Day 22 & 23

Day 22 & 23  (4/22 & 23)        

            Moab and Price

            Maureen had suggested a route to Moab that is the shorter and more scenic than the other.  Both require a couple of hours on I-70 West, but when we turned off, I began to wonder about the one we had chosen.  It was paved and wide enough for two-way traffic, but there were no shoulders and no painted line.  However, it was less than twenty miles before we turned onto a better road and then the show began.  For the next hour we were treated to the handiwork of the Colorado River –we were deep and then deeper in to a carved, red-rock canyon winding our way along with the river through some spectacular natural art.  And then, suddenly, we are at a tee in the road where that canyon meets another, wider one and Moab was just up the road to the left.

            If you want to go camping, canoeing, fishing, hang gliding, hiking, kayaking, mountain bike riding, off-road driving, partying, rafting, ride a gondola to the top of the canyon, road bike riding, skiing or snowshoeing (in season), touring or zip-lining, Moab is your place.  The number and variety of dune buggy like vehicles was staggering.  And, at least in this part of Utah, they are street legal.  And, we got the feeling that, local or visitor, everyone was happy about being there to do whatever activity mentioned above they had come to do.

            We had dinner at a pretty nice brewpub where I learned that beer served from a tap could only be 3.2% alcohol, whereas if you buy it in a can, it can be higher.  I prefer draft beer so I ordered their IPA.  Just like every other 3.2 I’d tried in Utah, it was the definition of blah.  So, gritting my teeth, I ordered a BEER OUT OF A CAN (gross), figuring that, combined, the alcohol was about the average of normal beer.  The BOOAC was actually pretty good.

            Going to Moab was not our plan.  From the beginning we had planed to go straight north from Grand Junction to Jackson, Wyo., Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons.  In doing so, we would be retracing part of our path from 1985, but we’d be doing it without our kids.  However, as with most of our trip, the weather played its part.  We faced nothing but rain and snow to the north and we worked long and hard to come up with an itinerary that would allow us a way to skirt all the late spring storms that were passing through the northwest.  Since, other than the interstates, there are only 6 roads in Utah, our only possible destination was Boise, Id.   But it was not that easy.

            Tired after all that cogitating over when and where and how much it would rain, and how long it would take to get there and by what road and what time the Warriors were playing and would there be free internet to post to the blog and follow the Giants, we went to bed.

            Navigator and meteorologist extraordinaire Connie Rice had determined that we could get as far as Price, Utah before we would confront the storm.  Since that was not much more than two hours up the road, we had no reason to leave Moab early in the morning.  We took the opportunity to ride our bikes.  Starting 8 or 9 miles up the canyon we had driven down, there is a bike path that accompanies the road along the river.  We drove to the tee intersection, parked at the park there and, instead of heading up the river like we had considered doing, went down a bike path on the other leg of the tee toward Arches National Park.

            The first thing we noticed was that the wind in our face was so strong that, if the downhill were slight, we’d have to pedal in order to keep going.  Good for the return trip, we thought.  Although it paralleled the highway, the path was nice and before long we made it to the park.  We went to the visitors and bought a patch for Connie’s collection, but the road beyond there was dauntingly uphill for what seemed like forever, so we headed back.  And, for most of the ride the wind was at our back. 

            Back in town, we stopped at Safeway to get a couple of rolls and some coffee from Starbucks and sat in our van eating a leisurely lunch of leftover sausage soup we heated up in the microwave and the rolls.  Finally, we headed down the road toward Boise, or as far as I thought we might be able to get.

            The wind we had dealt with in the canyon – and had been dealing with off and on for the last few days – became pretty fierce as the land flattened out a bit.  Our van is pretty tall and at one point we were blown by a gust over to the shoulder.  Fortunately it didn’t take long to get to Price and, disappointing to my hopes of going further and validating Connie’s weather report, it was raining hard just beyond the town.

            Price is a pretty small town.  Though our motel looked as though it had been built in the 50s, we could tell immediately that it would not be a reprise of the hovel in Springdale.  A woman about our age quietly checked us in to the room we had parked in front of and we were pleased to see that it was nice and clean and comfortable.  When we went into the office later to ask about where we should go to eat, the woman reappeared, though she was 25 years younger.  They were obviously mother and daughter.  I don’t know if there were other family members running the place.  She told us about the local brewpub up the road.  It was small, quiet and homey and full of locals.  A nice change from the kinds of places we had been eating in. 

Days 20 & 21

Days 20 & 21(4/20 & 21)      

            At Reen & Brian’s . . .

            Not far past the entrance to Mesa Verde NP on our way out of Cortez, the country changes from the farming valleys to hill country and soon we were following various streams and rivers through lovely tree lined canyons and upland farming valleys.  Google Maps had given us a choice of three routes and we picked the eastern most.  It was the right choice.  We kept gaining altitude and soon the little bits of snow on the ground began to fill in the landscape.  We climbed above 8800 feet and were no longer in the hills.  These were the big boys – the Rocky Mountains.  Though snow was everywhere, the road was dry and ice free.  After surmounting one summit and beginning our descent we came upon a wondrous vista of many snow-covered peaks in the distance.  Near the bottom as we swung to the northwest, we passed the turnoff to Telluride.  What a beautiful drive it had been.

            We came out of the mountains into wide valleys defined by great mesas.  It was drier country.  It is the kind of country that Reen (my sister Maureen) and Brian live in.  Whitewater is a suburb of the city of Grand Junction, though both are on a smaller scale than in major metropolitan areas.  Since Whitewater doesn’t have a downtown, we drove right past it and into Grand Junction looking for a late lunch.  As it happened, Reen was in town and met us at a bagel shop where we got a snack to tide us over until we could enjoy the pork roast dinner she and Brian were preparing.  On the way to their house, we stopped to pick up what we’d need to cook tomorrow night’s dinner.  Connie and I were tired of road food and were looking forward to cooking something ourselves.

            Brian was at their house and so were their four Dachshunds.  We fell in love with Skippy, a still puppy like white dog with black spots that look like they were painted on by a three year old.  And, he has blue eyes.  Cocoa, a long-haired brown, once got into our van and it took both Connie and me to get him out.  He loves to travel.  The pork roast dinner lived up to its billing and after we were done, Brian insisted on going into town to Barnes and Nobel’s to look at their maps and have ice cream.  We ended up buying the Western USA map because we spilled coffee on it, but then it was back to their house and a great night’s sleep.

            Brian left for the gym and breakfast with his cronies before we got up.  After the three of us had breakfast and hung around for a while, we rode with Reen into town where she had a short appointment.  Afterward, we wandered around Grand Junction’s small downtown area.  The city obviously takes pride in this older part of the town.  The area is thriving with shops of every description, cafés with outdoor seating and even a brewpub.  On every street corner is some piece of outdoor art.  We wandered in and out of some of the stores and stayed a little longer in an antique shop.  Finally though, we headed over to Brian’s dad’s house where Brian had been slaving away since he had said goodbye to his breakfast crew.

