Bandelier and Taos

Sunday, we headed out early to go hiking in Bandelier to see the Cliff Dwellings. We made it to the visitor center in Whitehead to catch the shuttle which is the mandatory way of accessing the monument. The landscape is at the highest alert for fires. A massive one is raging to the east of Santa Fe and has been for a few days, but the prevailing winds blow all the smoke away, so we don't have to breathe the terrible smoke we can see feeding into the sky twenty miles or so away. We took the shuttle and got off at the first stop which is called Frey trial where we hiked through scrub and then down a zig-zaggy path cut out of the side of the gorgeous tan and chalky sides of the canyon. The material there is volcanic sediment that settled after the caldera exploded millions of years ago and it's peppered with little holes that the native Americans eventually enlarged to make their cliff-dwellings. We had a nice picnic lunch in the shade of some beautiful trees. These are part of the strip of green that colors the otherwise brown and scraggly landscape naturally irrigated by the creek that runs alongside the base of the cliffs and supplied the natives with sustenance. The cliff dwellings were interesting in that there were only a few of these with respect to the other mud and wood constructed housing closer to the creek. The people living in the hill must have been the hoity-toities of the village. We left Bandelier, to drive about 15 miles through the canyon hills to Los Alamos. This is an interesting drive with lots of research posts lining the route. The town is really strangely configured, not surprising considering it's laid out by the same people who coined the terms SNAFU and FUBAR. One has to wonder at what must have been Oppenheimer's "WTF have we done?" moment" after Trinity, not so much because of the bomb's frightful power, but because he knew into whose hands it was placed. We visited a museum that used to be the Boys Ranch but became a club house during the Manhattan Project, where everyone got to learn and see memorabilia from that strange and stressed time. We came away feeling a little tired emotionally as well as physically. We had dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Santa Fe just down the street from the one we really wanted to go to (Cafe Pasquael's), but had some really good New Mexican tacos and a couple of Margaritas (well I did anyway, Ursula stuck to beer). The next day we drove up to Taos to revisit the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. The scheduling is always a little contentious but we worked it out and went there first and then visited an eco-friendly housing community where we witnessed quite a few dust devils dancing across the scrub like real-life ghosts of the tasmanian devil from the road-runner. We headed into Taos from there and walked around the plaza and Ushi found a painting she really liked. The kids got some other cool things: Aidan bought some gifts and Devin found a real page from one of the encyclopedias of Didero. Our timing was off when we went to eat at the predetermined Orlando's (New Mexican cuisine again) because they didn't open until five and we were half an hour early. Aidan and I wanted to improvise and eat at the Taos Outback Pizza place, but Ursula and Devin wanted to stick with Orlandos. We decided to split up to stop the bickering (paradise our vacations, while fun, are not) and everyone was satisfied. After a little more shopping around the plaza purchasing a couple of hippy sticks and chocolate, we headed back to Santa Fe to try to catch what we'd hoped would be another beautiful sunset. We didn't get to see one because of cloud cover, but we also didn't lose Devin's sunglasses (inside joke). Tomorrow Ursula and the kids want to visit some hot springs, while I stay back at the campsite and soak up a little bit of quiet and not running around time.

