, I never saw more than a whole lot of fur from one side and part of an eye patch and one round ear sticking up from the other side.

The fishing was . . . well, the fishing wasn’t, but we were in our element just the same.




Although we never spotted a beaver dam, there was extensive evidence of the critters’ presence, both past and present.  We saw and had to climb over many trees downed by them and even a “drag-way” where they had pulled their prizes over a long distance to the water.  Some of the willows they had chewed through were surprisingly sizable.






Home from the canyon, showered and made decent and we were off to Alcantara, the nearby winery, where we had a great time with Vince.  I liked all of the five wines I tasted (after the third, my meager discernment abilities deteriorated even further) and was impressed with the facility, the menu, Vince, and Charlie Brown, the rescued Chesapeake Bay retriever that scared my socks off with his big bark when I walked up to the door.  Good thing I was wearing only sandals on my feet: no socks to lose.

After all that wildlife, we spent some evening imbibement hours with Bob & Donna, who are not nearly as wild and who filled us in on full-time RVing adventures and their travel blog.


 




























Javelina, anniversary, Su Casa . . .

This morning, we were again off to the river, an area that we saw on a previous trip and wanted to explore.  Once again, the fish were either not at home or not hungry, but what a pretty stretch of waterway.  We added red-wing blackbird and red-shafted northern flicker to the trip list.  As we approached, I got a good look at a large turtle sunning on a raft of reeds.  He was too shy to have his portrait done, so slipped quietly into the water.

This section of the Verde required no bushwhacking a’tall, just lots of precarious slipping and sliding on scary dirt trails and leaping over crumbled away sections of cliff.  One place was bad enough that I took the trouble to scramble above and around it.  I heard it collapse later when a feller who came by after us jumped across and barely managed not to go with it.

Sadly, after I tried to use the timer for a photo of the two of us to commemorate our 33rd wedding anniversary, I lost the handy little squiggly tripod that niece Suzie gave me, and I never did get the picture, at least not with both of us.  In the ten seconds allotted by the timer, I managed to skid down the slope toward the water but not far enough.  The resulting anniversary picture was of Chris scowling up as he watched me attempt the impossible. 

We consoled ourselves by going out for lunch at Su Casa in Clarkdale - a fine meal indeed - a definite return is in order.

This being the only time we could get away, Chris had to take a break from fun and go over the mountain this evening to teach a class at Yavapai, but then he enjoys that, too.  Maybe not the most convenient, but it has been a nice change of scenery for us, and it gave me some down time to do pretty much nothing at all.

Wednesday morning gave us the opportunity to explore more of the jungle-like riverbed below the RV park.  We spooked up two javelina that leaped away from us in a manner more befitting deer than piggies (yes, I know full well they are not pigs, just didn’t want to use the same word twice in one sentence).  This anti-human behavior is very different from the collared peccaries (ditto previous remark) that wander the back yards and gardens of Prescott and lie down to suckle their young on Phyllis’ front porch.

Back home and unpacked by 2 p.m. - we are excited to think about future quick and easy departures from the quasi-civilization of home to the back country of the Verde Valley, brimming with adventures-for-the-taking.

Frost, lost dog, feel-good
Sept. 18, 2012

Our view of the San Juan River from our trailer window.

The frost is on the picnic table!  Our morning low temperature was 32 degrees.  I know this because we bought a min/max thermometer in Minnesota.  This was to replace the one lost when we forgot to take it off the window where it was attached by suction cup. 

Oh good grief - in the midst of writing this 80 miles down the road, I realize we did it again; a quick pull-over and I went back to retrieve the new one off the window where it was miraculously clinging after all those bumpy miles.  At any rate, it's getting too cold for our little Totee to be out and about.

Look closely: four common mergansers are swimming along the opposite shore.

Our route home today skips around New Mexico as we take Highway 160 to 89 to eliminate the typical traffic congestion around Farmington and Shiprock and go instead through Durango and Cortez.  I am happy to think of being home and it seems that Chris and Rowdy are in agreement.

Before we left, we reunited a dog with its owner after it led me on a walkabout in the campground.  Chris found him dragging his leash.  I had noticed him previously because of his appearance: I am not sure if the breed is a Corgi, but he was severely overweight so has a large chunky body and looks as if his feet are attached directly to his torso with no leg in between.  His elderly owner had staked him out, so he took the opportunity to escape and to explore.

We added a Steller’s jay to the Pagosa bird list this morning, and I forgot to include Canada geese.

As we wind through southern Colorado, we continue to see effects of the drought.  The San Juan was much lower than we had ever seen it: people were enjoying its 60-degree waters, if such could be enjoyed, but it was far too low for the usual hordes of tubers and kayakers.

Everything seems dry and dusty, but we don’t see as many beetle-killed trees here as we did north of Pagosa.