Brian’s dad had recently died and he and Maureen were dealing with clearing out his house.  Brian’s dad was a world-class collector and also was reluctant to get rid of anything. What a monumental and arduous task they were involved in packing up all of this amazing stuff to take to an auction house in Denver.  We saw every electronic device his dad had ever owned.  We also saw a 16 mm projector complete with take-home versions of very early movies, which we thought were very cool.  It was equal parts of interesting collectobelia and stuff that should have been recycled years ago.  I could have spent hours looking through it – I was particularly drawn to a hand-held extending telescope like the ones used on old sailing ships. 

Connie and I had maintenance tasks to do (she’d been working on the laundry since we got there yesterday) and dinner to make so we headed back with Maureen.  I needed to attend to our poor bikes that had been bouncing around on the rack behind our car for 3 weeks.  While I washed our bikes, pumped up the tires and oiled the chains on our bikes. I did the same for theirs.  I also had to change my back inner tube.  After completing a couple of other chores, I headed into the house to discover that Connie was done making the Italian Sausage soup that I said I was going to make.  I didn’t have any complaints, though.

Morning came all too soon and it was time to head ‘em up and move ‘em out, though we lingered until almost noon.  Brian had followed the previous day’s routine, so we didn’t get to say goodbye to him.  But, once we were able to pry Cocoa out of the van and give Maureen big hugs, we were finally off to Moab.

Day 19

Day 19(4/19)     

            Mesa Verde . . .

            It doesn’t take long to get from downtown Cortez to the turnoff for and entrance to Mesa Verde National Park.  The mesa is probably about 14 long north to south and maybe 10 miles wide and contains more than a dozen canyons, mostly running north to south.  It is not actually a mesa, though.  It’s a cuesta.  Connie and I once lived on Cuesta Dr. in Los Altos, but it wasn’t until we went to Mesa Verde that we learned the meaning of the word.  Because of its 7º tilt toward the south, it does not qualify as a mesa.  Mesas are closer to level.  But because it tilts to the south, it favored agriculture with more sun exposure.

            Most of the ruins are on the south end of the mesa so we had to drive some time (and distance as the roads are full of curves) before getting to them.  While doing so we were treated to great vistas of the fertile valleys below and I figured that between just 3 vantage points I was able to video record a 360º panorama.  As nice as that was, driving through the damage of three wild fires was disturbing.  As we gained altitude the chaparral gave way to low forests of Juniper and Pinion Pine.  And then, suddenly, a whole swath or even a hilltop became the devastation of conflagration.  Connie and I are used to seeing this in the Sierras, but there we are also used to seeing undergrowth come back in pretty short order.  Here, though the three fires noted by road signs were in the late 90s and early 2000s, there was no green among the ghost trees.  Except for the seemingly indestructible Yucca dotting the landscape these areas were forest graveyards.

            It’s not well understood why some of the people from the agriculturally productive valleys below the mesa decided to move to the top.  This began around 550 CE.  As most Ancestral Puebloans did, they lived in pit houses.  True to their name, pit houses were partially dug into the ground with short, above ground walls and roofs of wood and mud.  Entrance was through a hole in the top as is the case with modern day kivas.  This may have something to do with the Puebloan creation myth wherein the people entered this world from the world below through a hole in the earth called a sipapu.  Being the oldest of the ruins, these excavated sites are protected by buildings from the ravages of the weather.

            The top of the mesa we visited is covered with that low forest of conifers.  It’s speculated though that in the in those days the forest was cleared trees for wood to be used for building and firewood and to clear space for farming.  That agricultural life of the valleys below was transferred to the top of the mesa.  For most of the next 800 years, life there thrived.  Around 1200, they began to build villages under the overhangs that are so prevalent in decomposing sandstone cliffs.  These are the main attraction to Mesa Verde.

            Our first stop was at the Far View sites.  From around 900 CE, this was one of the most populous areas of the mesa.  At the modern site we walked through excavated ruins of 5 villages dating from around 800 to 1300.  But the most amazing thing we saw was what is now called the Mummy Lake.  Built in two phases between 900 and 1300, it is a 27.5 m diameter by 4 m deep depression encircled by stone walls.  There is evidence of trenches to share the collected snowmelt and rainwater captured with other pueblos as well as to guide waters to the reservoir.

            We moved on to Spruce Tree House (1200 -1280), which is described as the third largest and best preserved of the cliff dwellings.  It is also one of the most accessible.  Usually.  Since rocks have been falling from the arch above, which itself has been showing signs of structural questionability, the easy hike to and self-guided tours have been suspended.  What a disappointment.  So close, and yet, just across a narrow canyon.

            We stopped at other sites, but the pièce de résistance is Cliff Palace.  This is the picture you see on any brochure for Mesa Verde.  The largest pueblo, it is still subject to archeological survey.  It is also available for a ranger guide tour with advanced reservation.  In season.  Like with Spruce House, the feeling of being able to look at but not touch was overwhelmingly frustrating. 

            In the middle of all of this touring, we stopped to have lunch in our van in a visitor center’s parking lot.  We went into the café for coffee and perused the gift shop and bookstore.  I bought a Swiss Army like knife with wood sides, one engraved with a Mesa Verde profile and the other with “Rob”.  Connie added to her points of interest patch collection.  We also looked at what appeared to be machine made pottery.  I asked about it and was told that it was hand made (like the label claimed) and reflected the pottery that was made in the area in ancient times.  After we had completed our touring and were heading out of the park, we stopped again at the bookstore and bought a small bowl.

            What a great day it had been.  We were really tired – not just from a long enjoyable day, but from a lot miles on the road.  Tomorrow we would drive to Reen and Brian's house for some family time.

Day 18

Day 18(4/18)     

            Zag, Zog . . .

            After carefully laying out our route prior to leaving Palo Alto, we almost immediately began to change it.  Going to Mesa Verde was the first major change and stopping at Monument Valley and Shiprock were done on the fly after that, I think in Zion.  To date our trip had been going along as well as we could have hoped, so I guess we were sort of due.  As if the spirit of the land wanted to reprimand us for snubbing Antelope Valley, we drove right past the turnoff for Monument Valley and didn’t notice until we were too far beyond.  That put us off and a dark cloud hung over us on our way down to Shiprock.

            The air cleared however when we realized that we could stop at the actual four corners without much of a detour.  And so we did.  We turned off the road and paid a fee to the Navajo Nation, who maintain the small park surrounding the actual medallion.  It’s in a kind of amphitheater surrounded by native crafts vending stalls (common all over the southwest).  And, there’s not much else there.  There doesn’t have to be.  It may seem silly, but there’s something powerful about being at the actual place where four states come together.  After taking a picture of a family, their dad took a picture of Connie and me standing in all four states.  Then it was on to Shiprock.

            Shiprock, (Navajo: Tsé Bitʼaʼí – The Rock with Wings) is an eroded volcano core rising 483 m (1583 ft) above its base about 17.3 km (10.75 mi) from the town that bears its name.  Navajo legend tells of how the great bird brought the people here from the north.  It is sacred to the Diné (Navajo for the Navajo people), though that doesn’t keep others from climbing it – which has been illegal since 1970.