Santa Fe during Solstice

We set out on Thursday morning from Roanoke in the Toaureg at about 8:00 AM. We found out pretty quickly that our gas mileage was nowhere near what we thought it was when we took our maiden voyage to Ashville with our new camper (the Casita we bought from the amazing 93 year old Frank Cash from Floyd in the fall of 2011). We’re getting close to 13 mpg which amounts to about 320 miles to a 24 gallon tank. So now we’re considering selling the Toaureg. We have to see what the 4 Runner gets. We did make it to Little Rock arriving at 8:15 in the evening in the dark at a little RV park called Burns where we had a salad and sandwiches at the picnic table, all piled in the camper, and promptly fell asleep, Aidan stubbornly taking the floor. We got up at 6:00 AM, showered, and drove into the river district in Little Rock for breakfast at the Ottenheimer River Market. Ushi had a BLT w/egg that was really delicious. We hit the road again by 8:00 to face another long 800 mile day. Driving, driving, driving through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, where we stopped at a rest stop overlooking the prairie, read ever so briefly some plaques describing the dust bowl, and insulted a family whose son would be going to college at liberty by Ushi saying “That’s nice. See ya,” in our rush to get into New Mexico. An earnest "Was I rude?" was met with "Mom, I can't believe you did that! We finally watched a glorious swirly purple-red sunset with an almost full moon behind us as we closed in on Santa Fe at 9:00 in the dark listening to Neon by Chris Young and Ooh Lala covered by the Counting Crows. The kids slept in the back of the Toaureg and we collapsed in the trailer at about 11:00. The next day started early and we made it into town around 10:00 where we shopped and looked in galleries and ended up buying some bracelets from the native American artists in the square. Devi had to take hers back because it made the skin on her wrist break out. There is so much great art here. We met a very interesting African from an area north of Ghana who travels back and forth to sell his canvas art (mostly landscapes of migrations and the (sky making love to the earth). We almost bought a small one for Devin's room but we ended up not. I came close to buying a retouched photograph of some western settlers. The old black and white really came alive with just a few added spots of color (an ax in a log, a wash pan, some patches of leaves in some aspens, the guy on the horse given a red beard). There's so much good stuff it's hard to control the urge to buy, Ushi found a lamp that she must “have before we leave” at a gallery called Sequioa. We had a fabulous lunch at Tia Sophia’s (really tasty sopapillis and everything else Mexican cooked just right). The waiter was very friendly and a little bit too full of energy. We made it back to the campsite after stopping at Trader Joes for some groceries at about 4:00 and the girls went out to make a run for some supplies at Target. Then we set up my 25 year old pup tent for the kids and had a nice dinner of ravioli and salad (always salad, but we love it), and sat looking on the internet for trails in Bandelier. Now I’m getting ready for bed typing this, just like I did four years ago, with the full moon shining brilliantly down on the campground and our tacky, multi-colored lights gently adding a soft glow to our tiny little awning-covered patch of it, a very happy ending to the day after summer solstice. Two, thirteen hour days of straight driving. We are truly nuts, but the climate is so nice. The air is dry, the sun is strong, the nights are chill and the air is clean. Now, it’s time for brushing teeth and going to bed. Tomorrow should be a good hiking day. I’ll try to post some pics in the morning.

Feeling like writing again

It's been over a year since I've posted. Seems like I've been in a slump for a while. I've got a new job and with it, a bit of a new attitude. Strange to say I'm feeling happier and then go and post something so somber, but a favorite blogger inspired me with a similar story, and I think I owe it to Sammy to honor him with a few words:

Sam was our Border Collie, Springer-Spanial mix, rebel of a dog.
He had mischievous eyes and a look that said “So what?”
He was the smartest, misbehaving, lovable, renegade son of a bitch I’ve ever known.
He swallowed a sparrow whole he’d caught in his mouth when I told him to put it down,
just to show me I wasn’t boss.
His eyes got real big and he winced with pain when the bird fought to get out of his gut.
I took him to the emergency vet after I stopped laughing.
The vet laughed too. He was fine. The bird...not so much.
He ate both my daughters’ Halloween candy once.
He ate two pounds of gourmet Ghirardelli chocolate chips he dug out of a cardboard box we brought back from a local festival.
That was a long and nasty night, but the scrappy bastard weathered it and still craved chocolate.
He got inordinately embarrassed when we shaved him in the summer and ran into the house so no one (or hound) would see him.
He killed our little hamster Digger when it escaped from its cage, probably by licking it to death.
The corpse was left on the carpet wet with all its fur slicked back toward its rear end.
He couldn’t stand to be apart from us.
The people at the kennel had to take him to their house because he stopped eating when we would leave for a week.
He’d meet me at the gate when I’d come home from work and he’d pull his lips back and grin.
He ate blueberries off the bushes when we went on hikes in July by picking them with his little front teeth and slightly jerking his head.
He ran like a bullet and dodged like a rabbit and leapt over fences when he was young.
He had a little mutt girlfriend named Muffin whom he corrupted and led downtown in the days when our yard had no fence and he vagabonded the neighborhood.
He policed our two new puppies and broke them up when their play got too rough.
His old age came on like turning a corner.
He had a vestibular stroke at 14. He couldn’t stand up and his eyes went back and forth in saccades for two days and I held him tight and told him it would get better.
It did, but he walked crooked after that, his left ear dipping toward the ground and his face in permanent question affect.
He soon went deaf. He started to get glaucoma.
He still yearned for his walks, but couldn’t make it very far.
He fell down a lot, and looked confused and embarrassed when he hit the floor and got panicky when he couldn’t see or hear me five feet behind him in the woods.
On a sunny spring day, I made myself take him to the vet. I’d canceled three times before.
He was unusually spry and had some of the old fire in his eyes.
He loved the vet but he looked a little nervous that day. I’m sure I’ll be too if I’m conscious when my day comes.
I held my cheek to his head and hummed the song I’d made up about him for our kids and talked to him while the vet administered the drugs.
It was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.
He trusted me. It was the right thing to do.
The vet said, “He was good boy.”
“Not really.” I croaked with welling eyes, laughing and choking-up at the same time.

