Thursday, September 25, 2008
A fall surprise
After an especially hard day at school, I drove home at 6pm to the last rays of sun and a microburst coming up from Sonora. As soon as I was onHwy 92 it began to downpour. It rained longer and harder than it looked, and as I got home the rain buckets were all full. This rain was a nice relief, as the grass is getting thirsty and not all the grass grew out.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Presidio, TX is flooding
http://www.elpasotimes.com/ci_10500321
Galveston, Houston and now Presidio, towns that I traveled through during my February journey, are now flooded from rains and broken levees.
Many shore homes on Galveston Island are gone for good.http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ap/tx/6010291.html
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/metro/6008229.html
It's still hard to imagine Houston and Galveston in the dark. The hurricane that landed wasn't even that strong!
Galveston, Houston and now Presidio, towns that I traveled through during my February journey, are now flooded from rains and broken levees.
Many shore homes on Galveston Island are gone for good.http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ap/tx/6010291.html
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/metro/6008229.html
It's still hard to imagine Houston and Galveston in the dark. The hurricane that landed wasn't even that strong!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Driving to Tombstone
“The monsoon season is officially over!” said the meteorologist on KVOA. I still have a few days of harvested water for the garden. I used the one that had small mosquito larvae swirling at the surface.
Nigh time temperatures are slowly slipping below 60F. The autumn cool-down is approaching.
I drove to the Tombstone Unified School District this morning to drop off my application, but my reception there was nothing like Bisbee. A lone secretary took my packet, made copies of the important stuff, smiled and told me “The superintendent will call you for an interview.”
And that was it. If the school faculty is this tepid to its potential employees then I’d rather work in Bisbee, where the pay is low but the attitude is up-beat.
Still, I want to get my feelers out there. I’ve heard good things about the Tombstone High School. It’s a new building on the northeast side of town, with dramatic views of the Dragoons. How much more Old West could I possibly need?
Tombstone was more dead today than last Tuesday when I strolled the main street with Mom, Jason and Marcela. You get away from the touristy main street and the town looks like a forsaken desert Meth lab. There just isn't anything for the local kids to do.
I drove through the dusty town back the way I came and went straight to the extension office where I put in 4.5 volunteer hours as a Master Gardener. It was quiet today. There were no messages on the answering machine, no email to answer, just one leaf sample that had been brought in on September 4th (!) for identification. It looked like a boxelder leaf suffering from anthracnose.
I stopped at the UA-South bookstore, bought my education textbook and talked to the cashier, Diana from Indiana. Another Hoosier in the Old West Outback! In her late 50s, she still sported long blonde, thick hair and an infectious smile. She asked me about the teaching requirements for AZ and I rattled them off. I would love to have her as a co-worker at Bisbee High!
But as of today, no one’s yet called. Diana said I have all the requirements for a great teacher, yet the phone was mute this morning.
I even called Qwest to activate broadband internet starting Thursday, so that I no longer need to drive to the library or linger on campus for the internet. The first 1-888 number connected me to a sales office in Dubuque, Iowa where the lady said broadband was not available in my town. I called the 1-877 number on my Qwest bill and got through a “Ken” who got me signed up for broadband. I snagged at the deal of $14.99 a month for the first 12 months (plus all the BS add-ons for my phone line, surely making my bill a $60 monthly commitment).
As for Sprint, well, I accidentally washed my cell phone a few days ago and killed the thing. A replacement phone was quoted at $260 since I didn’t sign up for replacement insurance (it’s not valid for water damage anyway). At that rate it would be cheaper for me to cancel my Sprint plan and go with a cheaper carrier. I now have a Tracphone that cost me $9.99 plus pay-as-you go minutes. The 450 minutes I bought for $79 will last me over two months. That’s twice as long and half as much as what we are paying Sprint.
Nigh time temperatures are slowly slipping below 60F. The autumn cool-down is approaching.
I drove to the Tombstone Unified School District this morning to drop off my application, but my reception there was nothing like Bisbee. A lone secretary took my packet, made copies of the important stuff, smiled and told me “The superintendent will call you for an interview.”
And that was it. If the school faculty is this tepid to its potential employees then I’d rather work in Bisbee, where the pay is low but the attitude is up-beat.
Still, I want to get my feelers out there. I’ve heard good things about the Tombstone High School. It’s a new building on the northeast side of town, with dramatic views of the Dragoons. How much more Old West could I possibly need?
Tombstone was more dead today than last Tuesday when I strolled the main street with Mom, Jason and Marcela. You get away from the touristy main street and the town looks like a forsaken desert Meth lab. There just isn't anything for the local kids to do.