            We could see it in the distance as we drove into where the town was supposed to be.  The typical outskirts never turned into a series of shopping malls, pawn shops, bars and so on.  We passed the Shiprock office of the Navajo Tribal Police (as per The Fallen Man) and got to a tee intersection and wondered which way to turn toward the actual town.  Neither way looked promising, so we went left through a little less of more of the same and soon were driving out of whatever we had just driven through.  I immediately went into a mode familiar to both of us from our many years of adventuring – calorie mismanagement melt down – though we rarely recognize it until after making bad decisions.  We retraced our route leaving behind the “town” of Shiprock, the dark cloud mentioned before now hailing on my head.  On the first rise that gave me clear shop of Tsé Bitʼaʼí, I took a picture, probably from about 21m (13 mi) away.  Had I turned right instead of left, we could have taken pictures from less than a mile.

Day 17

Day 17(4/17)     

            Zig . . .

            We slept in that morning and got off to a late start.  The zigzag route we had set up for ourselves required that we back track as far as Page, NM.  On this visit, we did go to the Horseshoe Bend overlook about 4 miles downstream from the Glen Canyon Dam. 

            The turnoff took us to a large, rather full parking lot.  The wide, well traveled path lead us the ¾ of a mile over the hill and down to the overlook.  It was definitely worth the walk just to look down into that canyon again.  Where the Colorado River does its 270º turn, the effects of the seven-year drought is obvious.  Much of the circle is green with long strands of algae.  While taking pictures from the overlook, I asked if I could help a couple of young ladies who were trying to set up a picture of themselves at the edge.  I took the picture and they thanked me.  As Connie and I were walking back they caught up with us.  I asked where they were from – Phoenix.  Then I asked about the amazing drive I hadn’t been able to share with Connie when we were leaving Scottsdale.  After describing the water carved red sandstone along the route, they said that that must have been a park whose name we can’t remember.  We got all excited and thanked them.  One of the girls then said we should check out Antelope Valley, which was near by, if we wanted to see similar sights.

            We stopped again at the Safeway in Page, but this time we just got coffee.  In the parking lot we made sandwiches in our van and had a leisurely lunch before heading out toward Kayenta, halfway across Arizona.  We passed the turnoff to Antelope Valley, but with such a long drive ahead, I said I didn’t want to take the time and we kept on going.  Now we wish we’d stopped.

            We checked into our motel in Kayenta and immediately went to explore the Navajo museum next door.  On the grounds were three hogans (traditional Navajo houses) and a wagon with signs describing them and their history in great detail.  We spent so much time looking at them that we ended up entering the museum just before closing time, though the young woman inside didn’t mind talking with us as long as we wanted to stay.  Later, when we went to dinner in the motel dining room, we learned that it was directly related through family to the original trading post that became the town of Kayenta.  The menu had dishes evolved from traditional native dishes and the women waiting on us all wore traditional Navajo clothing.  We had a fry bread hors d’oeuvre, Connie got a fry bread sandwich and I had a side of black bean chili.

            The long drive had given us a good idea of just how big and spread out the Navajo reservation is.  We were listening to The Fallen Man by Tony Hillerman and driving through the area where the story takes place.  Tomorrow, we would see Monument Valley and Shiprock on our way to Mesa Verde.

Day 15 & 16

Day 15 & 16(4/15&16)

            Zion . . .

            Springdale, Utah is one street town of motels, restaurants, gift shops, cafes, a grocery store and so on.  There is a free shuttle bus that runs the length of the town – maybe two miles – and deposits passengers at the park entrance.  After a mid-morning breakfast at Me Me Café (across the street from out motel), we boarded the shuttle and walked across the bridge at the last stop and into the park, flashed our Senior Pass at the entrance kiosk and walked onto the park shuttle.

            The feature attraction to the casual tourist in Zion NP is the canyon, down which the shuttle travels to the end and back stopping at several points of interest and trailheads.  About halfway from The Junction – where the canyon loop meets main road – to the end, it began snowing.  It snowed enough to partially cover the ground but had turned into a light rain by the time we reached the end and started heading back.  Connie and I got off at The Lodge.

            Our chief reference for a place like Zion is Yosemite Park.  While planning our trip, we had briefly considered staying at the lodge or, at least, having dinner there.  We pictured something like the Ahwahnee, though of course, not as grand.  The Zion lodge is recently built and not very impressive, and, on that day crammed with tourist trying to get out of the rain.  We spent time perusing the gift shop and grabbed a hamburger and coffee in the café.  Since every surface in the lobby was covered with people, food and children, we opted to eat outside under the expansive entry awning.  It was cold, though not enough to spoil our watching kids playing with what slush the snow had left behind while we sipped our hot coffee.

            Heading back, we got off the shuttle at The Junction and walked the river trail – really a concrete sidewalk – the less than two miles back to the park entrance.  We looked around the Park Service exhibits at the entrance complex and then crossed over the bridge, hopped on the town shuttle and went back to our hovel – I mean hotel.  Because we had so enjoyed breakfast there and weren’t in the mood to go restaurant shopping, we went back to Me Me Café for a crepe dinner.  Afterward we walked for a while along the road away from the park to an area of a couple of nicer hotels and restaurants.  We went into a gift shop and Connie found a tee shirt she liked.  Then, back to the dump and bed.

            In the morning we ate a breakfast of yogurt, granola and orange juice in our land yacht and picked up coffee at Me Me’s before boarding the shuttle for the park.  The weather had cleared up and promised to warm up and we were looking forward to a day of short hikes and picture taking.

            Like Yosemite, Zion’s canyon has towering cliffs, though of varying strata of river eroded sandstone rather than glacier carved granite.   And though the cliffs didn’t rise as high above their bases as they do in Yosemite, the narrowness of the canyon created the same impressive effect.  But that narrowness also constricts the area over which the multitude of visitors can spread out.  The Park Service has done their best to accommodate all those people by providing wide paths, with many of those on or near the canyon floor paved.  Though we were there early in the season, it was not hard to imagine a Disneyland like feeling deep in nature out in the middle of nowhere at the season’s height.

            At the turn around point of the shuttle route, the canyon opens up into a pretty meadow dappled with Cottonwoods.  Here the canyon splits.  The Virgin River, the mechanism of this work of natural art, flows down from the right and the adjacent foot trail takes visitors further upstream from the shuttle stop.  This is the route to one of the park’s gems – The Narrows.  At the end of the path the canyon narrows considerably.  When conditions allow, people can hike further upstream, mostly in the shallow river.  Here the canyon is supposed to be a gallery of curving smooth walls in all shades reds.  It is the goal of most every visitor healthy enough to walk up the stream and goes on for miles.  When conditions allow.  With all the snow and rain upstream, The Narrows were closed.  Flash flood warnings were all over the place.

            We turned around at The Narrows, walked back and boarded the shuttle for other trailheads.  One of our favorites was the Emerald Pools Trail.  We climbed for a while and then the trail traversed a semicircle carved into the overhanging cliff.  Halfway around I noticed the whisper effect.  This is what I call something Connie and I learned about in the gallery high up in the rotunda of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.  There, someone can whisper next to the wall and another person listening halfway around gallery can hear the first person as if sitting right next to him.  I was so excited about it that I explained it to two young ladies whose father was farther down the trail.  I had them tell him to say something next to the wall while they listened close to it.  Sure enough.  It worked as advertised.  Later I offered to and took a picture of the three of them.