The Sammy Dog song for Devin and Aidan:

Well my name is Sammy dog and I’m okay
I scratch all night and I bark all day
I like to chase cats and make ’em afraid
And if you say come, well I’ll run away

Oh Sammy dog,
Oh Sammy dog

Well my name is Sammy dog and I like the couch
I hop on it when Mom and Dad are out of the house
When they come back I jump to the floor
Just in time to meet ’em at the door

Oh Sammy dog,
Oh Sammy dog

Well my name is Sammy dog and I like to eat
I eat from the trash right out in the street
It tastes the best when it’s rotten and old
And I’ll even eat my food, but not from my bowl

Oh Sammy dog,
Oh Sammy dog

Well my name is Sammy dog and I’ve got to pee
So come and get the leash and walk with me
I can hold it for a pretty long time
But if you take too long I’ll start to whine

Ohhwwww, Ohhhw Ohhw Ohw,
Ohhwww, Ohhwww Ohw OOOhhwwww

Home

Aug 6

To be back on the 5th, we stayed in Missoula for only one night. The KOA we picked was also the choice of several groups of Harley Davidsonians who graciously provided a 90dB rise in ambient noise at both midnight and 5:30 AM. There was also a never-ending supply of them blasting through the serenity of Glacier Park. Why are cars required to have functional mufflers yet two-wheeled, rattle-trap, rude, exhibitionist haulers are allowed to explosively fart down the road all day and night long?

On Sunday, we biked through the University of Montana, went down town and got a thick, straw-licking, old-fashioned chocolate milk-shake and a most excellent green salad at Butterfly and Herbs, I hiked up to see the town from the big M on the hill (the tiny wite dot near the center of the picture just at the left corner of the semi-circular section of the auditorium is our camper, where the kids sat and waited for me to lose a bet I could climb it in half an hour), and then we said good-bye.

We made it to Missouri Headwaters State Park that night where Lewis (of Lewis and Clarke) supposedly stopped and declared the area the beginning of the Missouri River. We barbequed chicken on the grill and swatted mosquitoes until finally settling into the camper to watch the fifth Harry Potter movie. Ursula and I were steeling ourselves for the three-day, 2,100 mile driving marathon we were about to undertake.

Monday got us all the way through incredibly long Montana, Wyoming and just past Rapid City, SD to a little town called Murdo. As we neared Rapid City, the highway became a long parade of bikers. We found out later they make an annual pilgrimage to Sturgis where the town then becomes the largest collection of Harleys and pot bellies in the world.

Murdo was really quaint and the campground people spoke with an accent that made me really miss my Grandma and Grandpa who came from that part of the country. I have to say that although this trip was a tribute to those two, I also miss my other two grandparents every day. My entire life, as well as the way I’m raising my kids has been a tribute to the love and guidance they provided. When I think of home, I think of them.