I drove through the dusty town back the way I came and went straight to the extension office where I put in 4.5 volunteer hours as a Master Gardener. It was quiet today. There were no messages on the answering machine, no email to answer, just one leaf sample that had been brought in on September 4th (!) for identification. It looked like a boxelder leaf suffering from anthracnose.
I stopped at the UA-South bookstore, bought my education textbook and talked to the cashier, Diana from Indiana. Another Hoosier in the Old West Outback! In her late 50s, she still sported long blonde, thick hair and an infectious smile. She asked me about the teaching requirements for AZ and I rattled them off. I would love to have her as a co-worker at Bisbee High!
But as of today, no one’s yet called. Diana said I have all the requirements for a great teacher, yet the phone was mute this morning.
I even called Qwest to activate broadband internet starting Thursday, so that I no longer need to drive to the library or linger on campus for the internet. The first 1-888 number connected me to a sales office in Dubuque, Iowa where the lady said broadband was not available in my town. I called the 1-877 number on my Qwest bill and got through a “Ken” who got me signed up for broadband. I snagged at the deal of $14.99 a month for the first 12 months (plus all the BS add-ons for my phone line, surely making my bill a $60 monthly commitment).
As for Sprint, well, I accidentally washed my cell phone a few days ago and killed the thing. A replacement phone was quoted at $260 since I didn’t sign up for replacement insurance (it’s not valid for water damage anyway). At that rate it would be cheaper for me to cancel my Sprint plan and go with a cheaper carrier. I now have a Tracphone that cost me $9.99 plus pay-as-you go minutes. The 450 minutes I bought for $79 will last me over two months. That’s twice as long and half as much as what we are paying Sprint.
Driving around Naco and Bisbee
I’ve had a bug up my butt to look at property to buy in Bisbee, to use as a second home and potential rental. If I work in Bisbee fulltime having something closer would help me on gas, as the high school is 24 miles one way from our current home. That’s two gallons of gas a day at $7 a day, perhaps even $8 the way the oil companies are now charging more from hurricane damage. (Wonder how high gasoline prices would be once there's ample off-shore drilling platforms; everytime there's a tsunami, off-shore earthquake or major hurricane, the producers will raise the prices for the consumers)
Kevin opted for a quick side tour of Naco. He had never been there. It’s a small town on either side of the border, with a border crossing and customs house.
Otherwise there isn’t much to see in Naco. The one main street has the Gay 90s Bar, a bordered-up Carnation plant, a grocers and a community center. Most of the people here are either RVers down for a day to get prescription drugs cheaper in Mexico, or Hispanis selling their goods in town.
Kevin helped a young woman change her flat tire. She was down from town to get cheap cigarettes in Naco. “A case of cigarettes is only $20 here!” she said, which is about 50% cheaper than in AZ. That gave Kevin an idea to stop here more often for cheaper smokes and beer.
“We have to get our passports!” I added, so that we could go down more often and see the real Mexico further inland.
Driving back north we took a by-pass road that got us straight into the Warren district of Bisbee, where the high school is. I saw a few nice homes but most were too pricy for me, or too dilapidated. But now I have Kevin interested in buying some rental property in town for investment purposes.
Our final trip was at the bar in Old Bisbee, St Elmo’s, a reputed gay bar that was off-limits to military personnel a few years ago.
I would never think of St Elmo’s as a Gay bar, not by the décor inside: anti-establishment bumper stickers on the wall (Hillary has Penis Envy;” “There’s a Village in Texas missing its Idiot” and other divisive sayings.) Friday Nights is Open Mic Night for local amateurs.
I thought it was a rather nice bar, as the draft selection was impressive: besides the usual shit national brands, it also had Nimbus Palo Verde Ale from Tucson, Electric Dave’s Lager brewed right here in Bisbee, and a few other good microbrews. The bartender Juliette even knew Kevin’s friend Tom in town.
“His daughter is best friends with my daughter!” she said.
Next to us sat an older man from Logansport, IN. Dressed in a white Panama hat, black plastic-rim glasses and a cowboy shirt, he looked like a true local. But he wasn’t. He came to AZ years ago as a tourist and who fell in love with the town that he bought a house the next day uphill on Brewery Gulch. He had made his riches in New York’s Greenwich Village selling luxury tours. He now lives in town full-time.
“The climate here is ideal. The hippies saved this town when the mines closed. I have great respect for the hippies!” said Stan as he sipped his white wine. “There isn’t much else here to make a living unless you are a teacher or a firefighter—to which I nudged Kevin’s arm—but I have made enough money buying houses I figured I could settle down.”
“How does your wife like Bisbee?” I asked.
Later on the drive back home Kevin commented that Stan was “Gayer than a three-dollar bill. Did you see how he reacted to your question about his wife?”