            It was at that semicircle overhang that water spilled down into the lower of the two emerald pools.  Connie and I took turns taking pictures of each standing near enough to the spray to get wet.  Our last walk of the day was a repeat of yesterday’s walk from The Junction to the Park Entrance.  It had been good day of walking and picture taking and after our disappointment over our lodgings and the weather, we felt redeemed.  And, Connie’s Fitbit recorded 22,000 steps and 50 floors!

            The previous night we had noticed people lined up outside a restaurant up a short side street near our motel, so we put our name in for dinner.  The wait was about 25 minutes so we figured we could walk back to the gift shop and buy the shirt Connie had liked last night.  We got back just in time to be seated and enjoyed a dinner worthy of the crowds that wait to eat there.

            We had originally planned to stay in Springdale for four nights and explore both Zion and Bryce Canyon from that base camp.  Before getting to Zion we had decided to put Bryce off to another time and during our visit we decided to stay just three nights in order make time to stop at Monument Valley and Shiprock on our way to Mesa Verde.  In the morning we grabbed pastries at a place across from Oscar’s and coffee from Me Me’s and set out excited about the day ahead.

Day 14

Day 14(4/14)     

            Zion here we come . . .

            Not long after leaving Sedona, we were on I-17 heading north toward Flagstaff.  When we got above 6000 feet, I noticed that the road surface was washboarded in places.  By 7000 feet it was pretty common.  No doubt it had to do with the big swing in temperatures from freezing to very hot.  On a rural dirt road you’d expect it, but on an interstate highway with big rigs doing 70 MPH? 

            In Flagstaff we picked up US 89 for the long drive north to Zion NP.  The views kept changing with the near by competing with the great vistas in strangeness and beauty.  After three hours we were approaching Page, AZ.  Peter had told us to go see Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado River (though he can’t remember doing so).  The turn off to the trailhead is just 2 miles before getting into Page, but we just blew by it.  We were hungry and there was a Starbucks in the Safeway.  After eating lunch and picking up a few supplies, we stopped at the Glen Canyon Dam a couple miles up the road.

            The dam and the visitors center were pretty cool, but looking down stream from the bridge was amazing.  The river was 800 to 1000 feet below us.  We could only see about a quarter of a mile of it before it turned around a bend, but it was exciting to think that this is the beginning of the Grand Canyon!  It was hard to get a feel for Lake Powell.  At the dam we could see that the water level was well below the high mark.  The reservoir stretches out to the east and highway 89 turns northwest.  For the short time we were adjacent to it, the water surface was below us in canyons.

            Not far out of Page, we crossed the Utah state line.  Having told Chris McKowen that I had read Riders of the Purple Sage last year and that I hoped I‘d see some on this trip (the book takes place in southern Utah), he asked us to take some pictures of it if we did.  It didn’t take long.  At first there were just clumps among the ground cover, but soon they became more prevalent and by our 5th picture the whole landscape was (would be) Purple Sage.  It is still late winter in the higher elevations of the Great Basin and the Purple Sage doesn’t bloom until late summer.

            Finally, we turned off on the small road that would lead us to the park.  It wound through the barren sandstone mountain tops for twenty something miles and then we got to the park entrance.  Not far beyond we drove through a 1.1-mile tunnel and then 1000 feet down the side of a canyon wall on a series of switchbacks.  Down on the floor, it didn’t take us long to drive through the park (past the junction that leads to the park’s goodies) and into the town of Springdale where we would be staying.

            Our motel was from another era.  Built of cinder blocks, probably in the 50s, it belonged to an older couple.  I assume that its shabbiness (shabby is being kind) was due to their having stretched things kind of thin to buy the place.  The picture on Expedia was not taken in our room.  It was a pit and we have a long history of staying in some pretty dodgy dumps.  We considered blowing off the four nights charges and seeing if we could get in somewhere else (at twice the price), but figured we could stay one night at least.  Which we did after pizza and beer (wine for Connie) in a friendly place a short walk up the road.

Day 13

Day 13(4/13)     

Among the beauty and the quiet . . .

          After breakfast and on Nanci’s advice, we drove up the hill to the airport.  It serviced mostly helicopters and small planes – no 747s will be landing there.  It also provided a spectacular view of west Sedona where most of the residents lived, as well as the hills beyond to the north.

          Back down in town, we stopped to get a cup of coffee at Starbucks.  On the way from where we had parked the van a young fellow in booth engaged us in conversation.  He was trying to get us to go to Holliday Inn sales spiel, but when he heard where we were staying, joined in the chorus about Elote, the restaurant.  While sitting on the patio enjoying our coffee, we discussed which of the amazing number of nearby hikes we should take.  Both of us were still sore from the hike up to the Bonito Overlook in Chaco Canyon, especially Connie.  We finally decided on the Court House Butte Loop hike.

          The trail circles Court House Butte and Bell Rock, a smaller, more pointy topped butte next to it.  It is only about 4 miles long and relatively flat, but, like I said, we were in no mood to do a lot of climbing.  At the Grand Canyon in ’85, Connie talked about how that kind of natural beauty calls out to be walked through and how not being able to can be frustrating.  I have called it the Grand Canyon effect ever since and it was good to be able respond to it in Sedona.  The walking was easy, the trail well marked and, once we were away from the trailhead area, the quiet embraced us.  The weather was clear and the temperature just right.  We met some hikers  along the way - including a couple who, in the course of our conversation, told us we had to eat at Elote - and, on the road side of the buttes, the occasional mountain bike rider.  It was a really satisfying walk and just the right length for the day.

          Back in town, we rushed to get ready for dinner and I ran over to get in line.  There were about 15 people already in line.  After Connie joined me, we engaged young women in conversation.  She was on the last leg of moving her and her husband’s household from Durham (where Sharon, Jess, Taylor and Emery live) to Irvine.  She was driving across country by herself – hubby and most of their stuff being in California already.  We asked her to dine with us and we all had a delightful time.  She had been working as a chemist in pharmaceutical company but quit to become a flight attendant.  She currently flies out of JFK but is hoping to transfer to LAX.  We each ordered a different entrée and tasted each other’s. The restaurant lived up to its reputation.

          After dinner there were hugs all around and best wishes and then Connie and I walked around for a while.  When we went back to the hotel, we watched the Warriors make history with their 73rd win of the season.  Tomorrow, on to Zion.

          Among the many brochures, maps & guides available on the streets of Sedona is a map of the local vertices.  These are founts of particularly strong spiritual “energy” spread around the area and are the reason many people come to visit Sedona.  I think easy access may also have something to do with it.  It’s not too far from the more heavily populated areas to the south and west, and in an emergency, a quick flight to Flagstaff, hour Uber ride and you’re there.  Voila, instant New Age Mecca complete with 5 star hotels with spas and great restaurants.

Certainly the red rock cliffs and buttes surrounding the town are inspiring.  But they are just one jewel among a vast trove of geological formations and vistas that are awesome (in the true sense of that word) that are prevalent all over the great Southwest and that have been inspiring Americans since they first came here all those thousands of years ago.  I find it easier to honor spiritualism standing next to the ruins of a Great House in Chaco Canyon, or in the shadow of Shiprock or in the crumbling ancient Hopi village of Oraibi than among the crystal vendors in Sedona.  But that’s just me.

Day 12

Day 12  (4/12)     

South, East, Northeast, South and now, West . . .

