USA

Lower Broad, Nashville

Share Button

Dawn on Lower Broad, Nashville

On a recent trip home to Nashville, we got up-and-out before dawn to cruise Nashville’s Lower Broad. I wanted to see the neon and what had become of my favorite old buildings along this four-block stretch that is the nation’s newest hotspot.

Lower Broadway honky tonk neon nashville TN
Looking down Lower Broad. Nashville, Tennessee.
Lower Broadway honky tonk neon nashville TN
The lights of Lower Broad. Nashville, Tennessee.

 

Hub of Nashville

This stretch of Broadway, down by the Cumberland River docks, used to be all about the business of living. Throughout the 1800s, grand bank buildings, hardware stores, grocers, clothing shops, and warehouses went up on Broadway to serve the boomtown. Ornate churches, Union Station, and Hume-Fogg High School came up too. And in the Great Depression, Federal assistance programs built the Post Office. For many years, Broadway was a hub of Nashville.

Acme Feed Seed Nashville TN
Riverfront warehouse, built in the late1880s, home to Acme Feed & Seed. Nashville, Tennessee. 
Old American National Bank building facade. Lower Broad. Nashville, Tenn.
Originally six stories, the American National Bank building (built in 1883) was demolished down to the facade in the 1970s. For years it was the Broadway Boot Company with a similar neon sign. Now it is the entry facade to a bar. Lower Broad. Nashville, Tennessee.

 

Then came music

The Grand Ole Opry moved into the Ryman Auditorium in 1943. The country music radio shows still broadcast nationwide every Friday and Saturday on WSM 650. Lower Broadway filled with honky tonks. Tootsies Orchid Lounge harbored country music legends who’d just finished performing at the Ryman and slipped through the alley into the bar’s backdoor for a night cap. Record stores, boot companies, sequined clothing shops, poster printers, restaurants, and tourist trinket shops popped up in Lower Broad’s empty warehouses and shuttered bank buildings. Music-star wannabes wandered over from the Greyhound station with their guitars to busk and be discovered along the busy Lower Broad sidewalks.

Painted Lawrence Record Shop mural sign. Nashville, TN
Lawrence Record Shop sign. Nashville, Tennessee.
Tootsies Orchid Lounge lower Broad Nashville, TN
Tootsies Orchid Lounge. Nashville, Tennessee.

 

Demise:  Abandoned to “Urban Renewal”

In 1974, the Grand Ole Opry moved out of the Ryman and Lower Broad began her descent. A fight raged over whether to demolish the Ryman Auditorium. Adult bookstores, smoke shops, and liquor stores filled the growing number of abandoned buildings. Lower Broad became a dirty, dangerous place to be. I remember riding with my grandfather to pick up my aunt from work at the South Central Bell building around the corner on Second Avenue. The area was creepy, dark and cave-like between the big buildings. We’d wait with the doors locked and the windows barely cracked. I wish now that I’d asked him about his memories of the area and made some photographs. It’s just vague memories now.

In the 1990s, Lower Broad began to turn around. People began to recognize the value of the area’s history. Some buildings were saved. Many were not…destroyed in fires or “urban renewal” projects. Here’s hoping their pre-country-music neon histories are remembered.

Shelby Street Bridge over the Cumberland Nashville TN
My hometown. Shelby Street Bridge over the Cumberland and the Nashville, Tennessee skyline, 2019. 

 

Thank you for reading

Select photos are available on Etsy.

Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…

 

Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted, Nashville born-and-raised photographer living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.

Going old

Share Button

Going old?

“Forty eight. I have 48 pairs of shoes.”

On a spring day in 2017, I stood in my closet and counted my shoes. When did I accumulate so many shoes? I was getting ready for work and it was way past time to go. My mind was elsewhere. I’d just read an email that a website where we’d parked our travel diaries for 10+ years was closing shop. It was going to be a lot of work—in not-a-lot of time—to move the entries before the site closed. I had thumbed through our posts, like pages of a magazine. There we were in Iceland, in Portugal, Jerusalem, Cuba, Antarctica, in Easter Island ten years ago. There I was in front of the moai—camera in hand, hair blowing, eyes closed, and a beaming smile. Where had the time gone?

A lot had changed in 10 years, yet the days and weeks never really varied. Work, eat, clean, TV, sleep, and talk-talk-talk about traveling the world. I had sat there staring, turning off the computer in a numb daze. Now I stood staring at shoes. Would we ever go on the trip we’d saved for, dreamed of, talked about?

Portents

Not long after, I had a vivid nightmare. In it, I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t listen to my head. I was trapped listening to some banal TV show and was too far from the room’s small window to even look outside. My time for walking in the big, wide, wild world had passed. I was bored. Claustrophobic. Angry. I awoke—scared and sad and anxious.

One morning a month later, I was sitting in my kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when we learned yet another in our circle had died. He was only a few years older than us. And on this summer morning, he had dropped dead in his kitchen while drinking a cup of coffee.

Chilling. My stomach soured and my nerves tightened. Gripping fear. We had to go. GO NOW. ASAP. We’d talked about going for years, saved for it, dreamed of it. Why were we waiting? What were we waiting for? We’re healthy. Our families are healthy and independent. How much longer would we have the time and the vigor to go?

And that was that.

We made the decision that morning to go, to quit our jobs, to take a break. Pent-up dreams of places far away starting spilling out. We jotted down cities, countries, rough plans to hit the road for an extended period of time. Travel light. Sleep cheap.

My mother was supportive. She told me that she and and my step-father had always wanted to travel around the USA, yet never made the move to go. He passed away two years ago. “You should go while you can,” she said. Light bulb. It took a month or two, but we convinced her to go with me on a long road trip before Bryan and I left for the around-the-world trip.

People said, “How brave!” when we told them about our plans. “You’re quitting your jobs?” “What about health insurance?” “What will you do when you get back?” We tripped through the answers. We secretly grilled ourselves on these same dead-weight questions and still had no real answers. It felt beyond irresponsible. In the weeks leading up to the gap, we bounced between thrilled, terrified, tingling, sleepless, and frantic—but always with giddy smiles, pounding hearts, and no regrets.

My last day of work was on Friday the 13th of October. A few days later, I got on a plane to go get my mother for a road trip around the USA. We pulled out of her driveway two days after that. Seven weeks, twenty-seven states, and 11,511 miles passed. We got home in time for Christmas. And then, in early January, my husband and I left for an 11-week, 28,000+ miles, around-the-world trip. Thousands of photos and stories later, here we are—back home.

We’ve been on the move—living in the moment. Now, I’ll share some of the memories. Also, please note, that I’ve backdated the blog posts for when they were happening and drafted).

And then?

Well, we’re still figuring that out.

We are going old. But life is too short not to GO. One day, when we become lost in our heads and/or trapped in our bodies, we’ll have our memories to go on—even if they play as random as a box of VCR tapes with the labels worn off.

So here’s to going—and going until we run out of road!

Death-Valley-Badwater-Basin
Carol and Lucy in Death Valley’s Badwater Basin
annapurna-himalayas-nepal
Bryan and Carol in Nepal’s Annapurna range
Mekong boat phnom penh cambodia
Bryan on a boat on the Mekong, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Night train India
Carol on the night train to Varanasi, India 
Niagara Falls
Lucy on the viewing deck at Niagara Falls, NY
Death valley road
Going old is a bit like traveling on this single lane, one direction road in Death Valley.

Road Trip: Heading home

Share Button

December 6: Santa Fe, NM to Shawnee, OK. Starting mileage: 40,219.

After seven weeks on the road, today we started two long days of driving East. We were heading home. First, we’d go from Santa Fe southeast to meet I-40, and then turn left on the road home to Nashville, some 1,200 miles away.

Leaving New Mexico

The wind was screaming–ushering in a change, a more biting cold, the turning of the seasons, and for us, the ending of the trip. Tumbleweeds blew across the road, reminding us of the day more than a month ago when we’d zoomed across Kansas and Colorado–dodging tumbleweeds-to get an oil change before the Chevy dealer’s closing time.

At the junction of I-40, we tumbled into Clines Corners for a fill-up. In the 1930s, this pit-stop “town” was moved and moved, and moved again, by its tenacious owner, Roy Cline, to keep up with the rerouting of main travel roads and Route 66. Lucky for him, when the interstate system assumed a portion of Route 66, Clines Corners was finally in the perfect place.

Divination

It was still early, and I was already tired for the coming long days of driving. Our epic road trip was nearly over. I smiled in the Clines Corner bathroom mirror. What an odyssey life is. I wondered about my wandering, about the restlessness, about the future, the aging, the what’s-next worries so very close to the surface these days. And then, I put it all away–like Scarlett, with a “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

I walked out of the bathroom, dodging a cowboy headed for the ladies bathroom, and came face-to-face with Zoltar and the Medicine Man. If I put a coin in these fortune-telling machines what would they tell me? Would I want to know? Or dear God, would I grow up (or grow old!) in a blink like Tom Hanks in Big? I photographed them both, tapped each with two fingers for peace, for luck, and for a show of respect, and walked back to the car. Time to go.

Clines Corner. About to get on I-40 heading home. New Mexico.
Clines Corners under a morning moon and cruising raven. Fixing to get on I-40 and head home. 
Zoltar. Clines Corner. New Mexico.
Zoltar. Clines Corner. New Mexico.
Medicine Man. Clines Corner. New Mexico.
Medicine Man. Clines Corner. New Mexico.

 

Progress

The Interstates may be great for moving quickly around the USA, but they are not ideal for scenery. “Progress” litters the view with houses, strip malls, industry, and warehouses. On this stretch, billboards were planted one after another, after another, for miles and miles and miles. We saw a tiny house with one giant cottonwood tree in the backyard and no other trees in sight, a reminder that nature once reigned. Massive flocks of birds flew over, melding and dividing, like moving designs of black clouds. Herds of birds!

Herds

We crossed into the Texas panhandle, land of Annie Proulx’s “That old Ace in the Hole”. I told Mama the story of the character researching locations for pig farms and instead finding happiness in the panhandle community. As is Annie’s specialty, the landscape and the old ways come alive in her writing, and I imagined Ace climbing high to fix one of these rickety windmills. We saw a few cows grouped around the base of one. They drank from the trough of water brought to the surface by the windmill. Maybe they were talking about the last night’s pretty moon at their water cooler.

Later, near Wildorado, we passed the biggest modern wind turbine farm we’d ever seen. These were for electricity, not pulling water from the earth. There were acres of cotton fields, and another cloud of black birds. Then, we saw cows–hundreds, maybe thousands of cows crammed into muddy pens close to the road. They were crowded, standing knee-deep in the mud, without enough room to even turn around. Sadder still, vast empty fields were visible for miles behind the pens. Fields that those cows must have stared at with longing when they were rounded up and herded onto cattle cars.