I forgot to write about a feel-good thing that happened when we spotted the first snow.  We pulled off the side of the road to get a picture.  Unbeknownst to me, there was a semi truck on a road below me and he evidently saw me with the camera, so stopped in order to stay out of the way of my photo.  Luckily, Chris noticed what was happening and we waved him a thank-you when he passed us.  A small gesture and so meaningful - I love making those kinds of people connections.

A run for home . . .

Chris is on a run for home today.  I was sure I had him trained better, but there were no photo opps in his consciousness this day. 

We marveled at and zipped right on by Baby Rocks, miniature but spectacular Bryce Canyon-esque formations that are even more astounding than their well-known big brother. 

We were lined up for a great shot at Church Rock in the foreground with a background of similar volcanic pipe formations, but that didn't warrant even a slow-down. 

We (he) ignored a number of great Navajo goat/sheep herds arrayed picturesquely on the prairie and slick rocks.  And he kept right on keeping on. 

The only reason we got a photo of the Little Colorado River and Cameron Trading Post is because we stopped there for gas and walked around back for a peek at the canyon.


























My final photo of the trip is of our wonderful San Francisco Peaks as seen through the windshield with the hole in it, something acquired on this journey (the windshield hole was acquired, not the Peaks - they are more like eternal). 

I remember one time when the German cousins were visiting us and Chris told Werner that the Peaks are taller than the highest mountain in Germany.  Werner was incredulous - not wanting to be impolite, he still couldn’t resist his exclamation: “It can’t be!”  But my all-knowing tour guide assured him that indeed ours is bigger than theirs: 12,635 for Humphries Peak to their highest - the Zugspitze, 9,718, which is perpetually snow-capped because of its more northerly latitude.

We are home and happy.  My intention is never to do another trip like that one - all drive and no (okay, little) stop, but I regret this one not a bit.  In fact, I am most grateful that we were able to spend that time with our family and contribute to the country’s economy in the process.

Westward
Sept. 13-14, 2012

Fog . . .

A fairly early start to a long driving day, fog-shrouded to begin as I shoot a pic of the sun trying to break through, but gets far worse: the heaviest daytime fog I have ever seen, making a nerve-wracking drive, very slow with flashers going to alert other vehicles of our presence.

Byways, towns? change of plans. . .

Again, we are on smaller highways that are taking us right through centers of small towns - today in South Dakota, a brand-new state for me.  As we proceed westward, we encounter much less cropland, the flat landscape covered with vast expanses of marshland, mostly being utilized as cattle pasture or for cutting grass hay where it is not open water.  Scattered houses marked by treed perimeters are counted as towns, according to the signs: villages of 19 and 20 people with no center or business, just a sign to mark their existence.

Rowdy checks out the landscape on his first glimpse of South Dakota

I will want to read some about the history along this route (we are following State Highway 34); we are informed by signage that the towns were mostly not established until the 1880s, but I’m guessing there was trapping and hunting going on in this area far previous to that.

We cross the Missouri River on Big Bend Dam, where it creates Sharpe Lake, a huge reservoir bordering the Crow Creek and Lower Brule Indian reservations.  In relief of the mono-landscape, we encounter rolling hilly grassland dotted in places by juniper trees and  then away from the river more featureless plain.  Imagine crossing this by horse and wagon or handcart like the Latter Day Saint pioneers - it must have felt as if they were going to pull those puppies for the rest of their born days.  It almost feels like that to me and we are moving at 60 miles per hour.  Walking would take at least four days to do that 60 miles.

We dropped south on 47 to get onto Interstate 90 for a spell.  We have begun seeing fields of sunflowers, fully mature with dark heads drooping heavy with seed, as well as some crops of milo and corn.  How brutal it must be up here in winter blizzards with nothing to break the wind!

We have decided to forego touring the Badlands and Mount Rushmore even though neither of us has been there.  I know we would wish we had more time to explore the region, so prefer to wait and do it when we can spare the time for it instead of further frustration at this hurried trip.

Nebraska, sand hills . . .

Turning south off of I-90 onto Highway 83, we immediately are relieved of the tabletop tedium as we come into grassy hilly country broken by numerous drainages, all filled with cottonwood trees.  It is strongly reminiscent of our very own Chino Valley.  We drive through the small Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation heading for Nebraska, our third and last state for the day.

Very interesting this drive through the sand hills of Nebraska, a geographic feature I had not heard of (pardon my dangle there).  For many more square miles than imaginable, these dunes stretch on.  Now vegetated primarily by scrubby grasses, the region soaks up rainwater and retains it in low spots as huge marshy sections, providing summer home for sandhill cranes and other wading birds.

Rivers we’ve seen here and many places along our route are so attractive for kayaking, fishing and birding; there are any number of places that beg for a return.  We especially want to check out the Niobrara River and National Wildlife Refuge near Valentine, Nebraska.  We stopped for a closer look-see at the Dismal River and were stumped at the origin of its name: it really looked quite inviting.

Colorado . . .