           Peter had told us to have breakfast at the famous El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, but we didn’t want to take the time.  However, we did backtrack two entrances on the highway to go by and take a look.  What a kick!  It is an old hotel indeed and is where all the movie stars stayed in the hay day of westerns.  It has a great southwest rough-framed lobby with a grand staircase to a balcony lined with signed photos of the old stars and posters of old movies.  We spent time looking around and taking pictures and, on our way out, asked about the room prices.  Next time we’re in Gallup, we’re staying at the El Rancho.

           Flagstaff, the gateway to Sedona, is about 3½ hours down I-40 from Gallup.  The traffic was easy and we were already into our new audio book, The Fallen Man by Tony Hillerman.  We bypassed Flagstaff and it wasn’t long before we were into Oak Creek Canyon, the first half of which is like being dropped straight down between shear cliffs on hairpin turns.  Connie was white knuckled and she wasn’t even holding on to anything.  But soon the rate of descent slowed and the curves widened out and we were following the creek (more like a small river) through sun-flecked woods.  As soon as we exited the woods we were in the middle of the tourist part of Sedona.  Which is dangerous because the surrounding scenery so jaw-droppingly spectacular that you could run over six pedestrians and smash up three or four parked cars before you took your eyes of the skyline. 

           I didn’t kill anyone and somehow managed to get us to our hotel about a mile down the road.  After we got situated, we walked back up the road in search of a beer (a marguerite for Connie) and a little something to eat.  For part of the walk the land drops off precipitously from the edge of the sidewalk.  Along that part about every 50 feet or so there were plaques describing the landscape, the history the town, that it’s an arts and crafts center, how many westerns were shot there and so on.  We learned that Sedona is named for Sedona Arabella Miller Schnebly.  She and her husband set up there homestead at the mouth of Oak Creek Canyon.  Her mom made up the name Sedona.

           We took our time over the drinks and a massive dish of nachos, relaxing in an open-air second floor room.  We sat overlooking the street, but our attention was on the magnificent backdrop to the town – a massive wind and water carved rock sculpture stretched across from us not more than a couple of miles away and towering up to a brilliant blue sky dappled with fluffy white clouds lazily floating by.  Closer at hand were the little bits of Cottonwood fluff drifting past like snowflakes that had lost their way.

           On our way back to the hotel we stopped into an Irish bar and made the bartender look for every possible way to watch the Warriors game that night.  No matter how she tried, there was just no way.  We’d have to see if we could stream it in our room.  It was a while after we got back that we learned the game was to be played the next night.  Oh, well.  Before going back to our room, we stopped by Elote, the hotel restaurant.  While reading the menu at the bottom of the ramp that leads up to it, we were accosted by a couple who told us that we absolutely had to eat there and that if we wanted to, we’d have to be in line at 4:30 the next day.  They practically made us swear that we would.  After that, we decided that we too tired to go out to dinner and that the nachos would last us until breakfast.  In our room we got into bed and read for a while before turning off the lights and going to sleep.

Our First Hike

Day 11  (4/11)     

            Our first hike . . .

           After breakfast, I split some firewood into sizes more amenable to use in campfires and Connie stacked it into the one of storage drawers we have in the back under the bed.  After making up a lunch, filling up our water bottles and another stop at the Visitors Center, we drove the 4½ miles to the trail head of a short hike we wanted to take to Pueblo Bonito Overlook.

          A short walk got us to the base of the canyon wall where we began to climb straight up a rock stairway, up steps that most certainly did not comply to code in terms of their height.  A little more than halfway up, we came to a slot behind a massive section that had separated from the cliff eons ago.  It was narrow and steep, but it was also cooler than when we were out in the sun.  Once through the slot, we were on top of the cliff edge, the lowest shelf of a mesa that rose to the north in a series of steps.

          We walked for about a half an hour parallel to the edge and sometimes around little hanging valleys, taking pictures and being passed by younger, faster hikers.  Eventually we got to the overlook and took pictures of Bonito from above, ate snacks and drank water.  I shared some trail mix with a raven whose timid partner squawked at us from a safe distance.  On our way back, we saw the two of them dancing above on the cliff face updrafts.

          The walk back took less time than expected and soon we were at and then down through the slot.  That was when we realized how much easier it is to climb up steep, big rocks when the ones above provide hand holds to help you balance.  Where the hell were the handrails for the downward traffic?  We finally made it down (obviously) and drove over to the other side of the canyon for our tour of the Great Kiva.

          All of the names in and around Chaco Canyon were conferred by Europeans or local Native Americans, including the name of the canyon.  Without a written language there are no records or any way to relate the language or languages spoken there in 9th through 12th centuries to any of the modern languages.  23 tribes claim ancestral connections to Chaco Canyon.  They include nineteen Pueblo tribes – who share four unrelated languages and are genetically diverse – and the Hopi, the Ute, the Navajo and the Apache.

          Modern archeology has been able to determine things about the construction of the Great Houses like the dates of the wood used in construction, the composition of the mortar used to join the bricks together and the plaster used to hide all that beautiful masonry inside and out (both techniques demonstrated by local Native Americans), the orientations of the buildings and village layouts based on the movements of the sun and moon and so on.  They have determined that the climate during the active period of the canyon did not vary that much from today’s, that there were droughts during those times and that the Chacoan diaspora, which began around 1150, was due in part to a forty-seven year drought.

          But who were the people who lived here and built these great structures?  And why did they build them?  Evidence shows that very few people actually lived in the big houses and that those rooms that were not inhabited were not used for storage.  All of the Big Houses included one or two wide-open plazas and a number of kivas.  According to our guides, the more we learn about it, the less we seem to know about the place and about the people who lived and worked here and why they chose Chaco Canyon as their center.  Some suggest that it was a center of trade (things that could only have come from Central America were found there) and that it had religious significance seems obvious.  Archeological evidence shows that the Chocan culture, including many other Great Houses, was spread out over 60-70,000 square mile surrounding the canyon.  And, if they built the Great Houses simply to create something big and grandiose to honor their gods or themselves, well then, they were just doing what we humans have been doing throughout our history.  Maybe.

          Having listened to other disgruntled drivers discussing the dirt roads and having seen other vehicles driving over them, I decided that driving faster may be the key.  Sure enough, right around 37 mph seemed to calm the rattling significantly.  It didn’t take long to get back to Gallop and our hotel.

Question:

         How is it that after scrupulously scrubbing yesterday’s remains of insect Armageddon from your windshield, the very next bug to die does so right in the middle of the driver’s field of vision?

Day 10

Day 10  (4/10)

            Everything I thought I knew was wrong (maybe) . . .

            After breakfast at the hotel, we stopped for groceries and firewood and set off for Chaco Canyon, or, officially, Chaco Cultural National Historical Park.  We drove for a while on US 491 and then on Navajo Reservation roads, which were all good until we turned on to highway 57.  Were tooling along a perfectly good paved road and, trusting Google Maps, made a sudden, sharp turn on to highway 57.  Highway!  It was a dirt road!  And, we had 20 miles to go.  After the first couple of miles I was thinking that this might not be so bad and then we hit the washboarding.  For the next hour we would get up a little speed and hit a patch where I would try to calm the screw loosening rattling by slowing down, which would only raise it to a tooth loosening level.  It was stressful and maddening and seemed to last forever.  But finally, we were there – Chaco Canyon.           I don’t know how long I have wanted to visit Chaco Canyon.  It may have started when I helped Connie with a paper on Native American culture while she was finishing up at Santa Clara University.  That was 44 years ago.  Or, it might have been later, but not much.  I read an article in National Geographic about Pueblo Benito and the canyon and have sense then wanted to see it.