Cattle cars in Texas.
Cattle cars in Texas. Research (published in Science and reported in The Guardian) shows that increasing worldwide meat and dairy consumption is harming the earth (not just the animals being harvested). Loss of wild areas to agriculture is the leading cause of the current mass extinction of wildlife. The new analysis shows that while meat and dairy provide just 18% of calories and 37% of protein, it uses 83% of farmland and produces 60% of agriculture’s greenhouse gas emissions. Please consider a vegetarian or vegan diet, if even for only one or two days a week. 

 

Cadillac Ranch

Near Amarillo, I saw cars parked and people walking into a field. “What’s that?” I pointed and asked Mama. But only a second later, I knew. “OMG! It’s CADILLAC RANCH!” I had not anticipated seeing this famous art installation–ten classic Cadillacs buried up to their steering wheels. We took the next exit and drove back on the frontage road and parked. It was a short walk out to the “sculptures” amid the smell of cow manure and fresh spray paint. The Cadillacs are graffiti covered and spray paint cans litter the bare ground all around.

Cadillac Ranch. Near Amarillo, Texas.
Cadillacs, buried to their steering wheels. Near Amarillo, Texas.
Cadillac Ranch. Spray Painted Cadillacs buried to the steering wheels.
Mama Lucy walking down the row of Cadillacs.
Cadillac Ranch, Texas.
Ten Cadillacs buried up to their steering wheels. Cadillac Ranch, Texas.
Cadillac Ranch as seen from the road.
A last look, Cadillac Ranch as seen from the road.

 

Oklahoma!

The landscape didn’t change at the border. More windmills. More cows, with the occasional long-horned steer. And more billboard farms, with one sign cautioning: “hitchhikers may be escaping prisoners”.

Water towers and clouds somewhere in Oklahoma.
Water towers and clouds somewhere in Oklahoma.
Cows. Oklahoma.
Cows. Oklahoma.

 

We passed through the Cheyenne and Arapaho Reservation, then Oklahoma City, and arrived into Shawnee around 7:30 p.m. We were dead tired. It still felt like we were rolling, even when we fell into our beds that night.

December 7: Shawnee, OK to Nashville, TN. Starting mileage: 40,799.

It seemed as if we’d just laid down. And then I was awake in the almost quiet. I laid there listening to Mama Lucy breathing in her bed, to the constant sound of cars on a highway not too far away. One more load up. One more day of driving. And one more load out. And our amazing trip would be over. The trip would situate itself in our memories. I laid there for a few minutes–thanking the universe for my mother, for the time to do this together, for the trip itself.

It was a cold morning. Condensation covered the window at sunrise. We showered, packed up, and after a free breakfast at the hotel, we started the car, scraped a light frost from the window, and loaded up.

Waking up in Shawnee, OK. Our last morning on the road.
Waking up in Shawnee, OK. Our last morning on the road.

 

Another day on I-40

We drove past exits with names like Big Skin Bayou, followed by Little Skin Bayou. Mid-morning, we crossed into Arkansas. Around lunchtime, we stopped in Conway for gas and a big Cracker Barrel lunch. Mama told me that Conway Twitty got his name from this town. And hey, hadn’t we passed a Twitty in Texas yesterday? Yep, turns out country-music legend, Harold Lloyd Jenkins chose his stage name after studying a road map: Conway, AR and Twitty, TX.

Sears and a floral pink couch. Conway, Arkansas.
Sears and a floral pink couch. Conway, Arkansas.

We passed Toad Suck Park, AR. and saw more large flocks of birds. And naturally, there was more road. We listened to our favorite XM-Sirius stations and stopped for gas, coffee, stretches, and bathroom breaks.

Flock of birds over Arkansas.
Flock of birds over Arkansas.

 

Sometime in the mid-to-late afternoon, we passed over the Mississippi River into Memphis, Tennessee. We celebrated our home state with a DQ ice cream dinner and got back on the road. This was the same rough-road stretch of I-40 we’d traveled going to Memphis six weeks ago. Now, we drove this stretch heading home, through the sunset, twilight, and dark.

HOME! Ending mileage: 41,461.

Mama Lucy exiting the car after 7 weeks on the road.
Mama Lucy exiting the car after 7 weeks on the road.

At long last, we pulled into my mom’s driveway at 7:22 p.m.  Tired, relieved, and happy. We unloaded the car...like for bears…EVERYTHING OUT. We were home!

Some stats:

  • Total miles driven: 11,511.
  • 49 Days + 12 hours.
  • 27 States + D.C.
  • 30 different hotels.
  • 2 Oil changes.
  • 8 National Parks
  • 16 pressed pennies each.
  • And a million memories!

Lessons learned:

  1. The Road is the trip too.
  2. Look for luggage carts and give thanks for wheels.
  3. Sit for a spell. Observe.
  4. Life is short. Cram it in. Go!
  5. Trust Siri.
  6. Eat at local diners.
  7. Always stop at the penny press.
  8. Take care of your ride.
  9. Changes happen. Don’t stress. Adjust and go.
  10. Get a good playlist.
  11. Pack snacks and water.
  12. Cranky happens. Be nice to each other and pull over for good stretches.

 

Thanks for reading!

Select photos are available on Etsy.

Finally, if you liked these posts, please leave a comment! You can also….
THANK YOU!

Road Trip: Santa Fe in the Fall

Share Button

December 4: Telluride, CO to Santa Fe, NM. Starting mileage: 39,891.

It was a cold day when we left Telluride. But still, no snow. Three snow machines were on full blast, blowing man-made snow on to the ski run right outside the Peaks when we left.  Goodbye Telluride. I hope to pass this way again. Today, we were driving to another favorite place, Santa Fe (I’ve done this drive before, going the other way).

The Drive

Goodbye mountains. Until next time. Leaving Telluride
Until next time. Goodbye mountains. Leaving Telluride

 

It’s about a six hour drive to Santa Fe from Telluride. There’s one road out of the canyon and then one south going around the San Juan Mountains. We saw a few deer grazing along the way, and signs that there were many more were nearby, actual signs said, “Begin Wildlife Fencing”, “End Wildlife Fencing”, and “End Wildlife Detection Zone.”

And then the land changes. The trees stay behind. The colors change back to red and pink exposed rock mountains, rust and sage high desert open landscapes. We drove by the mesas and rocks near Georgia O’Keefe’s Ghost Ranch and the town of Abiquiu, crossed the Rio Grande River, and drove into Santa Fe.

Passing through Georgia O'Keefe land in New Mexico
Passing through Georgia O’Keefe land in New Mexico.
Near Ghost Ranch and Abiquiu, New Mexico.
Near Ghost Ranch and Abiquiu, New Mexico.

 

Santa Fe’s Inn of the Governors and Del Charro

We checked in to our colorful hotel room at the Inn of the Governors. In most hotel rooms, you’d have to look out the window to even have a chance of identifying what city you were in. But not here. The room was pure New Mexico. Decorated with colorful baskets, blankets, tiles, metal-worked mirrors, and stocked with soaps and shampoos scented with sage, lavender, lemon, and rosemary. We loved our gorgeous and cozy room, so centrally located.

Basket. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Basket. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Metal bowl. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Metal mirror frame. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Blanket. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Blanket. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Tiles. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Tiles. Santa Fe, New Mexico.

 

We walked through the hotel courtyard during Tea and Sherry hour, sampling cookies, lemon tea, and the refreshing cucumber water. After a brief walk, we found a table in Del Charro, a favorite haunt for me in Santa Fe. The margaritas are generously served in martini shakers and the portions are hearty. And there’s a fireplace. Bonus, it was lit!

Inn of the Governors, Santa Fe.
Inn of the Governors, Santa Fe.
Fire at Breakfast. Inn of the Governors. Santa Fe.
Fire at Breakfast. Inn of the Governors. Santa Fe.
Chili peppers. Santa Fe.
Chili peppers. Santa Fe.

 

Santa Fe Days

There’s a distinct smell of Santa Fe…of juniper, piñon pine, sage, of desert air. In the early early mornings and twilights, I fill my lungs with the fresh air, trying to memorize and keep the scent of Santa Fe. I love it.

And at this time of year, add to that the smell of burning logs–maybe piñon pine, juniper, a little sage. Everywhere we went, little fires were lit in the kivas–corner fireplaces made of adobe and lifted a couple of feet off the ground. Mama and I gravitated towards these fireplaces like moths to their flames. At the hotel’s breakfast buffet, we practically sat in the fireplace–delighting in the blazing warmth while sipping coffee. Yum.

Later, we joined friends for lunch at La Choza, and gorged on Mexican entrees and the still-hot-from-the-kitchen sopapillas with honey.

Autumn leaves, hanging peppers, and lamp posts in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Autumn leaves, hanging peppers, and lamp posts in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

 

Nearing the End of the Trip

Mama Lucy in colorful Santa Fe.
Mama Lucy in colorful Santa Fe.

We walked around the square, stopping in the Five and Dime and other shops around the plaza for postcards, and a few souvenirs–including our last pressed penny of the trip. The trip was winding down and we were getting sentimental about souvenirs. So, we bought a few little things for gifts and momentos.

Last, but not least, I made a pilgrimage to Keshi. This small little shop is the place to go for hand-carved Indian fetishes. The fetishes represent the spirits of animals and each animal possesses traits and abilities in its relationship with nature. Animals are honored by Native Americans for their different “medicines” and are believed to hold the power to protect the owner from various problems of mind or body. I have a small collection, each purchased because of the meaning it spoke to me at the time. Each brings back memories and seems to hold my sentiments and worries from that time for me. One always travels with me.

On this day, I bought two fetishes. Both were two bonded bears bound together. “Bear fetishes are used for healing, protection, strength, journeying, mothering, hunting and gathering. Bear’s hibernation reminds us of the value of going within”, according to Keshi. The first was a simple carving by Wilson Romero from the Cochiti Pueblo:  two bears of found stones, one black and one white. The second pair was a shiny white marble carving with the two bears tied together in opposing directions. One for her, one for me. Representing the paradox of mothers and daughters everywhere. Contradictory. Independent. And always bound together, no matter what.

Thanks for reading!

Select photos will be available on Etsy.

Finally, if you like this post, please leave a comment! You can also….
THANK YOU!

Road Trip: Telluride

Share Button

December 1: Kayenta to Telluride. Starting mileage: 39,700.

We left from Kayenta, Arizona. Today, we’d stop to walk through four states (!) and then go on our way to Telluride, Colorado. After lunch at a diner in Dolores, our road wound up into the San Juan Mountains. Finally, we started to see trees again.