“Yeah, and living in Greenwich Village is perhaps another clue” I added, although I didn’t notice anything about Stan that would give away his orientation. “I was wrong in assuming he had a wife.” Next time I’ll use the word “Partner” when asking someone about their other half.
Kevin opted for a quick side tour of Naco. He had never been there. It’s a small town on either side of the border, with a border crossing and customs house.
Otherwise there isn’t much to see in Naco. The one main street has the Gay 90s Bar, a bordered-up Carnation plant, a grocers and a community center. Most of the people here are either RVers down for a day to get prescription drugs cheaper in Mexico, or Hispanis selling their goods in town.
Kevin helped a young woman change her flat tire. She was down from town to get cheap cigarettes in Naco. “A case of cigarettes is only $20 here!” she said, which is about 50% cheaper than in AZ. That gave Kevin an idea to stop here more often for cheaper smokes and beer.
“We have to get our passports!” I added, so that we could go down more often and see the real Mexico further inland.
Driving back north we took a by-pass road that got us straight into the Warren district of Bisbee, where the high school is. I saw a few nice homes but most were too pricy for me, or too dilapidated. But now I have Kevin interested in buying some rental property in town for investment purposes.
Our final trip was at the bar in Old Bisbee, St Elmo’s, a reputed gay bar that was off-limits to military personnel a few years ago.
I would never think of St Elmo’s as a Gay bar, not by the décor inside: anti-establishment bumper stickers on the wall (Hillary has Penis Envy;” “There’s a Village in Texas missing its Idiot” and other divisive sayings.) Friday Nights is Open Mic Night for local amateurs.
I thought it was a rather nice bar, as the draft selection was impressive: besides the usual shit national brands, it also had Nimbus Palo Verde Ale from Tucson, Electric Dave’s Lager brewed right here in Bisbee, and a few other good microbrews. The bartender Juliette even knew Kevin’s friend Tom in town.
“His daughter is best friends with my daughter!” she said.
Next to us sat an older man from Logansport, IN. Dressed in a white Panama hat, black plastic-rim glasses and a cowboy shirt, he looked like a true local. But he wasn’t. He came to AZ years ago as a tourist and who fell in love with the town that he bought a house the next day uphill on Brewery Gulch. He had made his riches in New York’s Greenwich Village selling luxury tours. He now lives in town full-time.
“The climate here is ideal. The hippies saved this town when the mines closed. I have great respect for the hippies!” said Stan as he sipped his white wine. “There isn’t much else here to make a living unless you are a teacher or a firefighter—to which I nudged Kevin’s arm—but I have made enough money buying houses I figured I could settle down.”
“How does your wife like Bisbee?” I asked.
Later on the drive back home Kevin commented that Stan was “Gayer than a three-dollar bill. Did you see how he reacted to your question about his wife?”
“Yeah, and living in Greenwich Village is perhaps another clue” I added, although I didn’t notice anything about Stan that would give away his orientation. “I was wrong in assuming he had a wife.” Next time I’ll use the word “Partner” when asking someone about their other half.
The Geronimo Trail in the Peloncillo Mountains
The Peloncillos are a small mountain range in the bootheel of New Mexico. This range is perhaps one of New Mexico's least traveled mountain range. There are no designated trails. The US Border Patrol is busy in this range as the mountains originate in Mexico.
The Geronimo Trail is Forest Road 63, a wide, well-graded road wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other safely. We accessed the road east of Douglas off 15th Street, just north of the municipal airport. A few miles further east, the road became a gravel road.
The historic Slaughter Ranch is on this road, straddling the US-Mexico border. We could see large cargo trucks speeding down Mexican Highway 2 from our standpoint.
Other than two Border Patrol vehicles, we saw no one once we entered the Forest Road and ascended into the arid hills of where Geronimo hid from the Union Army. I wanted to find a route that led us to the surrender site of the fabeled Indian Chief, but there were no route, no directionals anywhere in the Coronado Forest. The Arizona-New Mexico border was at the ridgeline of the highest peaks, and the surrender site was at least five miles across steep terrain to our north.
The only signs we saw were two separate signs indicating former rest camps of the US Mormon Battalion, moving west on its way to California in 1848 in search of gold.
I wanted to find a north-traveling path that could take me to Devil's Kitchen, small crags near the surrender site. There were no paths indicated on my gazetteers, nor where there any on the actual road. We saw several south-bound trails and paths but no north-bound ones near the state line.
We finally found one short trail going north for ¼ of a mile, stopping at “Geronimo’s Seep Fence” where the dogs enjoyed a frolic in the stocked waters and I saw great specimens of petrified wood aged into sedimentary layers.