            Pueblo Benito was one of the greatest structures built by Native Americans and had been described as the largest building in North America before the nineteenth century.  The article described Benito as the home of 1500 people and the center of a civilization that stretched up and down the canyon.  I have been telling people this since and all of it is wrong.  Maybe.

            We stopped at the visitor’s center and checked in, and then went on to the campground.  Not seventy meters behind our campsite under the cliff overhang was the ruin of an ancient home.  We took the bikes off   the back of our van, moved the firewood out of our living room and had lunch.  Then, we drove the 4 ½ miles to where our first tour was to begin.

            Our tour guide was an archeo-astrologer working for the park service who had been living in the canyon for 29 years.  This tour was of Pueblo Bonito, the most intact of great house ruins.  It didn’t take long fro me to learn that all I though I knew about the place was wrong.  Maybe.  Our group of about twelve tourists wandered around and through the building and grounds thoroughly entertained for two hours by all that our guide had to say about the site, the canyon and Chacoan culture and history.

            The first tour ended just in time for us to begin another tour that started at the same place.  This one was of Chetra Ketl, another big house a few hundred meters from Benito.  This guide was a volunteer, but fully knowledgeable and he had a notebook of visual aids.  Chetra Ketl was built late (1100 CE), just fifty years before the Chacoan diaspora began.

            Our former brother-in-law, George Bottesch, is a stonemason in Maine.  I have taken some pictures of the various masonry techniques to show him how these buildings were built.  The cliffs of the canyon are made mostly of sandstone.  It’s estimated that several hundreds of millions of stone bricks were used to construct the buildings in the canyon.  The bricks were cut with stone tools and the mortar was a mixture of local clay and water.  But, the lintels (wood used to support the stones above doors and windows), vigas (wooden logs that support floors and ceilings) and letias (smaller logs perpendicular and above the vegas) were all imported from as far as sixty miles away.  Over 260,000 of them.  Early Europeans thought that the ancient builders had clear-cut a forest that existed during their day when the climate was wetter.  Modern archeology has proven them wrong on both accounts.

            While the construction was interesting and advanced for the time and area, the layout was amazing.  The most astonishing example was the great kiva on the south side of the canyon.  All of the Great Houses were on the north side of the canyon and the homes of the people were, for the most part, on the south side.  The great kiva was an exception.  Fully twenty-five feet deep and 120 feet in diameter, this was a massive place of ceremony.  It has two entrances, stairways that are perfectly aligned on a north-south axis.  And barely visible above the canyon rim to the north is Pueblo Alto, again on that perfect north-south line.  Another village to the south and out of our sight completes the line.  Around the north stairway is an antechamber with two doors.   If you sight through the two doors with the cliff face two miles away centered in your view, you are looking along a perfect east-west line.  And, if you do that on a solstice, the sun will rise from the base of that cliff.  It goes on with more mind blowing solar and lunar orientations, including a truly arcane lunar 18 ½ year cycle created by the wobble of the moon.

           Dusk at 6200 feet was colder than it had been in Gallup, so we got as set up as necessary and retreated into the Land Yacht (god bless our van!).  We heated our rotisserie chicken and precooked rice in the microwave.  It was the first time using it powered through the inverter by the house battery.  All went well and with the wind blowing outside, we were snug inside eating our hot meal.  Afterward, we donned our heavier pajamas and snuggled down under comforter and blanket and had ourselves a great night’s sleep.

Correction

Our sister-in-law, Marian, was the first to use the Contact section for feedback.  She corrected my mistaken description of how the roads are named & numbered in Arizona.  Here's what she said:  

You talked about the numbered avenues and streets, and I thought I would correct your logical assumption about how they worked.  Actually, all the numbered avenues and streets run N-S.  Avenues are west of Phoenix and Streets are east.  So if you're driving east, the avenue numbers decrease until you get to Central, which is where downtown Phoenix is.  Central would be 0.  Then you start with streets, increasing in number as you continue east.  I'm not sure how far/high they go in that direction, but I've seen at least 135th St.

The correction isn't so important.  We're just really excited that someone used the Contact section.

Day 9

Day 9  (4/9)        

            Let the Adventuring Begin . . .

            For Connie and me, Saturday morning was filled with laundry, last minuet shopping, repairs, etc.  Megan and the girls spent time at the pool, but when a pair of kids closer to Maya’s age came, Lila lost interest and came into Stan and Marian’s house.  Marian was showing Connie her crafts room when Lila became interested in an oval shaped wooden picture frame.  Soon she and Marian were involved in a picture project to be displayed in the frame.

            It wasn’t long before our short visit to Scottsdale came to an end.  Stan fed us chicken sandwiches before we hit the road and Marian took some departing shots (pictures) and off we went.  They were going to take Megan and the girls to the airport later in the day.

            I had been talking incessantly about the beautiful drive into Scottsdale that Peter and I had while driving back from NYC last summer and was looking forward to showing Connie the beautiful water carved sand stone art show as we ascended out of the Valley of the Sun heading east.  I hadn’t paid attention to the route Pete and I had taken last year and just assumed it was Highway 87, the main eastern route out of the Phoenix area.  Well, I was wrong.  It was not.  But, it was spectacular in its own way.  We rose through rocky hills of sage, mesquite, creosote and other chaparral flora, all lorded over by imperial Saguaro cacti.  As our elevation increased, so did the majestic views and the numbers of Saguaros.  The chaparral eventually gave way to small and then larger conifers.  We also saw sign after sign telling us to watch out for the Elks crossing the road.  In one instance, there were 8 in a row, separated by about 100 yds.

            We crested one ridge and were amazed to find the horizon defined by the shear face of the Great Basin plateau not many miles ahead of us.  It wasn’t too long before the world we had been driving through for the past two plus hours – crumbling, broken hills and chaparral and undulating tree covered mountains – became flat grasslands with endless vistas of plains, mesas and distant mountains under a never ending sky.  We had to stop to take some pictures.  We had started out at around 1000 feet of elevation, had peaked at around 7500 and were standing at 6400 feet.  It was magnificent.  I had to remind myself to keep an eye on the road as we drove on slowly descending to around 5000 feet as we approached I-40.  Ninety-five miles up the freeway we checked into a motel in Gallup New Mexico.  Tomorrow, the rubber hits the road.

Days 7 & 8

Day 7 & 8  (4/7 & 8)

            Not enough time . . .

Everyone told us we had to have breakfast at Randy’s so after we picked up the girls we did just that.  Or tried to.  Lila was not at her best that morning and we ended up having to get hers and Megan’s breakfasts to go.  Randy’s lived up to its reputation with good food, fast service and waitresses that call you “hon”.  While they were out walking around the shopping center for some calming time, Megan and Lila picked up some swim noodles.  Back at Stan and Marian’s, the girls hit the pool with their new toys.  Lila was still on the wrong side of happy so Connie and I took her and Maya to Target to pick up some of the things need for camping.  She fell asleep in the shopping cart and when she woke up back at the ranch, she discovered that she and Maya had new ponies, albeit plastic toys.  Her outlook improved.