Entering the San Juan National Forest.
Entering the San Juan National Forest.
The road through Taylor Mesa to Telluride, Colorado.
Trees line the road through Taylor Mesa to Telluride, Colorado.
The trees were a welcome sight in the San Juan National Forest and Mountains.
The trees were a welcome sight in the San Juan National Forest and Mountains.
Snow on Wilson Peak. Driving to Telluride, CO.
Snow on Wilson Peak. Colorado.
The road to Telluride.
The road to Telluride.
The magic misty cloud and sunbeams near Telluride.
The magic misty cloud and sunbeams near Mountain Village, Colorado.

 

Peace in Telluride

I first came to Telluride in 1999, still mourning the recent loss of my grandmother. It was a work-related trip, and in between trying to learn to ski and spending time with colleagues, I found an incredible peace and comfort among those mountains. To this day, I return to Telluride for quiet, for contemplation, for solitude, for communion. Telluride is my version of heaven-on-earth.

The gondola looking back at The Peaks in Mountain Village, Telluride.
The gondola looking back at The Peaks in Mountain Village, Telluride. In 1999, the area just had the Peaks (white building) and a few others. 
The gondola looking from San Sophia down to Telluride.
The gondola looking from San Sophia down to Telluride.
Telluride from above.
Telluride from above. When I first visited, school buses used as trailer homes parked on the ridges around town. That is no longer. Big money has come to town, yet Telluride seems to maintain a bit of the scruffy, scrappy way of life.
Tiny house next to a big house. Telluride.
Tiny house next to a big house. Telluride.
Standing on Main Street. Telluride, Colorado.
Standing on Main Street in early December. Where’s the snow? Telluride, Colorado.

 

The Dogs of Telluride

Sparky. His people have a place at The Peaks.
Sparky. His people have a place at The Peaks.

 
It’s fair to say that one reason I love Telluride so much is the gondola. It glides from Mountain Village, up and over San Sophia, and down into Telluride. Free, easy, convenient, and gorgeous. I could ride the gondola morning, noon, and night. Another reason I love Telluride, equally justified, is that there are so many dogs and dog-loving people. Combine these two, and you get Gondogola (you’re going to want to look that up)! Yes, dogs are allowed on the gondolas–Telluride is highly civilized after all. And oh my, there is no better ride than to share a gondola with a Telluride pup or two (or five). Once again, Telluride = Heaven.

This trip, we met Sparky, a red merle cattle dog/husky mix, who lives with his people at the Peaks. So handsome, and calm and delightful every time we saw him.

Dogs are welcome on Telluride's gondolas. Yet another reason I love this place.
Dogs are welcome on Telluride’s gondolas. Yet another reason I love this place.
Another doggy rides the Telluride gondola.
Another doggy rides the Telluride gondola.

 

Pray for Snow

Ski Christmas Tree. Telluride, Colorado.
Ski Christmas Tree. Telluride, Colorado.

 
It was December, the opening weekend for skiers in fact. But snow had yet to reach Telluride’s slopes. It was causing anxiety. Everywhere we went, people talked about how this was the worst they’d seen in 30 years–a snow drought. Signs all over town said “Pray for Snow”. Machines ran night and day spraying ski runs with man-made powder.

It isn’t just skiers losing vacations when there is no snow. When the skiers don’t come, ski resorts, retail shops, and restaurants reduce hours and lay off employees. Working people lose their housing because they can’t work without snow. Every night, we watched the weather report with hope. Every morning, we checked the slopes for snow. And the entire time we were there, the snow-making machines ran, and ran, and ran.

Skiers Pray for snow. Telluride was not getting their usual snow this year.
“Pray for snow”. Telluride was not getting their usual snow this year. “Worst it’s been in 30 years,” people said. Machines chugged out snow powder for one run.
Gondolas over aspens. Telluride, Colorado.
Gondolas over aspens. Telluride, Colorado. Normally at this time of year, these hills would be white with a foot or more of snow.
The Gondola as seen from Mountain Village, Telluride.
The Gondola as seen from Mountain Village, Telluride.
We the People wall and lights. Telluride Colorado.
We the People wall and lights. Telluride Colorado.
Wilson Peak, as seen from the Gondola. Telluride.
Making snow. Wilson Peak in the background, and snow making machines on a foreground slope. As seen from the Gondola. Telluride.

 

Spa and Fireside

We spent a few glorious days in Telluride. During the days, we had spa treatments at The Peaks, sitting in the deserted kiva hot tub and sauna afterwards staring at the mountains. We rode the gondola–back and forth, sometimes just to ride. We petted every dog who smiled at us, stopped in most of the shops, and walked all around the back streets admiring the history and the architecture–especially the old, the tiny, and the colorful places. There were tasty, filling comfort food meals at Brown Dog Pizza, The Butcher and The Baker, and Altezza. We had coffee at Baked in Telluride and The Coffee Cowboy. And we sat for hours in front of the massive wood-burning fireplace in the lobby of the Peaks, reading, relaxing, and talking.

Our trip was soon coming to an end. This was our time to reflect, to relax, and to begin remembering all that we’d seen in our time on the road. As we took our final ride over the mountain the last night, I smiled at the moon and the lights of Telluride, nestled down there in its box canyon. I’ll be back again one of these days.

Wilson Peak as seen from the lobby of the Peaks. Mountain Village, Telluride.
Wilson Peak as seen from the lobby of the Peaks the morning we drove out. Snow making machines blasting powder on the slopes. Mountain Village.
Moon over Telluride, as seen from the Gondola.
Full moon over the lights of Telluride, as seen from the Gondola on our last night.

 

Thanks for reading!

Select photos will be available on Etsy.

Finally, if you like this post, please leave a comment! You can also….
THANK YOU!

Road Trip: Monument Valley & Four Corners

Share Button

November 30: Mt. Carmel Junction, UT to Kayenta, AZ. Starting mileage:  39,425.

The day started with breakfast at our favorite diner, Golden Hills Restaurant. Then, we loaded up the car and headed southeast past the Vermillion Cliffs towards Kanab, Kayenta, Monument Valley, and Four Corners.

Best Friends Animal Society

If you are near Kanab, Utah, stop at Best Friends Animal Society. Best Friend’s mission is to end animal homelessness and stop the killing in U.S. shelters. More than 4,000 dogs and cats are euthanized EVERY DAY in shelters around the country and Best Friends is doing everything they can to achieve “No Kill by 2025”. In addition to collaborating with animal shelters to make that goal a reality, Best Friends houses more than 1,500 dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, horses, pigs, and other animals in their Kanab sanctuary. These animals may simply be between homes, or may have special needs that require longer–or permanent–stays. Twenty-two of the “Vicktory” dogs came here to heal after Michael Vick was convicted of animal abuse and dog fighting. Consider sponsoring an animal, or if you’re in the area–sign up to volunteer in the sanctuary or make a quick stop at the Visitor Center.

Into Arizona

We traveled back into Arizona over some of the roads we’d come in on, over Glen Canyon Dam and through Page before turning left onto 98. In the far distance, we could see white smoke rising and making clouds. This was the Navajo Generating Station, a power plant that serves electricity to the area. Shocking height and a powerful reminder of the impact humans have on the natural landscape.

Navajo Generating Station Three flues vent steam from the power plant near Lechee, AZ.
Three flues vent steam from the Navajo Generating Station power plant near Lechee, AZ.

 

Monument Valley

We drove on, continuing down this 2-lane highway, a grey-brown road with veins of black tar spreading like stitches or electrical tape to hold it together. The land was red and orange, and flat. Sometimes, mesas stood tall on this pancaked land–like some giant hand had sat a big slab of butter down. We passed through Kaibito (elevation 6,687 ft), before turning left on 160 and another left on 163 in Kayenta.

This was THAT road. Now, this road has been forever burned in my mind from a cartoon. You know it too, right?  But what a delight to see that view in real life! And yes, we looked for roadrunners, and coyotes with Acme suitcases. Nothing.  Beep! Beep!

Nearing Monument Valley in Arizona.
Nearing Monument Valley in Arizona.
Monument Valley in the Navajo Nation, AZ.
Monument Valley in Navajo Nation, AZ.
That road in Monument Valley!
Beep beep! That road in Monument Valley!

 

Kayenta

We checked in to the Hampton Inn around sundown. After getting situated, we went down to the restaurant and sat right in front of a lit fireplace for a delicious dinner. Mama Lucy visited the gift shop for ghost beads and we slept like babies that night in Navajo Nation.

December 1: Kayenta, AZ to Four Corners. Starting mileage: 39,700.

This land is unique in that it’s flat for miles, and then a formation becomes visible on the horizon. They are surprising, immense, sometimes awkward–sitting there keeping watch over the land and surely helping travelers navigate. Agathla Peak is one of those formations. A jutting rock, a natural watchtower, a regal mountain, it is sacred to the Navajos and can be seen from miles around.

A tribal park stand near Agathla Peak, Arizona.
Mama Lucy walking at a tribal park stand near Agathla Peak, Arizona.
Agathla Peak, Arizona.
Agathla Peak, Arizona.

 

Another Photo Not Taken

We continued on 160, heading mostly east with a northerly tilt, through communities like Red Mesa Trading Post (and, yes, there is a red mesa), Dennehotso, and Mexican Water. We saw a long line of horses–brown ones, appaloosas, beige and black ones–slow walking almost single file along a narrow dirt trail, a red mesa behind them. I didn’t stop for that photograph, but I see it clearly still. I hope I’ll always have that image in my mind. Calm, fated and timeless, horse manes blowing in the wind.

The Red Mesa, near Red Mesa Trading Post, Arizona.
The Red Mesa, near Red Mesa Trading Post, Arizona.

 

Four Corners

Mama Lucy standing in four states simultaneously. Four Corners, Navajo Nation.
Mama Lucy standing in four states simultaneously. Four Corners, Navajo Nation.

Next, we headed for the famous Four Corners Monument–a place where you can stand in four states simultaneously…Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico. We drove through Arizona, crossed into New Mexico, and parked. Four Corners is a big, concreted area, with a small medallion in the middle marking the spot, and surrounded by flags of the states and tribes. We walked across four states, and stood on the medallion straddling all four of them for the obligatory photo.

Four states and a shadow. Four Corners. Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado.
Four states and a shadow. Four Corners. Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado.
The Four Corners Monument in Navajo Nation.
The Four Corners Monument in Navajo Nation.

 

Into Colorado

Not long after we returned to the road, we passed into Colorado and the Ute Lands. The colors seemed to change from reds and oranges to golden yellows. Later, we passed Towaoc and Cortez, before stopping for lunch at a cute little diner called The Depot in Dolores, Colorado.