After our second day of 700 plus miles, we had dinner at a Cracker Barrel restaurant in honor of Gee Gee (and also to make it a little easier on the crew). We then unromantically slept at a rest stop in Illinois. I woke up early so we could visit Bloomington Indiana for breakfast. It’s a nice, small university town with a conservative center and a more hip, eclectic area near the school.

Our last stretch of road was the curvy, extortionist, West Virginia turnpike, the only toll-road we had to take on the entire trip. Toll roads, what an ancient concept. They rank right up there with out-houses and tube radios. Obviously, governments that run armies, police forces, fire departments. trash collection, utilities and numerous other civil services are incapable of maintaining the roads they commissioned to begin with and have maintained for years, so we have to give them away for nothing to the KBR’s of the world who can then milk what has thus magically been turned into a commodity (that once was public infrastructure) to put more money into the rightful, scheming, crooked, Mafioso hands where it belongs. “Here take my wallet, my government, and my kids for your resource-grabbing invasion too, just don’t tax my gas, that would be socialist and downright unfair to the poor, struggling, little, social security check-thieving energy corporations.” I’m already losing my vacation zen.

We rolled into the driveway at seven thirty Wednesday evening in the pouring rain. I had to jump start one of the cars to clear the driveway for the camper and got a little wet doing it while Ursula made spaghetti. Everyone is happy to stretch out on a real bed, and having a clean shower and toilet only steps away is also pretty handy.

What a feat, we traveled over 8000 miles in 31 days! We missed a lot covering that much ground, but the trip was totally worth it. Now we know where and how we want to go the next time around and there will be less traveling and more camping.

Today, the strangest thing happened when I took the dogs out for a real hike after being away for so long. While walking on my favorite trail, I got to see the very animal we were so convinced we would see in Montana: a big, long-limbed, shiny black bear loping gracefully across the path away from the dogs about ten yards in front of me. I didn’t have time to be afraid. The thought that crossed my mind too quickly to be in words was an appreciation of its size and beauty. Its back would have easily come up to my belly-button. In two heartbeats, it was down the hill and I was yelling at the dogs not to chase it. They intelligently obliged. In the words of each of my grandparents, “How ‘bout that!?” “Well for cat’s sake!” “Holy mackerel!” and “Oooh!” I’ll remember that bear as one large, furry punctuation mark at the end of my vacation.

Montana

Aug 1,

 

We changed our plans in St. Regis and headed to Flathead Lake up 135.  Another evening arrival left us fruitlessly searching for an available campsite on the lake.  We settled for a little Mom and Pop park across the road with zero view to keep us until morning when we would head out early to find a site at our real destination, Glacier.  The Pop of the operation mentioned he had camped there many times, so I thought he would be a good person to allay Aidan’s fear of becoming a Grizzly snack should we choose to go hiking.  He wasn’t there however, when we went back to the office, and the Mom had to wax truthful and say, “I’m not going to lie to you now, people have been mauled.” My efforts to convince Aidan a hike would be well worth it were set back considerably.

 

We did make it to Sprague Creek campground in Glacier at about 10:30 the next day and were able to occupy a very nice little campsite just behind the trees from Lake McDonald. The park is really busy with visitors (the camp host said this is the busiest he’s ever seen it) so you have to try and time your arrival to get there as other campers are leaving. 

 

After a lot of persuasion, we talked Aidan into doing what is called the Garden Wall hike.  It’s a little less than twelve miles long.  We took a shuttle up to Logan Pass along Going to the Sun Road. This is the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.  To fully comprehend the weight of the word magnificent, you have to make this journey.  We got off the shuttle at the top of the climb up to the pass and started the hike by trekking along a narrow path with a sheer drop-off and only lengths of garden hoses attached to the rock to grab. Ursula conquered her acrophobia and made it past this first part of the trail knowing it only lasted for a couple tenths of a mile. 