            That night we dined out in Scottsdale’s Old Town where we finally got to see Kim, John and Feryal, John’s daughter.

            On Friday, Connie and I woke up early and decided to walk to Starbucks in the Safeway in the same shopping center as Randy’s.  Scottsdale has a wonderful greenspace that flows all through the town and into Tempe.  It incorporates paved bike and walking trails, ponds, a Frisbee golf course and so on.  It is also a flood control channel.  We walked through the greenspace on our way to breakfast but were barred from walking through one of the major road subways because the previous night’s rain had flooded it.

            While Connie was cleaning up the inside of the van, I finally spent some time in the pool with the girls.  It was great fun.  After lunch, we drove for miles to the AAA office for maps of the four corners states and to Trader Joe’s for supplies for the dinner we were cooking for that night.  While running our errands, we got word that Kim would be home early enough for us to visit before we started cooking.

            She and John live in Tempe, home of ASU.  We dropped off the groceries, picked up the girls and drove to their house.  Their neighborhood is older, funkier and definitely more college town looking.  The first thing we noticed was the massive barking dog that could easily have burst through the flimsy gate at the open front door.  This was Porter who was a puppy when Peter and I passed through in June.  He and his new sidekick, Avery, turned out to be big love muffins and after a quick but thorough tour by Kim, we left to fight the traffic back to Scottsdale.

            With Stan’s help, we got dinner on the table, though Julie and Daniel weren’t able to join us.  Daniel was at a Diamondbacks game and Julie had fallen victim to having treated 5 kids with stomach flu that day.

Day6

Day 6(  4/6)        

            On to Scottsdale . . .

            After packing up, we stopped at the Visitors Center to ask how far we would have to go to see an actual Joshua tree.  40 minutes in the wrong direction prompted talk about how we’d go through the park from north to south during next year’s trip.

            The day had dawned clear, but a haze began to develop and increase and soon we were watching range after range of sharp edged hills rise up from the horizon in varying shades of muted grays resolving eventually into darker grays and browns as we skirted by or between them.  The day finally did clear up and after a couple of hours, we crossed the line into Arizona.

            The first thing I noticed was that we just passed 411th Ave.  Apparently, the entire state is crisscrossed by avenues (N-S) and streets (E-W).  The next thing was that we were driving through the kind of hills we’d been driving past.  Pretty, but soon we were in flat, uninteresting, ugly desert on a road that varied from straight by no more than two degrees.  Soon, Megan said Maya had to pee.  I said we’d pull off at the next overpass, Meg said “she squirming”.  So, we stopped on the shoulder of I-10 with cars, vans, pickups and semis screaming by, pulled out the port-a-potty and Maya took care of business.  Had Lila been awake she would have insisted on doing the same having wanted to since she discovered its existence.

We were all hungry for lunch and not too much later the endless highway provided the small town of Tonopah.  The Family Diner showed its age and the food was a little strange (Connie’s vegetarian pizza was covered with broccoli and cauliflower), but at least we had a break and a little to eat.  As I left I noticed the vast bar and dance floor.  Obviously the place didn’t survive on its sparse luncheon patronage.  On to Phoenix!

            The suburbs start 30 miles from Scottsdale.  The Phoenix area reminds me of an updated LA, though not as big.  The freeways are easier to drive (change lanes, enter, exit, etc.), well signed and all of the interchanges are works of art with a different design impressed on the colored concrete at each one.  And, on the surface streets, every quarter mile is a major road, often with 4 lanes, that allow the traffic to flow swiftly and smoothly and diverts traffic from the intervening neighborhoods.

            Not long before we got there, Marian texted that if we could make it in time, she would be performing with a little dance troupe at he Scottsdale Civic Center.  Within 10 minutes of exiting I-10, the five of were being seated in a nice, air-conditioned theater, watching a revue of senior citizen singing and dancing acts.  The audience favored the elderly though younger family members were spread among us.  We did get there in time to see Marian’s act.  They did a synchronized tap number all dressed up like bell hops with top hats.  The acts varied from an a cappella aria to a hip trio folk group with several dance numbers interspersed and emcee who was the king of groaner jokes.  It was an unexpected and delightful way for all of us to decompress from the long drive.

            That night, Stan and Marian feasted us with grilled steak and salmon, rice and their famous salad.  Julie and Daniel came by for dinner but Kim and John couldn’t make it that night.  After dinner, Megan and the girls went home to stay with Julie and Daniel.  It had seemed like a long day, but it’s always nice when you’re getting together with family. 

Day 5

Day 5        

            On the road again . . .

            Although it takes less time to escape Automaniamegaopolis going east than going north, it’s still over an hour before you’re leaving Riverside behind. But then the traffic lessens some and soon you’re out in the desert.  Lila overheard me tell Connie that desert was my least favorite topography.  A little while later she said, “I think the desert is pretty”.

            Last summer when Peter and I drove back from New York, we passed a sign for the turn off to Joshua Tree NP on I-10.  Although we knew there was a northern entrance to the park – to which we would have taken a different route from LA – we headed to that southern entrance.  My usually infallible navigator, Connie, guided by both I-maps and Google maps, told me to turn off the freeway at a place with no sign for the park (an input glich).  Soon we were traveling through sparsely populated desert on smaller and rougher roads.  When we were told to by our electronic guide to turn onto a single lane track of gravel the size of cobblestones, we decided that something was wrong and turned around.  After reentering “Joshua Tree NP” and a 13-mile drive back to the freeway, we were once again back on the right path, chuckling about our little sightseeing detour as we went.  Soon we saw the sign for the park and seven miles later, we pulled into the parking lot at the visitor’s center.

            Remember that northern entrance I spoke of?  When I looked at the map outside the Visitors Center, I learned that the greatest distance between any two campgrounds in the park was the one we were near and the one where we had reserved a site.  Fortunately, they were able to accommodate us there and soon Megan and the girls were setting up their tent next to the van.

            We also soon learned that the only possible source of campfire wood and a pump for Megan’s two airbeds was the truck stop 4 miles down the freeway.  Struck out on both counts, but we were able to borrow a pump and I gathered left overs from the fire pits of unoccupied nearby campsites.  After getting set up and a bit of a rest, we went for a hike.

            Hiking is another one those activities that Lila hates until after the first five minutes into it.  From the campground we descended into a small canyon and then back up over another ridge.  The canyon beyond was exactly like every box canyon showdown between the posse, bad guys, cavalry and/or Indians I’d ever seen as a boy watching westerns on Saturday mornings.  By then the girls were running ahead and climbing on every rock they could scale, both in flip-flops and Lila in her party dress.

            Along the path were the occasional sign describing one of the varied nearby plants.  A general description could have read, “yes we have pretty little flowers, but if you get too close, we’ll rip all the skin off your body”.  Nearly all of the desert flora is heavily armed with really sharp spines.  And, one thing we never saw was a Joshua tree.