Our road was headed up, up, up. Past Rico (elevation 8,827 ft), through the San Juan National Forest and the San Juan Mountains, and into my version of heaven-on-earth–Telluride.

Entering Colorado right outside Four Corners Monument.
Entering Colorado near Four Corners Monument.
In the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation of Colorado.
In the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation of Colorado.
Driving in Southwest Colorado, near Towaoc and Cortez.
Driving in Southwest Colorado, where the land turns golden yellow. Near Towaoc and Cortez.
Bell ornaments on white house. A reminder that Christmas is coming in Dolores, CO.
A reminder in Dolores, Colorado! Christmas is coming soon.

 

Thanks for reading!

Soon, select photos will be available on Etsy.

Finally, if you like this post, please leave a comment! You can also….
THANK YOU!

Road Trip: Bryce Canyon National Park

Share Button

November 29:  Bryce Canyon National Park. Starting mileage:  39,261.

Likely, you’ve seen photos of the pointed pink and white rock pinnacles–thousands of them in a valley of trails and trees. Bryce Canyon has been on my travel wish list for many years. And today would be the day!

Through Red Canyon and Dixie National Forest

Rock towers on the drive through Red Canyon on our way to Bryce Canyon.
Driving through Red Canyon and Dixie National Forest on our way to Bryce Canyon.

After a wonderful breakfast at our favorite little diner, Golden Hills in Mt. Carmel Junction, we headed to Bryce Canyon, just 50 miles northeast of Zion National Park.  This was high desert land is mostly barren but with a few scrubby bushes and trees sprinkled here and there. Along the road, we saw a horse rolling on his back in the dirt, mane tossing and feet peddling in the air–a dust cloud rising around him. We were driving on twisting roads, up, and passed into a land of red rocks. Red Canyon, elevation 7,777 feet, was our first sighting of the formations called “hoodoos”.

Bryce Canyon

While hoodoos can be found in Cappadocia Turkey, France, Japan, Serbia, and Canada, Bryce Canyon has the mother lode of them–more than any other place in the world. In 1923, Bryce Canyon was declared a national monument, and made a national park in February 1928.

Bryce Canyon is really a series of canyons, or natural amphitheaters, carved on the edge of a high plateau. From viewpoints along the 18-mile rim road, visitors can see formations exposed in the valley below. These formations are part of the Grand Staircase–and related to the Grand Canyon and Zion National Park. The youngest parts of the rock layers are exposed in the Bryce Canyon area.

Sunset Point

Our first stop in Bryce Canyon was Sunset Point. It was early and as we walked to the lip of the canyon–the sun was just reaching in. Wow! Just wow. The spires–thousands of them–gleamed in pinks, reds, corals, whites. Layers and layers of stone towered over tiny trails in the valley. We were the only ones there for a few minutes and walked carefully, down a little way into the valley.

Beautiful light in the Silent City / Bryce Amphitheater. Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Beautiful morning light in the Silent City / Bryce Amphitheater. Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Behind a hoodoo at Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Behind a hoodoo at Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
A tree grips the eroding earth below on the rim of Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
A tree grips the eroding earth beneath its trunk on the rim of Sunset Point. Looking towards Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Looking out at the Silent City from Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Looking out at the Silent City from Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Path into the Silent City at Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Path into the Silent City at Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Pink, white, and orange hoodoos are all that's left behind from erosion in Bryce Canyon National Park.
Pink, white, and orange hoodoos are all that’s left behind from erosion in Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos, cracks, and crevices. Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos, cracks, and crevices. Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.

 

Inspiration Point:  8,100 elevation

Mama Lucy resting along the rim path to Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Mama Lucy resting along the rim path to Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.

Our next stop was at Inspiration Point, and Upper Inspiration Point. Again, it was deserted, just us and two other girls. “The cliffs of Inspiration Point are exceptionally dangerous as they are formed of crumbly rock, slippery slopes, and sheer drop-offs. All visitors are strongly cautioned to remain on trails and behind railings,” warned the National Park brochure. What an extraordinary view, an eerie silence, and just a breath of whistling wind. Gnarly Bristlecone Pines hung on to the dirt and rustled in the breeze.

The view from Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
The view from Inspiration Point–Sunset Point in the distance. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos rise above trails, as seen from Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos rise above trails, as seen from Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
The hoodoos of Bryce Canyon National Park. Inspiration Point.
The hoodoos of Bryce Canyon National Park. Inspiration Point.
A trail through the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, far below Inspiration Point.
A trail through the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, far below Inspiration Point.
The white is freshwater limestone, the pink is "dirty" limestone with sand, silt, and iron. Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
The white hoodoos are freshwater limestone, the pink are “dirty” limestone with sand, silt, and iron. Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos and trees. Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Hoodoos and trees. Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
All alone on Upper Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
All alone on Upper Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.

 

Bryce Point:  8,300 ft elevation

We stood for a while at Bryce Point, admiring the plants we could see way down in the valley. It smelled good up there, a faint scent of the piñon pine and juniper. Trees stood tall, and yet looked so tiny far below. We saw rocks with windows and natural arches, in the slow process of eroding into hoodoos.

Bryce Point. Elevation 8,300 ft. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Bryce Point. Elevation 8,300 ft. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Windows are one of the final steps before they become hoodoos. Bryce Point at Bryce Canyon National Park.
Windows are one of the final steps before they become hoodoos. Bryce Point at Bryce Canyon National Park.
Looking back at the rim of the canyon. Bryce Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Looking back at the rim of the canyon. Bryce Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Mama Lucy at the Bryce Point viewpoint. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Mama Lucy at the Bryce Point viewpoint. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Mama Lucy and me at Bryce Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Mama Lucy and me at Bryce Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Burned trees along the rim of Bryce Canyon National Park.
Burned trees along the rim of Bryce Canyon National Park.

 

Fairview and Ponderosa Points

We stopped at Fairview Point (8,819 ft elevation) and Ponderosa Point (8,904 ft). Each had a view of the valley of hoodoos, windows, arches, and so many beautiful trees and birds.

There are more than 400 native plant species in Bryce Canyon. The brochure said there were piñon pines, junipers, manzanitas, serviceberry bushes, antelope bitterbrush, aspens, cottonwoods, birches, and willows growing along streams in the park. Also, ponderosa pine forests with blue spruce, Douglas fir, white fir, Engelmann spruce, and ancient Great Basin bristlecone pines (some more than 1,600 years old).

Rainbow Point:  9,115 ft. elevation

At the highest point in the park, we could see for miles. The rock layers along the Grand Staircase have sections of pink, vermillion, grey, red, chocolate, and white.  In the distance horizon, a tree-covered hill is at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. After this viewpoint, we headed back to the General Store for our pressed pennies and postcards.

At the highest point in Bryce Canyon National Park, with a raven.
At the highest point in Bryce Canyon National Park, with a raven.
Tall trees as we look out from Rainbow Point into the red, chocolate, and grey cliffs of the Grand Staircase and Bryce Canyon National Park.
Tall trees as we look out from Rainbow Point into the red, chocolate, and grey cliffs of the Grand Staircase and Bryce Canyon National Park.
A natural arch bridge or window in Bryce Canyon National Park.
A natural arch bridge or window in Bryce Canyon National Park.
A hoodoo with a view. Bryce Canyon National Park.
A hoodoo with a view. Bryce Canyon National Park.
Burned trees are Evidence of another forest fire in Bryce Canyon National Park.
Burned trees are evidence of another forest fire in Bryce Canyon National Park.
Road through rock in the Red Canyon. Utah.
Road through rock in the Red Canyon. Utah.
Sunset and moonrise over Bryce Canyon.
Sunset and moonrise over Bryce Canyon.

 

After Bryce Canyon

On the drive back to Mt. Carmel Junction, we saw a pink sunset over red hills and the moon rising bright white. We saw deer eating in a field, and later, a cow pushed his face and neck into the dirt before rolling over to scratch his back in the dusty field.

We returned for the soup and salad bar buffet dinner at Golden Hills, and tucked in tired!

Select photos are available on Etsy.

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in these posts, please

Road Trip: Zion National Park

Share Button

November 28:  Grand Canyon to Zion National Park. Starting mileage:  38,969.

This morning, we drove out of the Grand Canyon area, back through the South Rim road and by the Desert View Watchtower. Of course, we stopped again and again–enjoying the light, the sun, the colors, and the fresh air. Today, we were headed for Zion National Park in Utah. Despite the fact that Zion is less than 100 miles away if you were a flying crow, today would be about a four hour ride because the roads have to go around the Grand Canyon, then north to Utah, before jogging back west.

Through Navajo Nation

This land was high desert land, and Navajo Nation land. To the left, was sand and rock with bits of small green bushes. There, we saw what looked like giant ant hills piled among the sage bushes. To the right, were red clay mountains, with foothills that looked wrinkled, like elephant ankles. Along the way, there were stalls for Navajo people to sell their wares along the road side. And we passed through small villages–maybe just a house or two. Spread-out communities with six-sided houses and small buildings dotted the desert. Somewhere near Hidden Springs, we saw a lone man, sitting at the very peak of a small mountain–arms wrapped around bent knees and face to the sun. A tan dog crossed the road.

A gash in the land for the Little Colorado River
A gash in the land for the Little Colorado River. Does the Grand Canyon begin as just a crack?
A gash in the land for the Little Colorado River
The Little Colorado River Overlook in Navajo Nation.
Indian portrait art on a building in the Navajo Nation, Arizona.
Indian portraits: art on a building in Navajo Nation, Arizona.

 

Marble Canyon

Eventually, we’d drive up, up, up. The road took us to the shelf of a mountain, a vast valley to our left. We stopped on a curve, with a road crew holding signs directing us to follow a pilot car around a rock slide repair area. Up, up, up. And then, on the crest of the mountain shelf, there was a viewpoint. The valley below ran for miles–cars like ants in the distance. We walked a bit in the sun, the breeze, surrounded by red rocks, before getting in the car and driving through the small gap in the mountain.

Pilot Car, follow me. Highway 89. Marble Canyon, Arizona.
Pilot Car, follow me. Ushering traffic through a rock fall repair area on Highway 89. Marble Canyon, Arizona.
Looking down to the valley from high atop Highway 89 in Marble Canyon, Arizona.
Looking down to the valley and a canyon from high atop Highway 89 in Marble Canyon, Arizona. You can see a tiny road to the lower right, just beside the boulder in the foreground.
Passing through the break in Marble Canyon's wall. Arizona.
Passing through the break in Marble Canyon’s wall, Arizona.

 

Desert Landscape

We entered another desert scrub landscape–this one higher. Miles and miles of dirt and sage bushes. And then came rocks, and canyons hidden in the rocks. The rocks looked like stacks of red mud pies. And as we passed hills, we’d see deep clefts in the land revealed. Just after Glen Canyon Dam in Page, Arizona, we crossed into Utah.