There was also a lot of Onion Weed at the pond, a weed that the Forest Service wants to eradicate. Onion Weed is a prolific weed that has been chocking out more native grasses in Arizona.
Once we left the Seep Fence pond, we found one more jeep trail that took us to another arid outcropping of alkaline rocks and grasses. From here on east the trail descended into the Animas Valley, a rather sparse valley of a few open-graze ranches and rolling hills. We saw cattle and distant ranch houses, but not a soul.
We saw not another human until we stopped at the Rodeo Bar back in the community of Rodeo, where an elderly woman served us a few beers each but told us the kitchen was closed for a wedding reception. Ben and Blanca were getting married today and the wedding party didn’t arrive until after 4:30pm.
We settled for a quaint Mexican restaurant in Douglas on the border, “Los Alamos.” I ordered my menu in Spanish—un burrito de pollo desabrado, una margarita con limon—and Kevin had his carne asada. It was a delicious meal for under $26. We can’t even get that kind of meal in our town anymore.
Gasoline in Douglas was down to $3.39 although the news later on reported of a price hike of seven cents overnight thanks to Hurricane Ike that had ravaged Houston yesterday and tore two drilling platforms from its hold in the Gulf of Mexico. Eight people are confirmed dead, three million have no electricity, 2000 homes have been destroyed and the city of Galveston has been so ravaged it’s been closed by the mayor both for the residents and for tourists.
Orange, TX was 40% flooded, Bridge City 80% flooded.
I got Kevin interested in learning Spanish since I told him yesterday I needed to learn Spanish better in order to work in Bisbee as a Spanish teacher. I picked up a few words this morning on a bilingual program on Fox for Kids, “Bruja Mala,” the Wicked Witch and the story of Haensel and Gretel. Except in the Mexican version the gingerbread house is a house made of tortilla crispas y queso.
In a few mnutes he had forgotten how to saw Witch.
“Bolo…?”
“No, Bruja, BROOHA! Roll the /r/!”
“I’m from Massachusetts, we don’t say the /r/!”
The Geronimo Trail is Forest Road 63, a wide, well-graded road wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other safely. We accessed the road east of Douglas off 15th Street, just north of the municipal airport. A few miles further east, the road became a gravel road.
The historic Slaughter Ranch is on this road, straddling the US-Mexico border. We could see large cargo trucks speeding down Mexican Highway 2 from our standpoint.
Other than two Border Patrol vehicles, we saw no one once we entered the Forest Road and ascended into the arid hills of where Geronimo hid from the Union Army. I wanted to find a route that led us to the surrender site of the fabeled Indian Chief, but there were no route, no directionals anywhere in the Coronado Forest. The Arizona-New Mexico border was at the ridgeline of the highest peaks, and the surrender site was at least five miles across steep terrain to our north.
The only signs we saw were two separate signs indicating former rest camps of the US Mormon Battalion, moving west on its way to California in 1848 in search of gold.
I wanted to find a north-traveling path that could take me to Devil's Kitchen, small crags near the surrender site. There were no paths indicated on my gazetteers, nor where there any on the actual road. We saw several south-bound trails and paths but no north-bound ones near the state line.
We finally found one short trail going north for ¼ of a mile, stopping at “Geronimo’s Seep Fence” where the dogs enjoyed a frolic in the stocked waters and I saw great specimens of petrified wood aged into sedimentary layers.
There was also a lot of Onion Weed at the pond, a weed that the Forest Service wants to eradicate. Onion Weed is a prolific weed that has been chocking out more native grasses in Arizona.
Once we left the Seep Fence pond, we found one more jeep trail that took us to another arid outcropping of alkaline rocks and grasses. From here on east the trail descended into the Animas Valley, a rather sparse valley of a few open-graze ranches and rolling hills. We saw cattle and distant ranch houses, but not a soul.
We saw not another human until we stopped at the Rodeo Bar back in the community of Rodeo, where an elderly woman served us a few beers each but told us the kitchen was closed for a wedding reception. Ben and Blanca were getting married today and the wedding party didn’t arrive until after 4:30pm.
We settled for a quaint Mexican restaurant in Douglas on the border, “Los Alamos.” I ordered my menu in Spanish—un burrito de pollo desabrado, una margarita con limon—and Kevin had his carne asada. It was a delicious meal for under $26. We can’t even get that kind of meal in our town anymore.
Gasoline in Douglas was down to $3.39 although the news later on reported of a price hike of seven cents overnight thanks to Hurricane Ike that had ravaged Houston yesterday and tore two drilling platforms from its hold in the Gulf of Mexico. Eight people are confirmed dead, three million have no electricity, 2000 homes have been destroyed and the city of Galveston has been so ravaged it’s been closed by the mayor both for the residents and for tourists.