            On our hike, we crossed paths with a dad and his 3 daughters who were camped near us.  His girls had proper footwear and were obviously used to hiking.  As Megan passed by his camp, he offered us an extra bundle of firewood he had.  We soon had a fire and the girls were roasting hot dogs over it.  Hot dogs and carrots (Connie and I had sausages and chili) lead to smores for dessert.  Turns out that Maya is an expert at roasting marshmallows.  Megan put the girls to bed, zipped the tent shut and came over to share a last glass of wine with Connie and me.

            A few hiccups here and there and some unpreparedness, but all things considered, not a bad first day on the road and first night of camping.

Days 2 & 3...

          More driving & flowers . . .

For the few minutes it took to pass through the Pismo Beach area, we had a view of the beach towns and the ocean.  But then the road veered inland and we drove through grassy fields and rolling hills.  Here the land began to look a little dryer than it had farther north.   After an hour the hills got higher and rockier and we eventually broke out onto the coast again with the Pacific right on our right hand side and the coastal mountains rising dramatically on our left.  This is the thirty-mile run into Santa Barbara that I always enjoy and we soon learned that yesterday’s flower show was just a preamble for the show the ocean’s added moisture was to provide.  Traffic began to pick up and soon we were in heavier urban freeway traffic.

            South of Santa Barbara, the highway again runs close to the beach either down near the water level or higher up on cuts in the adjacent hills.  From the higher vantage, we looked down on the old Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), which is lined with the aging RVs of a beach loving cult.  And here too was the mustard’s piece de resistance – whole hillsides painted yellow by the flowers.  It was truly amazing.

Note: “If the scenery was so beautiful, why don’t we have pictures of it?”  Well, we’re sort of new at this whole blog thing and we have traveled this route several times and we weren’t expecting the flower show we saw.

            Soon we were in Ventura and then LA proper with the expected traffic gridlock.  But then . . . we were at Megan & Zack’s house.

            The Sterngolds . . .

            It’s always so great to get to Hermosa Beach and be greeted by the girls (Maya, about to be 8 & Lila, about to be 5).  They were dressed in “fancy dresses and shoes” and had created a red carpet out of various blankets, shawls, etc. for us to walk across upon our arrival.  Dominating the dining area table was the second of the two Little Libraries ® I had made, nearly ready to be installed.  A quick trip to Home Depot and a stop at the Kioskis, M & Z’s besties, provided us with the materials and tools to affect the installation.

            After a series of discussions about whether we would eat at Nick & Emalee’s (Kioski), we ate here and they there, and we watched the UNC Tarheels earn their way into the NCAA National Basketball Championship game.  Connie and I fell asleep with smiles on our faces on the queen size airbed in the garage.  Go Heels!

            Sunday started with an early breakfast/photo shoot at the Kioskis.  Emalee is starting her own Speech and Language Pathology practice and wanted pictures of frolicking kids.  Shots were taken in their former dining room, which has been converted into a padded cell/rumpus room.

            Afterwards, the Sterngolds and Connie & I headed out to Mystic Canyon Ranch in Palos Verdes where Maya and, now, Lila take riding lessons.  Lila, who is usually reluctant to try anything new, was brilliant at her first time riding and between the miniature horse, the tiny saddle and Lila, there was a danger of, as Megan said, “cuteness overload”.  After helping Lila brush down Princess (what else?) and put away the tack, Maya began her lesson.  For being so new at it, she looked comfortable with the horses and a natural in the saddle.

            Zack, Lila and I left early while Megan, Maya & Connie went to a local horse show.  After a short rest, I installed the Little Library ® and had so much fun watching how excited Megan and the girls were filling it up with books.  After dinner here with (yup, you guessed it) the Kioskis to celebrate once again Connie’s 39th birthday, and confirming that the Warriors won, we all went to bed.

Day 1

Day 1 - April 1, 2016

         After some last minute packing, we got out of town around 9:30.  I don’t really think of our being out of town until we’re past Salinas (about an hour away), but once we were, what a beautiful drive down Salinas Valley we had.  Central California was dazzling in its best springtime green – grass, brush and trees.  The roadside and hills were often splashed with a pointillist patch of bright yellow mustard.

            At King City we stopped for lunch and changed drivers.  The drive was uneventful, the traffic light.  We always listen to books while driving long distances and this time it is “Just Mercy”.  It is a memoir of Brian Stevenson’s early career as the founder of a nonprofit law firm in Alabama that specializes in defending death row convicts.  It is very powerful and should be read by anyone who really wants to understand Black Lives Matter.

            We made up our trip itinerary so as to avoid driving more than 5 hours in one day.  Since it usually takes us around 7 hours to drive to LA, we planned to stay the night in Avila Beach, midway between San Luis Obispo and Pismo Beach.  This was our third time staying at the Inn at Avila Beach – a converted apartment building being funkily remodeled a quirky motel.  They serve pie at 8:00 every night to anyone who stops by.  Our previous two visits were in the offseason and we had the small town practically to ourselves.  This time, the beach was crowded and the farmers’ market was opening for the first time this year.  Finding a place to eat was proving challenging until we realized we could eat at the bar of the restaurant where we wanted to get dinner and, could watch the Warriors game to boot.  They lost at home.  Boo.

1985

1985

           In 1985, Connie and I loaded all of our personal possessions and my pickup into the garage, rented our house to 5 Stanford students, packed Megan and Pete (10 & 8 years old) into a used 1978 Ford ¾ ton van with oversized tires and bumpers and headed off on a 3 month drive around the country.  We stopped for a few days in Yosemite to calm down after the incredible effort to get out of town.  Then, out the back door of the park and down 395, it wasn’t long before we were exploring Grand Canyon and Pueblo reservations – Hopi, Zuni and Acoma.

            After a nice visit with a friend in Santa Fe, we pretty much b-lined it to my folks’ home in North Carolina.  When we moved on, dad came with us to the Outer Banks for a couple of days and, after we said goodbye, we younger Rices wandered up the eastern seaboard, finally landing at (my sister) Sharon & George’s 100 year old farm house in the woods of rural Maine.  There my sister Kathy and her son Mike joined us and the nine of us (Sharon’s kids Nate and Jess, but not George) headed off through Canada to a Rice Family reunion in South Haven, Michigan.  Connie and I and the kids got to stay at the Harrys’ farm, always my favorite place.

            On the road again, we dipped down to northeastern Iowa to visit a former schoolmate of Megan and then set out across the northern Great Plains.  The Badlands, Yellowstone, the Black Hills & Deadwood, Jackson….  By the time we were driving past the Grand Tetons were “oh yeah, more natural beauty”.  We were road weary and wanting to go home – which we couldn’t do for more than 3 weeks.  However, stopping to watch “Back to the Future” in Idaho Falls helped and soon we had Seattle in our sites.

            After a great visit with our friend Kris in Seattle and a quick trip up to Victoria, we dragged our heels down the west coast until our tenants’ lease was up and we could finally go home.  3 months and 12,800 miles on the road is a long road trip.

            But it was a seminal time for our family.  In the middle of what passed for our careers and while the kids were young, we had taken 3 months off and spent all of that time together exploring, camping, visiting family and, most importantly, being together in a relaxed way.  It was on that trip that Megan began her love of reading.  We stopped at several bookstores along the way.  It took Peter a few more years, but he too learned to love reading.  If you ask either of them today, both would include that trip among their favorite memories.  It certainly is for Connie and me.