A yellow caution sign had the added benefit of red lights zooming around the edges. The sign alerted us there might be deer in the area. And we laughed to see a deer standing right behind the sign pole, chewing and staring at us as we slowed down. Later, we pulled over to see a herd of Buffalo, scuffling along in the dust of a field.

A lone remaining "Hoodoo" somewhere in Utah.
A lone “hoodoo” somewhere in Utah.
Buffalo near Zion National Park
Buffalo near Zion National Park.

 

Zion National Park

We were entering Zion from the East on the the Zion-Mount Carmel Highway. Some of the dollops of rocks looked like they were melting–like chunks of caramel or white chocolate drops. It was a clear blue sky and the yellow leaves seemed to glow against the rock backgrounds.

Melting red rocks of Zion National Park.
Melting red rocks of Zion National Park.
Checkerboard Mesa, Zion National Park.
Checkerboard Mesa, Zion National Park.

 

The Tunnel

Imagine our amazement when suddenly a very large, red mountain with a mouse hole appeared on the road ahead of us. Another car was stopped in front of us waiting to enter this mouse hole. Signs all around warned us to turn on headlights, and “DO NOT STOP!” in the tunnel.

We entered slowly. It was the most narrow tunnel I’ve ever seen, I wondered if the top of the car would scrape. And oh so dark. And it went on, and on, and on. Every now and again, we’d pass an opening in the rock and see a valley far far down. It was a terrifying surprise. Finally, we exited the tunnel and I had to stop for a minute.

This Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel is 1.1 miles long, was completed in 1930, and is basically the same as it was upon completion nearly 90 years ago. However, because of the softness of the sandstone mountain through which it passes, concrete ribs now reinforce the entire tunnel. After a pillar collapsed in 1958, the tunnel is now electronically monitored twenty-four hours a day to warn park officials if there is danger of cracks or movement.

Entering the West side of the Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel. Zion National Park.
Final warnings: no bikes, no pedestrians as we enter the West end of the Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel. Zion National Park.
Another tunnel through sandstone mountains in Zion National Park.
Another tunnel through sandstone mountains in Zion National Park.

 

The Scenic Zion Canyon

After I’d had a few minutes to get over that tunnel, we continued on–driving carefully through the switchback roads down to the Zion Canyon floor. We stopped for the bighorn sheep standing on the red-layered hills and road shoulders all around us. One stood beside the stopped car, and we played that game “no, you go first. Oh, ok, I’ll go. Oh, ok you go.” Every time he was still and I let the car roll, he’d make a step. I stopped, he stopped, and we stared at each other. Please don’t ram the car Mr. Bighorn Sheep.

Bighorn Sheep are skilled climbers and choose steep, rocky terrain, to allow them to escape from predators like mountain lions. Zion National Park.
Bighorn Sheep are skilled climbers and can scamper up this steep, rocky terrain, faster than the mountain lions. Zion National Park.
Bighorn sheep dot the red rock hillside. Zion National Park.
Bighorn sheep dot the red rock hillside. Zion National Park.

 

Usually, the scenic drive in Zion Canyon is closed to private vehicles from April through October, and all visitors have to ride shuttle buses to the valley. But it was November, and we got to drive on the flat valley floor. We studied the National Park map and info and saw that the peak to our left, “the Sentinel” had collapsed some 4,800 years ago. The giant landslide covered this canyon floor with rock debris for two miles. At the time, my first thought was about our need to exit the park through that crazy narrow sandstone tunnel.

Beginning in the 1860s, the floor of Zion Canyon was used by European settlers who farmed corn, tobacco, and fruit trees. Settlers in the area also took trees and used the valley for grazing farm animals. Finally, in 1909, the area was recognized as the Mukuntuweap National Monument, and established as Zion National Park in 1919.

The East Temple, as seen from the Valley Floor, Zion National Park.
The East Temple, as seen from the Valley Floor, Zion National Park.
The Sentinel, as seen from the valley floor of Zion National Park.
Part of the Sentinel, as seen from the valley floor of Zion National Park.
Red cliff walls in Zion National Park.
Red cliff walls in Zion National Park.
The Great White Throne, near Angels Landing. Zion National Park.
The Great White Throne, near Angels Landing. Zion National Park.
The Great White Throne, and Angels Landing. Zion National Park.
The Great White Throne, and Angels Landing. Zion National Park.

 

Zion Details

Zion’s canyon walls are Navajo Sandstone eroded by the North Fork of the Virgin River. Not surprising, there is such beauty in these tortured, twisted, melted rocks–the colors, the shapes, the layers, and how the mountains and their trees jut up to the sky. As we drove along the valley floor, we stopped often–sometimes in sun, sometimes in shade–to admire the sheer red rock walls, the sheer white rock walls, the trees hanging on and reaching high, the yellow leaves of autumn, and the birds singing through the canyon.

Red sandstone cliffs. Zion National Park.
The moon over red sandstone cliffs. Zion National Park.
Looking up at a tree growing on the red sandstone hill. Zion National Park.
Looking up at a tree growing on the red sandstone cliff. Zion National Park.
Grains of sand settle on the sandstone mountain. Zion National Park.
Grains of sand settle on the sandstone mountain. Zion National Park.
Layers of sandstone give just a little room to trees. Zion National Park.
Layers of sandstone give just a little room to trees. Zion National Park.

 

Good people

Later, we made our way to the Zion Lodge to see about pressing our pennies and mailing postcards. We purchased a few postcards and as we were preparing to sit in the lobby and write greetings to drop in the Lodge mailbox, we inquired about a penny press machine. Yes! They had one! Alas, it was locked in the cafe–which was closed for the season. Maybe they could see our utter disappointment, or maybe they were just sweet people…but while we sat in the lobby working on our postcards, those guys MOVED that big old penny machine to an accessible area for us. We must have looked like kids at Christmas when they came to the lobby to tell us: “M’ams, the PENNY MACHINE is ready in the gift shop now if you still want to make your pennies.”

Afterwards, we drove out of Zion, safely passing through that tunnel.  We checked in to our hotel in Mt. Carmel Junction a perfect location between Zion and Bryce National Parks. We were starving. Thankfully, the Golden Hills diner was close…and surprise…they had a salad bar! We had the place pretty much to ourselves and filled up on a delicious salad and soup. The people were friendly, the menu had lots of options, the food was good, and the prices very reasonable. It became kind of like our Zion-Bryce kitchen while we were in Mt. Carmel Junction, as we ate all our meals in their cozy diner.

Some photos are available on Etsy.

Finally, if you liked this post, please leave a comment and
Thank you!

Road Trip: The Grand Canyon

Share Button

November 26:  Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon. Starting mileage:  38,616.

We were up early again in this desert city that rarely sleeps. Today, we were driving out of the Nevada’s desert mirage to the Grand Canyon. Las Vegas loses a little sparkle in the daylight, though the bright sun does glint off sidewalks littered with feathers and the ubiquitous stripper business cards. We stretched our legs walking to breakfast and looking for a post office box, before loading the car and leaving Las Vegas. We crossed into Arizona over that titanic Hoover Dam bypass bridge.

Mas Vegas Barn
Mas Vegas Barn. Driving Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon. Somewhere in Arizona.

 

Route 66

After Kingman, we decided to take the old Route 66. Out in this empty land, away from busy Interstate 40, was a old-timey USA. What fun! But, I don’t know which is sadder, to see so many places shuttered and run down, or to see those that have had to become tourist traps to survive. It’s as if they are living ghosts. For the thousandth time on this trip, I wished I could have seen this land before….before interstates, and before “civilization”.

Mama and I got into a conversation about road trips of years ago. She mentioned Burma Shave signs. I didn’t know what that was, and just as she was describing them, we saw a small red sign with white writing, very close to the road, that simply said:

If you don’t know

And then a second sign, about a football field away, said:  whose signs these are

Then a third, equally spaced from the second:  you haven’t driven

And a fourth, very far

We erupted into claps and laugher at the final one!  Burma Shave

Burma-Shave was a brand of shaving cream famous for this fun advertising gimmick in the 1930s-1960s. We were thrilled to see several more of these sign sets:

  • Thirty days … hath September … April and June … and the speed offender … Burma Shave
  • Slow down … Sparky … Ma missed … signs four and five … Burma Shave
  • Don’t lose your head … to save a minute … you need it … because your brains are in it … Burma Shave
Thirty Days Burma Shave sign on Route 66
Thirty Days…
Hath September Burma Shave sign on Route 66
Hath September…
April, June Burma Shave sign on Route 66
April, June…
and the speed offender Burma Shave signs route 66
and the speed offender.
Burma Shave. last of 5 consecutive signs on Route 66. Arizona.Burma Shave. last of 5 consecutive signs on Route 66. Arizona.
Burma Shave. The last of 5 consecutive signs on Route 66. Arizona.
Mama Lucy at Roadrunner Cafe on Route 66, Arizona.
Mama Lucy at Roadrunner Cafe on Route 66, Arizona.

 

Grand Canyon

Sometime later, we made a left turn to head north. And we arrived into the Grand Canyon area around sunset. We snacked from our food stash and tucked in early. Tomorrow would be a grand, canyon day!

November 27: The Grand Canyon!

The Grand Canyon is 277 miles long, about 18 miles wide, and over a mile deep. It was carved by the Colorado River and erosion over millions of years and is truly a wonder of the world. Early explorers called it “profound” and an “astonishing natural curiosity”. Of course, like many of nature’s wonders, there are no words to define the scale, the beauty, and the happiness in the heart to stand before it. We were at the South Rim and our first view today was at Mather Point. We stared, smiling.

The Grand Canyon. Trees and dollops of stone.
The Grand Canyon. Trees and dollops of stone.

 

Along the edge

Through the day, we made our way to several viewpoints along the South Rim, either by the convenient shuttles or the car.

As we stood at various views, we noticed tiny little people off in the distance, standing on ledges over the great precipice. One of the shuttle drivers told us that the Grand Canyon has several deaths every year, lately from people who were taking selfies. There is a book that morbidly documents all the canyon deaths: “Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon” by Thomas Myers. There are fatalities from falling, drowning, crashing in airplanes or helicopters, flash flooding, rocks falling, suicides, homicides and freak accidents.

Grand Canyon, Tiny, stupid little man. Dead Center, Orange Hat.
Falling is one of the leading causes of death in the Grand Canyon. Note the little man (dead center) out on a Grand Canyon ledge.

Shuttles in the Grand Canyon

Mama Lucy, safely behind the fencing at a Grand Canyon viewpoint.
Mama Lucy, safely behind the fencing at a Grand Canyon viewpoint.
Roads way down in the canyon, and the canyon of the Colorado River.
Roads way down in the canyon, and the canyon of the Colorado River.
These trees! I love their tenacity and their view! Grand Canyon.
These trees! I love their tenacity and their view! Grand Canyon.