Orange, TX was 40% flooded, Bridge City 80% flooded.
I got Kevin interested in learning Spanish since I told him yesterday I needed to learn Spanish better in order to work in Bisbee as a Spanish teacher. I picked up a few words this morning on a bilingual program on Fox for Kids, “Bruja Mala,” the Wicked Witch and the story of Haensel and Gretel. Except in the Mexican version the gingerbread house is a house made of tortilla crispas y queso.
In a few mnutes he had forgotten how to saw Witch.
“Bolo…?”
“No, Bruja, BROOHA! Roll the /r/!”
“I’m from Massachusetts, we don’t say the /r/!”
Friday, September 12, 2008
Bisbee, Arizona
I really like this town, nestled in a small mountain range at 5300'. Its history began in the 19th century as a copper mining town, and the Copper Queen Mine is still open for tourists. A huge open-pit mine still welcomes people from the west side of town.
It's now known as an artsy town, full of radically-progressive residents quite happily living in old termite-infested small homes on the sides of hills. Their yards are small because the lots are small. The old town is practically a small town of 100-year-old buildings built by the mining industry.
The attitude here is so refreshing from the rest of Arizona. The I-don't-give-a-damn attitude is quite prevalent here.
But there is more to Bisbee than just the radical image. It's a few miles from the Mexican border. It's a little bit cooler here than in our town because of the higher elevation. Organic gardens are big here. Colorful gardens are also popular. The town even recycles all paper products.
Women don't color their hair and wear it in long braids in the back of their heads. Men don't shave their faces and don't cut their hair, either and wear clothes that smell of three-day-old body odor. Aging hippies of the progressive era, or disgruntled anti-establishmentarian protesters at best, Bisbeeans are a unique breed.
So, it was a big surprise when I went to the Bisbee School District today to check on my application. It was lunch time and the administrators were eating their meals at a round table in a back office.
"Oh, I read your resume!" said one lady.
"You've done a lot!" said another.
Ah shucks, gollygee, I thought...
"If you were certified to teach Spanish the superintendent would have hired you right away because the one Spanish teacher we have is a long-term sub!" said the primary Human Resource lady, who then took her time with me to fill out the tax forms for employment.
Which means my stay-at-home Mother-of-three-dogs days are over.
"I call the subs at 5:45am" said the lady.
I'll be up at Oh-dark-thirty, showered and ready to go!
"Just don't call me to teach math, I suck at it!" I replied, practically skipping out the door, relieved that finally someone's complimented me on my talents. I've always had a talent for foreign languages and now I've been FINALLY encouraged to hone in on that talent.
http://www.discoverbisbee.com/
http://bisbeearizona.com/content/
It's now known as an artsy town, full of radically-progressive residents quite happily living in old termite-infested small homes on the sides of hills. Their yards are small because the lots are small. The old town is practically a small town of 100-year-old buildings built by the mining industry.
The attitude here is so refreshing from the rest of Arizona. The I-don't-give-a-damn attitude is quite prevalent here.
But there is more to Bisbee than just the radical image. It's a few miles from the Mexican border. It's a little bit cooler here than in our town because of the higher elevation. Organic gardens are big here. Colorful gardens are also popular. The town even recycles all paper products.
Women don't color their hair and wear it in long braids in the back of their heads. Men don't shave their faces and don't cut their hair, either and wear clothes that smell of three-day-old body odor. Aging hippies of the progressive era, or disgruntled anti-establishmentarian protesters at best, Bisbeeans are a unique breed.
So, it was a big surprise when I went to the Bisbee School District today to check on my application. It was lunch time and the administrators were eating their meals at a round table in a back office.
"Oh, I read your resume!" said one lady.
"You've done a lot!" said another.
Ah shucks, gollygee, I thought...
"If you were certified to teach Spanish the superintendent would have hired you right away because the one Spanish teacher we have is a long-term sub!" said the primary Human Resource lady, who then took her time with me to fill out the tax forms for employment.
Which means my stay-at-home Mother-of-three-dogs days are over.
"I call the subs at 5:45am" said the lady.
I'll be up at Oh-dark-thirty, showered and ready to go!
"Just don't call me to teach math, I suck at it!" I replied, practically skipping out the door, relieved that finally someone's complimented me on my talents. I've always had a talent for foreign languages and now I've been FINALLY encouraged to hone in on that talent.
http://www.discoverbisbee.com/
http://bisbeearizona.com/content/
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Hurricane Ike due in South Texas
This is the second hurricane forecasted to pound South Texas this season. (Dolly was the first, but she quickly became a tropical storm once she made landfall.)