A short night in North Platte, Nebraska, brought us closer to home.  We follow it up with some Interstate 76 travel, leaving it to turn south on Colorado state highway 71, a long, lonely high plains route that begins with 75 miles of next to nothing: two waypoints only in the whole stretch, each consisting of a couple of houses.  One of them, Last Chance, appears to have succumbed to a prairie fire. 

There is limited dry grain farming along here.  The road surface is great, far better than the bumpy Interstate, with nearly no other vehicles.  We have it to ourselves - super!

 
The Rockies! and snow!
Sept. 15-17, 2012

Gasp!  As we topped the first ridge after pulling out this morning, the view was gasp-worthy and elicited one from me - snow! on the Sangre de Christos and Spanish Peaks (Chris told me the mountain names - credit where it’s due, at least once in a while). 

I had already felt the excitement of returning to my beloved West when we first spotted the distant Rockies yesterday, but never expected to see snow this early.

Our drive down the desert-like high plains of eastern Colorado was without much of note: vast flat low-scrub-vegetated flatlands with occasional stabs at dry farming resulting in pathetic drought-destroyed crops.  For all its impressive mountains, Colorado contains some of the flattest acres of anywhere I’ve seen.

Last night, we stopped at a lovely KOA (we find that most KOAs are excellent camping spots) in Colorado City (not the one in Arizona) and were able to sing for our supper, so to speak.  We chanced into the park’s end-of-season camper appreciation buffet party.  Chris’ offer to provide music was accepted and netted us supper from the delicacy-laden buffet table.

Mountain passes . . .

This morning, we climbed (well, the Toter transported us, actually) 3,300 feet over La Veta Pass at 9,413 and set us off reminiscing about a previous visit to Fort Garland when we rode the scenic Rio Grande train from Alamosa to La Veta - a really memorable time.  There is much more we would like to do in the Alamosa area.

Next was Wolf Creek Pass, 10,850 feet elevation, where I had to put the computer away and be nervous, my job at times such as that.  Wolf Creek is very long and very steep with many tight curves, some so short as to need a reduced speed of 25 mph.  Pulling this grade is interesting with the trailer, even more so on the downhill lest a person burn up their brakes.  Chris is an excellent driver; however, he needs me to hold my breath, push against the floorboard and gesture uncontrollably, or so I continue to tell him.

Lots of the aspen groves are donning their fall foliage, mostly in the upper reaches.  The birds we see flitting are different: we are exchanging loons and bald eagles for red-shafted northern flickers and black-billed magpies.

Riverside, Kip’s, William Henry Walker . . .

This time, we are staying at the Pagosa Riverside Campground, one we utilized before but had not been to for several years.  Our spot is the most primo in the park; we are right on the San Juan River bank and the fishing pond is on our other side.  We are at 7,042 feet, temps 37 degrees at night, 85 by day.











Our initial venture into town included a stop for a real lunch, no rushed gulping, at Kip’s Grill and Cantina, where I consumed the second best fish tacos I ever had.  The first best were at the selfsame place that last time we were in Pagosa - delicious!





















We bought flowers and then were off to find the grave of William Henry Walker, our cousin Jerry’s great, great grandfather.  A Civil War veteran, he lies here alone because his family departed the area after his death, so I like to remember him when we are here. 

As we left, I induced Chris to stop the truck on a blind curve so I could shoot pics of a herd of deer crossing in front of us.

 


Colorado fishing, life of Riley, hot springs . . .

In the interest of full disclosure, I confess that because we are here only for two days and don’t want to buy fishing licenses, our angling was limited to the pond.  Here we are in the midst of some of the best fly fishing in the country and what do we do - picture this: me sitting in my camp chair, chocolate chip cookie in left hand, glass of wine in right hand, two fishing lines out in the pond catching miniscule bluegills and humongous crawdads, relaxation complete.

Sunday morning was truly the very first awakening of the journey that was not immediately followed by scrambling to hook up and leave or rush off to see someone or attend to chores - bliss!  Further bliss filled the day as we dipped and lounged at Pagosa Hot Springs - all day long. 


At one point, Chris wondered aloud if our last name was Riley.  I agreed that it must be because we certainly are living the life of (the younger readers will likely not understand that reference). 

On the way home, I could scarcely move a muscle.  When I whined about being exhausted, Chris' opinion was that I was just relaxed.  Good grief - has it been so long since I was relaxed that I don’t even recognize the condition?!















Birds here so far are trumpeter swan, gadwall, American wigeon, mallard, coot, brewer’s blackbird, western scrub jay, crow, red-winged blackbird, gray-headed dark-eyed junco, common merganser, black-chinned hummingbird, broad-tailed hummingbird, western tanager, Townsend's warbler, Wilson's warbler, belted kingfisher, barn swallow, pine siskin, robin, crow, great blue heron, black-billed magpie, brown-headed cowbird, raven, Eurasian collared dove, pinyon jay and house sparrow.  Amazing what you see when you bother to look.

The swans have three large young, the same as a previous time we saw them.  I was very excited to see the flocks of common mergansers swimming upriver right at our campsite - such distinctive birds!