 

GIDDY UP!

We decided to ride up to Hermit’s Rest on the red shuttle. We had a delightful driver guide who told jokes, explained what we saw, and slowed down (or stopped for a 30 second pop out….shhhh don’t tell anyone!) for photos on the seven-mile ride to Hermit’s Rest. Every time he started the shuttle, he said, “Say Giddy-up!”

Hermit’s Rest, originally constructed in 1914 as a rest stop for the Fred Harvey Company coach, now has a gift shop and a tiny little snack shop. As it was a cool, blustery day, I got the Hermit’s Mocha–hot coffee with chocolate. What delicious moments sitting there admiring that view and sipping hot drinks!

Looking down at Bighorn Sheep on a ledge. Grand Canyon.
Looking down at Bighorn Sheep on a ledge. Grand Canyon.
Bighorn Sheep in the Grand Canyon.
Bighorn Sheep in the Grand Canyon. Beyond, trails in the canyon.
The beautiful colors of the Grand Canyon. Note the distant smoke from a fire on the North Rim.
Rim to rim. The beautiful colors of the Grand Canyon. Note the distant smoke from a fire on the North Rim.

 

Desert View

Later in the afternoon, we found the car and drove about 25 miles out to the Desert View Watchtower on the eastern end of Grand Canyon National Park. The wind was whipping now. Along the road, we saw warning signs for…what is that?…a MOUNTAIN LION?!? Every time we stopped, we watched carefully for any wild cats, and we held on tight to fencing and trees. From this vantage point, we could see the Colorado River, a mile down in the canyon, snaking along.

The Colorado River, way down in its Grand Canyon.
The Colorado River, way down in its Grand Canyon.
Desert View Watchtower. Grand Canyon.
Desert View Watchtower. Grand Canyon.

We finished this grand day getting our pressed pennies, writing postcards, and finding a mailbox to drop them in before getting pizza and settling in for the night.

November 28: Leaving the Grand Canyon. Starting mileage: 38,969.

Our road out of the Canyon was the road to Desert View. And we stopped again, many times. It’s stunning how morning light changes the colors and the mood of the canyon. I would have liked to sit there on the ledge in that soft, clear morning light, sipping a hot Hermit’s Mocha, and listening to the sounds of the canyon.

Hanging on. A tree tries beneath a one cloud sky. Grand Canyon.
Hanging on. A tree tries beneath a one cloud sky. Grand Canyon.
Drifting. Wood and clouds over the Grand Canyon.
Drifting. Wood and clouds over the Grand Canyon.
A tree grows on the Grand Canyon South Rim.
A tree grows on the Grand Canyon South Rim.
The colors and clouds on a Grand Canyon morning.
The colors and clouds on a Grand Canyon morning.
Duck on a Rock. Grand Canyon.
Duck on a Rock. Grand Canyon.

 

Photos are available on Etsy.

Finally, if you enjoyed this post, please leave a comment and
Thank you!

 

Road Trip: Ghosts and Gambles in Audacious Nevada

Share Button

November 24: Death Valley to Audacious Nevada. Starting mileage:  38,354.

We woke up early, intent on seeing another desert sunrise. And of course, coffee was the first thing on the agenda. Today, we’d go from Death Valley to the bright lights of Las Vegas, Nevada. We’d pass through Nevada’s desert landscape of ghost towns, old towns, and vast empty spaces where it is hard to imagine the gambles that people took to make homes and a living here.

Pre-dawn sky at Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley.
Pre-dawn sky at Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley.

 

Desert Accident

I went to the reception area to get a cup of the always-on brewed coffee, as an incident was unfolding in the lobby. A woman and man talked quietly to the manager, while another man sat dazed in a chair. The couple had found him in his upside-down car on the side of the road about an hour from here. There was no cell phone service to call 911. So, they revived him, got him out of his wrecked car, into their warm car and now were here to get him help. He sat in a chair staring into space, blinking slow, mouth agape, and his hands reaching up to hold his head like he was checking to see if it was still there. With his mussed-up bed-head hair, motorcycle boots, leather jacket, and jeans he looked like a musician, except for the leather briefcase at his feet.

As I refilled my coffee cup, an ambulance and a park service ranger arrived. The couple repeated their story, left their contact information, got some coffee, said goodbye to the wrecked guy, and left. He was waving off an EMT when I went out to take photos before sunrise.

orange clouds sunrise death valley sky
“Desert sky…Dream beneath a desert sky.” Predawn moment in Death Valley, lyrics by U2.

 

About an hour later when I returned to the lobby for another cup of coffee, the accident guy was still there. Now he sat outside by the fire-pit, briefcase heeling close to his boots, smoking a cigarette, and staring out at the desert. His bewildered expression was a reminder to drive carefully on these roads. The number one cause of death in Death Valley is not the heat–it is the single-car rollover. He was lucky to be alive.

 

Daylight Pass

We filled up before leaving Stovepipe Wells and pulled out on CA-190 going northeast to Nevada. The road took us past the Devil’s Cornfield, and then up to Daylight Pass in the Amargosa Mountains. We went from zero elevation to 4,316 feet above sea level in about 15 miles.

Daylight Pass in Amargosa Mountain Range, eastern edge of Death Valley. 4,316 elevation.
Daylight Pass (4,317 elevation) in Amargosa Mountain Range, on the eastern edge of Death Valley. 
The long road from California into Nevada.
The long road from California into Nevada.

 

The Ghost town of Rhyolite

A ghost town was near our route. Rhyolite was established in 1905 after gold was discovered in nearby mountains. After big investment in infrastructure, by 1907 Rhyolite had a railroad station, electric lights, water pipes, telephones, newspapers, a hospital, a school, an opera house, and a stock exchange. The town’s population hit about 5,000 in 1907–08. Imagine the pluck it took to turn a tent city of miners into a cultured town in just three years.

Alas, Rhyolite crashed fast too. First, the gold ore was exhausted, then financial panic. All three banks closed by March 1910. By the end of 1910, the mine was operating at a loss, and closed in 1911. Out-of-work miners moved elsewhere. According to Wikipedia, “All the newspapers shut down by June 1912. The post office closed in November 1913; the last train left Rhyolite Station in July 1914, and the Nevada-California Power Company turned off the electricity and removed its lines in 1916. Within a year the town was ‘all but abandoned’, and the 1920 census reported a population of only 14. A 1922 motor tour by the Los Angeles Times found only one remaining resident, a 92-year-old man who died in 1924″.

The remains of the John S. Cook and Co. Bank in the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada.
The remains of the John S. Cook and Co. Bank in the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada.
HD & LD Porter, 1906. Ghost town Rhyolite, NV.
The HD & LD Porter brothers’ store in Rhyolite, Nevada. It is said that customers could buy groceries, clothing, mining supplies, hardware, lumber, furniture, hay, grain, and Studebaker wagons here. The store also leased freight animals. The Porter Brothers slogan was, “We handle all good things but whiskey.”
The Bottle House in Rhyolite, NV.
Tom Kelly built the Bottle House in 1905-06 with 51,000 beer bottles. The bottles were donated from the 50 town bars.
Fallen Joshua tree desert tree Rhyolite, Nevada.
If a Joshua tree falls in a ghost town, does anyone hear it? Rhyolite, Nevada.

 

Beatty and Amargosa Valley

Shortly after Rhyolite, we came into the little town of Beatty. These desert towns all seemed to have a wild west, devil-may-care feel–heroically or recklessly navigating the boom and bust. Maybe it was the number of faded hotels, or the aging industrial elements, or the needy houses, or the general emptiness of the place. I wondered about the people who lived in this harsh desert environment, the few residents who live with so many strangers passing through.

Looking back at California from this long desert road near Rhyolite, Nevada.
Looking back at California from this long desert road near Rhyolite, Nevada.
Signs of the times. Beatty, Nevada.
Signs of the times. Ghosted hotel in the town of Beatty, Nevada.
Fort Amargosa Valley sells fireworks, gasoline, and has a diner in an alien museum. Nevada!
Amargosa Valley sells fireworks, gasoline, and has a diner in an alien museum. Nevada!

 

Hoover Dam

It was early afternoon when we drove into Las Vegas, so we decided to drive on to Hoover Dam before checking in and relaxing.

Wow! Hoover Dam is famous for its scale, and the ingenuity of the people who imagined and built it during the Great Depression. And I’m here to tell you, it’s big! Its base is 660 feet thick–wider than two football fields are long. It goes more than 700 feet down into the canyon–about the size of a 60-story building. It holds back the Colorado River, and created Lake Mead in the Black Canyon. Until the bypass bridge was built over the canyon in 2012, US-93 passed across the top of the dam, carrying traffic between Arizona and Nevada.

We drove over the dam looking for parking. And I have to say, the closeness of a very big Lake Mead on the one side and the empty air above the Black Canyon on the other side gave me a fright. Its a little terrifying to think that we are confident enough of having tamed nature to drive over the concrete holding all that water back! We crossed back over quickly, and parked in the garage. At a safe distance, we gawked at this amendment to the land. I tried to keep an eye on the dam, and the giant bridge that throws a shadow on it, as we got our pressed pennies and ice cream cones.

Hoover Dam on the Colorado River, on the Nevada / Arizona border.
Hoover Dam on the Colorado River, on the Nevada / Arizona border.
The Hoover Dam Bypass Bridge over the Colorado River and Black Canyon.
The Hoover Dam Bypass Bridge over the Colorado River and Black Canyon. Arizona / Nevada border.
Mama Lucy at Hoover Dam. Nevada.
Mama Lucy at Hoover Dam. Nevada.
Power lines in the desert nearing Las Vegas.
Power lines in the desert nearing Las Vegas.

 

Las Vegas!

The Faux Eiffel Tower at Paris, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The Faux Eiffel Tower at Paris, Las Vegas, Nevada.

We followed the power lines into Las Vegas, listening carefully to Siri as she directed us to the correct turn lanes, and the legal U-Turn spots so that we could get to our hotel. I’d found a place in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip that had a reasonable price for us and the car.

After check-in, we took a walk as the sun went down.

The sidewalks were unbelievably crowded. It was Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. Everyone must have come here for the holiday weekend. And everyone must have been completely starstruck by the bright lights. No one watched where they were going. Groups of people walked 5 across, taking the entire width of the sidewalk. After a few minutes of getting hit and jostled, we walked arm-in-arm, with me closer to the oncoming people so that Mama Lucy didn’t get pummeled by the crowds. I stiffened my shoulder and gave as good as I got.