 

We passed a little family of mountain goats sitting on a ledge at arms-length above us and stopped shortly thereafter to have our sandwiches.  Wildflowers were everywhere and snow-melt cascading streams crossed the path again and again.  They extended miles up-hill to our right and miles down-hill to our left, weaving in and out of view in folds of the rocky mountain slope and running under tunnels of snow.  About five miles into the hike on a high mountain pass, we stood in a patch of snow about the size of a baseball diamond.  In our shorts and sandals, we threw snowballs at each other and let the cold stuff sting us between the toes.  Just six months earlier, this same soft and fluffy white powder, came crashing down the creases in the mountain in volumes the size of entire Virginia hills to comb the trees over and wipe out the roads below.   But the park is so big, these swaths of destruction aren’t really that disturbing. 

 

A Chalet for hikers to reserve sits two-thirds along the trail’s length.  About two miles before this place, we came across a Ranger and asked if she thought we were on track to make it to the end of the trail to catch the last shuttle.  She replied, “Not likely, but you can always hitch-hike.” We picked up the pace even though we were tired. 

 

The last four miles are in an area that was damaged by a vast forest fire six years ago.  The underbrush is well-established and all the thousands and thousands of trees are an endless sea of silver poles sticking out of waist-high shrubbery.  Whereas the first leg of the hike had been full of people (groups of two or four about every two tenths of a mile) we saw NO ONE on the last leg.  The reason, we ascertained, is because the recovering forest is prime bear country.  We walked fast, sang songs, and generally tried to get the heck out of there.  With frazzled nerves and aching feet, we made it to the pick up point with about twenty minutes to spare.  “Not likely” turned into “Wanna bet?”

 

The next morning we spent beside the lake and after noon, headed to Missoula.  We had worked up an appetite the day before and wanted to try the fare at a restaurant recommended by Markus, The Mustard Seed.  Vickie the GPS had the address in her memory; unfortunately, it happened to be a house on Russel, so we had to try our luck somewhere else.  Today is Sunday.  We’ll go into Missoula this afternoon and then strike out for Bozeman.

Vancouver and Seattle

July 30,

 

A short walk and even shorter bus ride took us from our campground to the sky train that then delivered us into the center of Vancouver.  The train is a sleek, air-conditioned automated system that runs on an elevated track encircling and running into the heart of the city.  The city is really hip with lots of fit and healthy twenty-somethings living there in ubiquitous glass, high-rise apartments.  It’s really clean and the people are inviting. Twice, at the sight of me looking at a map, someone walked right up and offered help.  The traffic is amazingly light when compared to most big cities.  High gas prices probably have more than a little to do with that, but the mass transit is first rate.

 

We made our way south to the waterfront market where you can buy almost any kind of grocery you can imagine (and it all looks delicious) and then took a little floating bus to Science World, getting there just as they closed.  Even though I liked Vancouver a lot, we decided to head for Seattle the next morning.  Ursula and I wanted to visit the museum of anthropology at the BC University, but the kids protested saying the needed “just a little bit of happiness,” referring to their planned shopping trip in Seattle.

 

We found a place to park the camper at the base of the sky needle and made our sweaty way into the city on foot.  The heat wave was in full swing and we did our best to navigate using the shady sides of the streets. We ended up at the waterfront market just like we did in Vancouver and had some frozen lemonades to cool  us off as we listened to street musicians and smelled the stink of an open air fish market on a 95 plus degree day.  Getting back on the road in the middle of rush hour, we braved the traffic to follow Ursula’s trusty Lonely Planet recommended dinner spot.  

 

The restaurant was Septieme Café. The beet salad really hit the spot and we thought we recognized the very boulongerie we got our bread from in Merrais district of Paris on one of the photos that lined the walls (painted to match the colors of a prominently displayed Van Gogh).   The kids got to shop in an Urban Outfitters just down the block and we ended the Seattle experience with more than “just a little bit of happiness,” we were all completely content.  Two cool Coronas with lime and the feeling we’d turned to corner to head home might have influenced the mood.  I need to consciously savor every moment to keep sneaky thoughts of returning to work from creeping in.