Hurricane Ike takes aim at South Texas
By CHRISTOPHER SHERMAN, Associated Press Writer 50 minutes ago
With Hurricane Ike steaming into the Gulf of Mexico, Texas emergency officials Tuesday stood ready to order 1 million people evacuated from the impoverished Rio Grande Valley and tried to convince tens of thousands of illegal immigrants that they have less to fear from the Border Patrol than from the storm.
Emergency planning officials were meeting all day to decide if and when to announce a mandatory evacuation for coastal counties close to the Mexican border.
With forecasts showing Ike blowing ashore this weekend, authorities lined up nearly 1,000 buses in case they are needed to move out the many poor and elderly people who have no cars.
Federal authorities gave assurances they would not check people's immigration status at evacuation loading zones or inland checkpoints. But residents were skeptical, and there were worries that many illegal immigrants would refuse to board buses and go to shelters for fear of getting arrested and deported.
"People are nervous," said the Rev. Michael Seifert, a Roman Catholic priest and immigrant advocate. "The message that was given to me was that it's going to be a real problem."
One reason for the skepticism: Back in May, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff said the Border Patrol would do nothing to impede an evacuation in the event of a hurricane. But when Hurricane Dolly struck the Rio Grande Valley in late July, no mandatory evacuation was ordered, and as a result the Border Patrol kept its checkpoints open. Agents soon caught a van load of illegal immigrants.
It would be the first mandatory large-scale evacuation in South Texas history. State and county officials let people decide for themselves whether to leave a hurricane area until just before Hurricane Rita struck the Gulf Coast in 2005. Now county officials can order people out of harm's way.
Hidalgo County Judge J.D. Salinas said if an evacuation is ordered this time, county officials will visit immigrant neighborhoods and forcefully urge people to clear out.
After Hurricanes Katrina and Gustav, "there were a lot of immigrants who said, `I'm not going to go,'" said Salinas, the county's top elected official. "It's going to be hard."
In Washington, Rear Adm. W. Craig Vanderwagen, assistant U.S. health secretary for preparedness and response, told reporters: "In storm events, if people are trapped it doesn't particularly matter to those of us in the humanitarian assistance world which side of that border they come from. We will do what we need to do to evacuate the people who need to be evacuated."
At 5 p.m. EDT, Ike was about 90 miles southwest of Havana, Cuba, moving northwest at 10 mph with sustained winds near 75 mph. It was expected to cross the Gulf of Mexico, strengthening to a Category 3 with winds of up to 130 mph.
Forecasters said that it could hit on Saturday morning just about anywhere along the Texas coast, with the most likely spot close to the Corpus Christi area.
Areas from Matagorda Bay to Corpus Christi and south to Brownsville — about 250 miles of coastline — were told to prepare for possible mandatory evacuation.
On Tuesday, Ike roared across Cuba, ravaging homes, killing at least four people and forcing 1.2 million to evacuate.
The Rio Grande Valley is still soggy from Dolly, which flooded the region, damaging hundreds of homes but killing no one. Many homes still have blue tarps on their roofs.
The Rio Grande Valley's residents are among those least equipped to handle hurricane flooding. It is one of the poorest parts of the country, with one-third of all families living below the poverty line, compared with 10 percent nationally.
Colonias, or ramshackle communities often lacking sewer systems and paved streets, dot the Valley. Even an ordinary rainstorm can fill yards with disease-ridden sewage from flooded septic tanks. Many of the poor lack health insurance.
Mexican officials said more than a dozen dams in the northern state of Chihuahua were at capacity or spilling over, heightening fears of flooding on the American side of the border.
Gov. Rick Perry declared 88 coastal counties disaster areas Monday to start the flow of state aid, and began preparing for an evacuation, lining up "buses rather than body bags."
The Dallas-Fort Worth area sheltered about 3,000 Hurricane Gustav evacuees last week and is prepared for up to about 20,000 people this time, said Steve Griggs, a county official. The downtown convention center would again serve as the main shelter.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/ike_texas
Governor declares disaster declaration
September 9, 2008 - 7:25AM
By MELINDA DESLATTE, The Associated Press
Hurricane Ike moved into the warm waters of the Gulf and took aim at the U.S. and Mexican coasts Tuesday after bringing down aging buildings in Havana and tearing through western Cuba's tobacco country.
Forecasters said Ike, which has already killed at least 80 people in the Caribbean, could strengthen into a massive Category 3 storm before slamming into Texas or Mexico this weekend.
Texas Gov. Rick Perry spurred storm preparations with the declarations in 88 counties, and the National Hurricane Center warned the storm could make landfall this weekend in Texas - possibly not far from Corpus Christi. Perry also put 7,500 National Guard members on standby.
Out in the Gulf, Ike was expected to strengthen before hitting the coast in Texas or northern Mexico this weekend.