We walked through the Venetian, enjoying the lights, the gondolas, and the sights and sounds of this crazy, audacious desert city.

November 25:  Las Vegas. Starting mileage: 38,580.

We may have been the only early risers in Las Vegas. I think the other people out and about at breakfast were the people who’d been out all night.

It was once again, time for laundry and another oil change, and we’d decided this Saturday morning would be “chores” time. First, we found a 24-hour laundromat not far from the hotel. It was a quiet, friendly place and our three loads were done lickety-split.

Laundering in Las Vegas.
Laundering in Las Vegas.

 

Next, we found another Bozarth Chevy dealer. They’d been good to us in Denver, and so, we’d made an appointment for the second oil change of our trip. Turns out, this establishment also found a few things wrong with the car–and took a couple of hours to put in brake fluid and a new filter. By the time we were turned loose, our chores finished, it was almost time for dinner and the nighttime show that is the Las Vegas Strip.

Show girls

Did I mention the show girls who also parked at our hotel? We’d been seeing tell-tale signs–a yellow boa in our parking spot, feathers in the elevator, and glitter on the buttons. And today, we saw scantily-clad girls arriving to do their thing on the Strip tonight. Two girls were changing into pink outfits in the parking garage. Two other girls were in the elevator when it opened on our floor. They had their hair tied in tight buns covered in silver glitter. They wore silver bikini bottoms, silver knee-high boots, and the rest was a combination of smartly-placed pasties, white feathers, and silver beads. As we’d seen last night, the girls work in pairs, charging for photographs with tourists on the streets. We smiled and made chit-chat with them about the cool weather that was expected tonight as the elevator slowly made its way to the ground floor. Brrr.

Dancing waters of the Bellagio. Las Vegas.
Dancing waters of the Bellagio. Las Vegas.

Las Vegas Gambling

We walked over to watch the Dancing Waters at the Bellagio. And then had a a wonderful dinner at Mon Ami Gabi, right across the street. Later, we sat in “Paris” watching a group of young men sing Motown and songs from the 50s/60s. And of course, we gambled. I’m a reluctant gambler and only risked $20–it was all too quickly gone. My Las Vegas souvenir was a ticket to claim my remaining $0.40 in “winnings”. Mama Lucy had better luck at the slots and played for a little longer, but never heard the bells and whistles indicating a million dollar win.

Mama Lucy playing slot machine in Las Vegas.
Mama Lucy doing her thing in Las Vegas.
Slot machine Mama Lucy in Las Vegas.
Slot machine Mama Lucy in Las Vegas.

I still felt lucky. My big win was going on this trip. And that night, I felt so lucky to get Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and take a seat with my mother on the Las Vegas Strip to just watch the crowd and the lights. What a place! Who had the idea to build THIS in the desert? What audacity…to even exist…a mirage, an oasis in this empty desert land.

Select photos are available on my Etsy shop.

If you enjoyed reading this, please leave a comment and…

Thank you!

 

Road Trip: Death Valley

Share Button

November 22:  The Sequoias to Death Valley. Starting mileage:  37,914.

We woke up among the Sequoias and the crisp, mountain-morning air. Like the size of the trees, there are no words to describe the fresh scents of the surrounding pines, cedars, and sequoias. Do the woods always smell so calm? It was cold, and had it not been a brilliantly clear sky, we might have worried about snow. From the looks of it, Sequoia National Park gets a lot of snow:  there are 12+ feet tall red poles along the roads so drivers can FIND the road in heavy snow. Funny to think we’d be out of the woods and into the Death Valley desert by nightfall.

Trees, mountains, and Valleys...Leaving Sequoia National Park.
Trees, mountains, and valleys. Leaving Sequoia National Park, California.

 

Coming down the mountain

Although Death Valley was only 100 miles due East as the crow flies, there are no open roads over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Our route would take us in a big, 320-mile U, out of the Sequoias, around the Sierra Nevadas via Bakersfield and Mojave, and north to Death Valley.

First, we took the rural road California 245 south through the foothills. It was very curvy, with many hairpin turns over bulges and bumps in the road. We saw a dog, sunbathing in the road. He stared at the car, stretched, and instead of moving, laid back down in the road with his head on a paw. Guess they don’t see much traffic up here! So, we carefully drove around him on the narrow shoulder.

Not long after, we starting seeing roadrunners (or quails?) flit across the road. They ran so fast on stretching, knobby thin legs and seemed to make a game of how close they could be to the car. Mama Lucy got a little queasy from the twisting, up and down road, and the braking for the birds, so we pulled over for a few minutes to ease her stomach. It was much warmer now. In the end, the temperature went from 39 to 73 as we went down the mountain.

On the winding, hilly back road CA-245.
On the winding, hilly back road CA-245.

 

Urban deserts

After the winding road, we passed through Exeter, Bakersfield, and Mojave. We saw most of the energy forms–shiny solar panels hidden among vineyards, oil derricks en masse pumping and bleeding the land like a swarm of needled mosquitos, and wind turbines punctuating cliff tops near Mojave. Later, we drove through a small town, where the houses looked brittle and worn…doors hanging off, old toys scattered among cars in the yards. Also, a smell of chemicals permeated the air, likely from the factory with chipping white paint, sitting amidst the houses. The only person we saw was a man walking by the railroad tracks. Were the people all working today in the plant? The place gave me an eerie feeling, like we were passing through a living ghost town.

Vineyard Neat rows of grape vines, like stitches on the California hillside.
Neat rows of grape vines, stitched to the California hillside.
long road mountains driving to Death Valley California
This harsh land seemed to activate self-reflection, ideas of peaceful aloneness, and eternal movement. And, there is this sound tires make on the long, empty roads to Death Valley. Was this where the Eagles were inspired to write: “Don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy. Lighten up, while you still can, don’t even try to understand…”
Another long road near Ridgecrest, California.
Another long road near Ridgecrest, California. 

 

Into Death Valley

We drove and drove. More than six hours on some of the most remote, endless roads I’ve ever seen. And then, we were going up again–to 4,000 feet elevation. And at last, down, down, down into Death Valley as the sun was setting. As I drove–carefully–into that strange environment, I remembered this from the National Park website:

Many of Death Valley’s roads were built in the 1930s. They are narrow and serpentine and cannot be driven at high speed. The most dangerous thing in Death Valley is not the heat. It is the “single car rollover.”  Cell phones do not work in Death Valley! Do not depend on them. Dependence on a cell phone in an emergency situation can be fatal.

Shadows on long roads to Death Valley.
Shadows on a long road to Death Valley.
Dark is coming. And we were still on the road into Death Valley.
Dark was coming near Panamint. And we were still on the road into Death Valley. At the top of this hill, we came back into a mile of sunlight, for one last look at the sun before heading down into Death Valley.

 

Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley

At last, we arrived into Stovepipe Wells Village at dusk. This way-station has been an oasis since the early 1900s. There is a ranger station, gas station, general store , and Stovepipe Wells, a small hotel with the Badwater Saloon and Toll Road Restaurant. We backed into a parking space about 3 feet from our hotel room door. Our little room was welcoming–decorated in red, and a back door!  Later, we wandered back over to the lobby to sit at the fire-pit in the rocking chairs and contemplate the autumn desert. Stars. A satisfying quiet. After dinner, we sat watching car headlights drive into the valley. The cars were miles away–but their lights burned like pinholes in this landscape. Many cars pulled into the 24-hour gas station across the street, refueling at a very reasonable $3.09, and then we watched their red taillights drive away into the vast dark.

Stovepipe Wells General Store. Across the street from the hotel. Death Valley, California.
Stovepipe Wells General Store. Across the street from the hotel. Death Valley, California.
Street Light. Headlights. Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley National Park. California.
Lights. Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley National Park. California.

 

November 23:  Sunrise on Thanksgiving Day in Death Valley

Once upon a time, I spent Thanksgiving Day on Easter Island. Today, we were in Death Valley. I thanked my lucky stars that we were here, now, and went out into the darkness for photos at sunrise.

The quiet. The immense quiet. Only the sound of gravel under my feet. And then came the colors. A line of pink. Dust in the distance. I heard birds, smelled sage, and watched for the sun. I walked about 50 yards, to the end of Stovepipe Wells, by the ranger station. Death Valley is a National Park and the park is “open” 24 hours a day, every day. There is an automated fee machine at the station for those who are honest to stop and pay. There was enough light now and I could see a giant crow sitting on the pay box, watching me and waiting for sunrise.

Colors of sunrise. Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley National Park.
A hint at the coming colors of sunrise. Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley National Park.
Just a moment before the sun comes, a rose color washed over Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Just a moment before the sun came over the ridge, a rose color washed over Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Good morning sunshine! Thanksgiving in Death Valley, California.
Good morning sunshine! Thanksgiving in Death Valley, California.
Desert landscape. Death Valley dawn.
A few seconds later, and the desert appears from the dark. Death Valley.
Me, my shadow, the birds and the desert. Death Valley.
Me, my shadow, the birds, and the desert in a fading pink sunrise. Death Valley.

 

Thanksgiving site-seeing

After breakfast in the Toll Road Restaurant, we drove over to the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes.

Mama Lucy in the Sand Dunes of Death Valley on Thanksgiving morning.
Mama Lucy in the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes of Death Valley on Thanksgiving morning.

 

Next, we visited the Harmony Borax Works, where the famous 20 Mule Teams hauled mined borax out of Death Valley. What the heck is borax? Mama Lucy knew–it was a powdery mineral used in detergent. In addition, she remembered the brand, 20 Mule Team Borax, sponsoring Death Valley Days radio programs when she was a kid.

A wheel from a 20 Mule Team wagon. Harmony Borax Works. Death Valley.
A wheel from a 20 Mule Team wagon. Harmony Borax Works. Death Valley.

 

Badwater Basin

After a walk around Harmony Borax Works, we continued on to Furnace Creek, an oasis about 24 miles from our hotel. This is where the Furnace Creek Visitor Center is located, and where the highest temperature ever in North America was recorded. 134 degrees.  Uff!

On the road across Death Valley.
On the road across Death Valley.

 

We were on our way to see Badwater Basin, the lowest point in North America–at 282 feet below sea level. This bowl in Death Valley gets less than 2 inches of rain a year. This little bit of rain floods the basin, but it is so quickly evaporated–leaving behind miles of salt flats. In addition to driving hazards, heat and flash floods can kill here too…and rattlesnakes, scorpions, and black widow spiders.

Badwater Basin in Death Valley National Park.
Badwater Basin in Death Valley National Park.
Us at Badwater Basin in Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Us at Badwater Basin in Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
The lowest place in North America. Badwater Basin, Death Valley.
Walking out onto the salt flats at the lowest place in North America. Badwater Basin, Death Valley.
Walking in the salt flat. Badwater Basin. Death Valley.
Walking in the salt flats. Badwater Basin. Death Valley.
A vast salt flat in Death Valley's Badwater Basin.
A vast salt flat in Death Valley’s Badwater Basin.