 

Easton Lake is where we camped that night.  It’s a nice state park right off of I90 with full hook ups an a little sandy beach.  The water is ice-cold.   Our plan is to make to Missoula this afternoon and head up to Glacier National Park early Friday morning with the hope of finding an available campsite.

portland, olympic penninsula, victoria

July 28

 

I haven’t been able to post for a couple of days because we were either without wifi or the kids had used up all the charge in their laptops.  Portland was a really cool city.  We walked the Northwest side after having lunch in a Vietnamese restaurant called Silk.  I had a dish called CaRi, yams, tofu, mushrooms and vegetables in a coconut-based yellow curry.  I now have to reconfigure my list of favorite dishes and place that one somewhere in the top five.  The city is full of interesting shops and a well-established hippie culture (some genuine, some hippie-chic). 

 

We stayed in Portland only two nights because the campground was a little strange.  It’s a huge trailer park with an area devoted to rv’ers.  We picked it because it’s close to the city on a little island on the Columbia River.  As soon as we pulled in (at about eight in the evening), we were greeted by two friendly (that could also be read too friendly) obstinate, neighbor cats from hell.  Our initial impression of “well aren’t they nice,” turned into “WTF is wrong with these guys!” Our protestations escalated from “Hey, get off the table so we can eat,” to tossing water on them.  At that, they simply rotated their heads around on their limber little feline necks to nonchalantly lick it off and meow as if to say, “Yeah, yeah, so when do we get dinner?”  The only friendly person we met there was a sweet woman who seemed almost as starved for attention as the cats.  She really was nice and helped us plan a little bit for our trip up the Olympic Peninsula.

 

We headed out early and decided we’d try to make it to Quinalt Lake, about thirty miles inland. We stayed at a very friendly little private campground there that had a site looking out over the lake.  It was peaceful and beautiful and we slept about a hundred yards from the world’s largest Sitga (I think) spruce.  This was actually kind of sad, because a wind storm had come through the area and broken off the top of it as well as a mile wide swath up the east side of the hill beside the lake.  We hiked what had been a woodsy trail to find ourselves walking through a wasteland of fallen BIG trees. It should have been cold and misty, but there was no shade left and the area was experiencing a heat-wave to boot, so the experience was foreign even to us foreigners.  The scale of the devastation was sickening.  There is so little of the peninsula that has not been logged and these pristine old giants had been swatted down like match-sticks.  Huge root disks stuck thirty feet in the air while hundred foot long trunks lied tangled together.  We did see a spectacular, glowing rose tinted post-sunset sky with a crescent moon over the lake that seemed to say, nature can be terrible but it is also incredibly beautiful.

 

We drove to Forks the next day (Sunday).  Ursula and I now know more than we could ever have hoped to about sexy, teen-vampire romances.  We drove out to La Push where we had salmon burgers and fries on the “Treaty line,” picked up some cool rocks from the beach, and took a picture or two of the cliff.  We made our way to Lake Crescent where we cooled off (the weather here is abnormally and disturbingly hot) in the snow-melt water and then hid from the mosquitos inside the camper.

 

Monday was a FULL day.  We drove to Port Angeles (Ursula declared it cute) and had a wonderful breakfast waiting for the ferry to Victoria.   The Ferry ride was expensive, but relaxing.  Victoria is a bustling town that is the prettiest city we’ve seen on the trip.  It is my favorite so far.  We had a great time going from shop to shop and left early to catch the six o’clock ferry to Vancouver.  The tab for the second ferry brought our total ocean-going expenses to around two hundred and fifty dollars.  How do the Victorians do it?   We had a great conversation with an amazing lady named Dhina.  She was an Ethiopian born physicist who lived in both Switzerland and Sweden and was here vacationing alone.  The hour and a half trip on the sunny deck with cool salt-water wind in our hair and a picturesque

Mount Baker in the distance went by in what seemed like only a few minutes.

 

Ursula and the kids were feeling courageous and wanted to see if we could make it to Vancouver WITHOUT having a reserved campsite. After some less than admirable navigating and ensuing still-on-the-road-after-dusk-nail-biting, we are now at an elaborate facility about five miles out of Vancouver in an area called Surrey.