"When it's out of Cuba it has the potential to become a lot stronger," said Felix Garcia, a meteorologist at the National Hurricane Center in Miami.
However, oil prices closed below $104 a barrel for the first time since early April, in part because traders were betting Ike would miss critical Gulf Coast oil installations.
Mexican officials warned that unrelated heavy rains in the northern part of the country had caused more than a dozen dams to reach capacity or spill over. If Ike brings more rain to the area, evacuations could be needed.
At 5 p.m. EDT, Ike was just off the coast of western Cuba, 90 miles west-southwest of Havana. It was moving west-northwest at 10 mph and its maximum sustained winds were 75 mph.
"While Hurricane Gustav is still fresh on the minds of coastal residents, we must now turn our attention to Hurricane Ike as it poses a potential threat to the Texas coast," said Perry, who also requested a presidential disaster declaration for the counties.
In Louisiana, where thousands remain without power after Hurricane Gustav hit last week, Gov. Bobby Jindal urged residents to start stockpiling food, water, batteries and other supplies. The state also was readying shelters and making plans for trains, buses and planes in case a coastal evacuation is called later in the week.
The Federal Emergency Management agency was uncertain about the timing of evacuations along the coast. It would be at least 24 to 48 hours until officials have a clearer picture of Ike's intended path - and officials need to evacuate communities 48 hours before a storm's winds kick up.
Jindal said he doesn't anticipate the sort of mass evacuations forced by Gustav, which emptied out most of south Louisiana, including the New Orleans area. But even without a direct strike, the state's low-lying parishes could face strong tidal surges, tropical storm winds and heavy rains from the storm.
Florida Keys residents, meanwhile, breathed a sigh of relief that Ike had turned West. A hurricane watch for the island chain was discontinued Monday. Ike is still supposed to deliver heavy rain and wind to the islands and authorities suggested residents who had left stay away until Wednesday.
Many storm-hardened locals just rode out the hype the way they usually do - drinking. Key West residents are a hardy bunch, generations of whom have lived through storms.
Businesses were not as cavalier. It was the second time in a month vacationers left en masse. Tourists also cleared out of the Keys last month ahead of Tropical Storm Fay, and their departure means a hit to the bottom line. Officials estimate tourists spend about $175 a day in the Keys. With some 20,000 having fled for Ike, that's about $3.5 million for each day they're gone.
Ike roared ashore in eastern Cuba Sunday night as a Category 3 hurricane, blowing homes to rubble and sending waves crashing over apartment buildings. By Monday afternoon when the storm weakened along the country's southern coast, 1.2 million Cubans had evacuated and at least four were dead.
At 2 p.m. EDT (1800 GMT), Ike was centered 65 miles (105 kilometers) west-southwest of Havana, and was moving to the west-northwest at 12 mph (19 kph). It had maximum sustained winds near 75 mph (120 kph). Forecasters said the hurricane was likely to strengthen when it moved into the Gulf of Mexico on Wednesday before hitting Texas or northern Mexico this weekend.
The storm first slammed into the Turks and Caicos and the southernmost Bahamas islands as a Category 4 hurricane that peeled off roofs and knocked down buildings. It also pelted Haiti, killing at least 74.
http://www.brownsvilleherald.com/news/hurricane_89837___article.html/texas_storm.html
Hurricane Ike takes aim at South Texas
By CHRISTOPHER SHERMAN, Associated Press Writer 50 minutes ago
With Hurricane Ike steaming into the Gulf of Mexico, Texas emergency officials Tuesday stood ready to order 1 million people evacuated from the impoverished Rio Grande Valley and tried to convince tens of thousands of illegal immigrants that they have less to fear from the Border Patrol than from the storm.
Emergency planning officials were meeting all day to decide if and when to announce a mandatory evacuation for coastal counties close to the Mexican border.
With forecasts showing Ike blowing ashore this weekend, authorities lined up nearly 1,000 buses in case they are needed to move out the many poor and elderly people who have no cars.
Federal authorities gave assurances they would not check people's immigration status at evacuation loading zones or inland checkpoints. But residents were skeptical, and there were worries that many illegal immigrants would refuse to board buses and go to shelters for fear of getting arrested and deported.
"People are nervous," said the Rev. Michael Seifert, a Roman Catholic priest and immigrant advocate. "The message that was given to me was that it's going to be a real problem."
One reason for the skepticism: Back in May, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff said the Border Patrol would do nothing to impede an evacuation in the event of a hurricane. But when Hurricane Dolly struck the Rio Grande Valley in late July, no mandatory evacuation was ordered, and as a result the Border Patrol kept its checkpoints open. Agents soon caught a van load of illegal immigrants.