 

On the way back to the hotel–and Thanksgiving Dinner!–we drove through the Artists Palette. This is an area of colored rock hills, and a narrow circular drive that escorts you through.

Artists Palette hills of oxidized rocks of Death Valley.
Artists Palette hills of oxidized rocks of Death Valley.
The road through the Artists Palette hills of Death Valley.
The one-way road through the Artists Palette hills of Death Valley.

 

Giving Thanks

We got back to our hotel in time for a late afternoon Thanksgiving buffet. They rolled out all kinds of vegetables, salads, desserts, and of course, the turkey and ham. We rolled out almost two hours later–stuffed. At last, we rested–sitting in rocking chairs until the sun went down. “Beautiful and peaceful,” Mama Lucy wrote in the travel log. Thank you for all that we have, all that we are, all that we see, all that we are able to do.

Mama Lucy in her rocking chair. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Mama Lucy in her rocking chair. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Our view from the rocking chairs. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
Our view from the rocking chairs. Dust from a distant car, and an airplane trail. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.

 

Photos available on Etsy.

Intrigued about the lowest place on earth (1,412 feet below sea level)? Read about the Dead Sea in Israel/Jordan here.

Finally, if you enjoyed this post, please leave a comment and
Thank you!

 

Road Trip: Sequoia National Park

Share Button

November 20: Merced to Sequoia National Park. Starting mileage: 37,769.

We woke up early in Merced, ready for a few hours drive southeast through California to Sequoia National Park. Lucky us!  Yesterday, Yosemite and, today the Giant Sequoia trees!

You can tell a lot about a region by its signs:  “Pray for rain” on the side of a packed truck in a field, and “Water 500 ft. DO NOT DRINK. For radiators only,” along the dusty road. In this arid landscape, we saw rows and rows of fruit and nut trees:  oranges, pomegranates, peaches, avocados, grapes, almonds, and pistachios. Melt water from the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains is used to irrigate these thirsty plants, providing produce and jobs for many.

CA-180 sign near Fresno, with the Sierra Nevada foothills in the background.
CA-180 sign near Fresno, with the Sierra Nevada foothills in the background.
Coyote in a field. California's Sierra Nevada mountains.
Coyote in a field. California’s Sierra Nevada mountains.
Orange tree grove. Near Squaw Valley / Sanger, California.
Orange grove. Near Squaw Valley / Sanger, California. 

 

King’s Canyon and Sequoia National Park

Eventually, the road went up, up, up and the temperature went down, down, down. We lost about 10 degrees of warmth in +3,000 feet of elevation. And then, there they were! Giant Sequoias lined the road to greet us as we entered the nation’s second national park.

Mama Lucy at a viewpoint just inside Sequoia National Park, posing with the giant greeters.
Mama Lucy at a viewpoint just inside Sequoia National Park, posing with the giant greeters. The Sequoias became a national park just a couple of weeks before Yosemite, in the fall of 1890.

 

Giant Sequoias

The Sequoiadendron Giganteum is related to the Coastal Redwood (Sequoia Sempervirens), but the Giant Sequoias are generally shorter, fatter, and older than the Redwoods. They, like Redwoods, have tiny seed cones and are resistant to fire. But the Giant Sequoia trees benefit from fires that clear the undergrowth for sprouting. They grow in a much smaller region, getting water from the Sierra Nevada’s snow and rain. The Giant Sequoia trees are soft and brittle, often shattering when they fall. As a result, their wood is not as valued for construction…what should have been a saving grace.

Mama Lucy admires a giant Sequoia. Sequoia National Park, CA.
Mama Lucy admires a giant Sequoia. Sequoia National Park, CA.

 

Their grandeur alone should have saved them

Like the Redwoods, no words can really describe the Giant Sequoias–no adjectives are big enough, no sentiments are poetic enough. They are too big to photograph. To stand before them is to look at primordial beings, at least 2,000-3,000 years old. It’s too much to comprehend with logic alone.

Native Americans lived among the forests of Giant Sequoias for ages. Migrant Europeans first noted the giants in Calaveras Grove in 1833. Because it was not publicized, the trees escaped for another 20 years. But, around 1850-52, the trees were “discovered” by Augustus Dowd.

Despite their otherworldly beauty, ancient age, and being impractical for use, greedy settlers still chopped the old giants down in the 1800-1900s. Unbelievably, these majestic old souls were logged mainly for shingles, fence posts, and matchsticks. Even the “Discovery tree” found by Dowd was felled in 1853. One illustrated postcard from the period shows a cotillion of 32 people dancing on a massive stump, it’s severed trunk laying beside it. The lack of respect for these ancient trees is appalling.

The fate of trees and our national parks

Mama Lucy at General Sherman, the giant Sequoia that is the largest tree by mass in the world.
Mama Lucy at General Sherman, the giant Sequoia that is the largest tree by volume in the world. These giants are impossible to photograph in a way that shows their true scale.  

 

Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed, — chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got out of their bark hides, branching horns, or magnificent bole backbones…. Through all the wonderful, eventful centuries since Christ’s time — and long before that — God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand straining, leveling tempests and floods; but he cannot save them from fools, — only Uncle Sam can do that.

John Muir, “The American Forests,” August 1897

 

Today, the trees are threatened by a warming environment, drought, and less mountain meltwater. And in 2017, Trump suggested he’d open some national lands to logging, grazing, drilling, and/or mining. Thankfully, better people prevailed–and the Sequoia National Park area was spared from a size reduction like Bears Ears (which lost 85% of its land) and Grand Staircase-Escalante (-46%).

A sign among Sugar Pines and Sequoias near General Sherman's grove in Sequoia National Park.
Sugar Pines and Sequoias near General Sherman’s grove in Sequoia National Park.
The triplet trees Three Graces Sequoia National Park.
The triplets, Three Graces, Sequoia National Park. For prints, please email me.
Moss grows on a neighboring Sugar Pine tree in Sequoia National Park.
Moss grows on a neighboring Sugar Pine tree in Sequoia National Park.

 

Wuksachi Lodge and the Bears

We splurged to stay at the remote Wuksachi Lodge in Sequoia National Park. We arrived too early for the very official check-in time, but sat cozy in front of the cast-iron wood-burning stove, mesmerized by the surrounding Sequoia and Pine woods. The staff warned us to take *everything* out of the car. Everything. Don’t leave jackets, which might have the smell of lotion or perfumes. Don’t leave hand sanitizers or chapsticks. Remove all trash, tissues, and papers. Don’t leave bottles, even if they are empty. Don’t leave coolers. And for goodness sake, don’t leave a morsel of food. Why? BEARS!

Bears have been known to break car windows for a water bottle, a mint, or a coat that maybe they think hides a tasty human. It took us an hour to unload, and tidy up the car. Sorry bears, nothing to see here. Of course, after dinner, when we walked back to the room from the lodge in the pitch-black night, I did worry that we were moving meal options. It made us walk a little faster!

November 21: Sequoia National Park

We explored the forests and wandered reverently around the giant tree groves. Sometimes, we’d just sit and take it all in…the fresh air of the mountains and these moments in the cathedral of the giants.

Looking up at Sequoia trees. Sequoia National Park.
Looking up at the Sequoias. These trees are not as tall as the Coastal Redwoods, but they are older and have more width and volume. It is said that as the Sequoias grow tall and stand above their neighbors, wind can often sheer off their tops. The topped trees will continue to grow in girth.
If you listen, you can hear the chipmunks. Sequoia National Park.
If you listen, you can hear the chipmunks. Sequoia National Park.

 

Bad behavior

In the evenings, we planted ourselves by the fireplace, tired from walking, and happy to be in such a peaceful place. One night as we waited for our reservation in the lodge restaurant, I read about the area’s logging history. I sat worrying about the greed that takes so many resources from the earth, and the selfish laziness that leaves so much trash. Why does nature always seem to lose?

And then, this terror of a kid shows up, apparently parentless. I watched as he nearly destroyed the child-size Teddy Bear that sat in the lobby. The brat pulled the bear into the floor, pummeling and punching it–poking at its eyes, yanking its ears, and flinging it around before leaping on it from a chair like a wrestler. A lamp nearly fell over in his screaming rambunctious fit. Where were his parents? Why allow this bad behavior in a public space, in a place others were relaxing? Is his tormenting aggression ok with them–even if he was only abusing a stuffed animal? Why allow him to destroy something, especially something that belongs to others?

I finally figured out his parents were the well-dressed couple sipping wine and staring intently at their respective iPads on a nearby sofa. Honestly, I doubt they would have noticed if the kid had been snatched. Then again, that kind of behavior must deter kidnappers. I mean, who’d want him?!? It is this kind of behavior, this lack of sensitivity and respect–his and theirs–that troubles me. Nature is losing–has lost, and will continue to lose–because of greed, selfishness, and the lack of empathy and kindness.

The lobby bear at Wuksachi Lodge in Sequoia National Park.
The lobby bear at Wuksachi Lodge in Sequoia National Park. 

 

Sunset

I couldn’t watch anymore. If this had been a real animal or a tree, I would have been in a brawl–with the kid and the parents. Instead, I walked outside to see the pink sunset. Good decision.

Pastels painted the eastern sky like a linen postcard, I stood in awe, in the quiet twilight. An older man came out to stand beside me, he with his camera too. We smiled at each other. No one else was outside. Silence. The wind shivered the trees. Creaking, crispy sounds. Pinks turned into fiery reds and oranges, and a crescent moon appeared over the tree silhouettes. It lasted only a few minutes, then the light was gone.

“Wow!” was all I could say.

“Splendid!” he added. “Glad I saw you making photos! I guess we’d better get back in to the three ring before the bears get us.”

Pastel sunset over Sequoia National Park.
Pastel sunset over Sequoia National Park.
A crescent moon among trees. Sequoia National Park.
Then, a crescent moon appeared among the trees. Sequoia National Park.
Pastels turn fiery just before dark. Sequoia National Park.
And then, pastels turn fiery just before dark, and the trees start melting into the sky. Sequoia National Park.

 

Learn more about Sequoia National Park. One of these days, I’d love to go on the Wuksachi Lodge snowshoe trip mentioned in this National Geographic article…just look at those photos and imagine those beauties in the snowy quiet! Sublime.

Some photos are for sale on my Etsy site. You can also contact me to purchase or license photos not found on Etsy.

Finally, if you like this post, please…
Thank you!

P.S. We never saw a bear in Sequoia National Park. I don’t know if I’m more sad or relieved. 🙂