It would be the first mandatory large-scale evacuation in South Texas history. State and county officials let people decide for themselves whether to leave a hurricane area until just before Hurricane Rita struck the Gulf Coast in 2005. Now county officials can order people out of harm's way.
Hidalgo County Judge J.D. Salinas said if an evacuation is ordered this time, county officials will visit immigrant neighborhoods and forcefully urge people to clear out.
After Hurricanes Katrina and Gustav, "there were a lot of immigrants who said, `I'm not going to go,'" said Salinas, the county's top elected official. "It's going to be hard."
In Washington, Rear Adm. W. Craig Vanderwagen, assistant U.S. health secretary for preparedness and response, told reporters: "In storm events, if people are trapped it doesn't particularly matter to those of us in the humanitarian assistance world which side of that border they come from. We will do what we need to do to evacuate the people who need to be evacuated."
At 5 p.m. EDT, Ike was about 90 miles southwest of Havana, Cuba, moving northwest at 10 mph with sustained winds near 75 mph. It was expected to cross the Gulf of Mexico, strengthening to a Category 3 with winds of up to 130 mph.
Forecasters said that it could hit on Saturday morning just about anywhere along the Texas coast, with the most likely spot close to the Corpus Christi area.
Areas from Matagorda Bay to Corpus Christi and south to Brownsville — about 250 miles of coastline — were told to prepare for possible mandatory evacuation.
On Tuesday, Ike roared across Cuba, ravaging homes, killing at least four people and forcing 1.2 million to evacuate.
The Rio Grande Valley is still soggy from Dolly, which flooded the region, damaging hundreds of homes but killing no one. Many homes still have blue tarps on their roofs.
The Rio Grande Valley's residents are among those least equipped to handle hurricane flooding. It is one of the poorest parts of the country, with one-third of all families living below the poverty line, compared with 10 percent nationally.
Colonias, or ramshackle communities often lacking sewer systems and paved streets, dot the Valley. Even an ordinary rainstorm can fill yards with disease-ridden sewage from flooded septic tanks. Many of the poor lack health insurance.
Mexican officials said more than a dozen dams in the northern state of Chihuahua were at capacity or spilling over, heightening fears of flooding on the American side of the border.
Gov. Rick Perry declared 88 coastal counties disaster areas Monday to start the flow of state aid, and began preparing for an evacuation, lining up "buses rather than body bags."
The Dallas-Fort Worth area sheltered about 3,000 Hurricane Gustav evacuees last week and is prepared for up to about 20,000 people this time, said Steve Griggs, a county official. The downtown convention center would again serve as the main shelter.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/ike_texas
Governor declares disaster declaration
September 9, 2008 - 7:25AM
By MELINDA DESLATTE, The Associated Press
Hurricane Ike moved into the warm waters of the Gulf and took aim at the U.S. and Mexican coasts Tuesday after bringing down aging buildings in Havana and tearing through western Cuba's tobacco country.
Forecasters said Ike, which has already killed at least 80 people in the Caribbean, could strengthen into a massive Category 3 storm before slamming into Texas or Mexico this weekend.
Texas Gov. Rick Perry spurred storm preparations with the declarations in 88 counties, and the National Hurricane Center warned the storm could make landfall this weekend in Texas - possibly not far from Corpus Christi. Perry also put 7,500 National Guard members on standby.
Out in the Gulf, Ike was expected to strengthen before hitting the coast in Texas or northern Mexico this weekend.
"When it's out of Cuba it has the potential to become a lot stronger," said Felix Garcia, a meteorologist at the National Hurricane Center in Miami.
However, oil prices closed below $104 a barrel for the first time since early April, in part because traders were betting Ike would miss critical Gulf Coast oil installations.
Mexican officials warned that unrelated heavy rains in the northern part of the country had caused more than a dozen dams to reach capacity or spill over. If Ike brings more rain to the area, evacuations could be needed.
At 5 p.m. EDT, Ike was just off the coast of western Cuba, 90 miles west-southwest of Havana. It was moving west-northwest at 10 mph and its maximum sustained winds were 75 mph.
"While Hurricane Gustav is still fresh on the minds of coastal residents, we must now turn our attention to Hurricane Ike as it poses a potential threat to the Texas coast," said Perry, who also requested a presidential disaster declaration for the counties.
In Louisiana, where thousands remain without power after Hurricane Gustav hit last week, Gov. Bobby Jindal urged residents to start stockpiling food, water, batteries and other supplies. The state also was readying shelters and making plans for trains, buses and planes in case a coastal evacuation is called later in the week.
The Federal Emergency Management agency was uncertain about the timing of evacuations along the coast. It would be at least 24 to 48 hours until officials have a clearer picture of Ike's intended path - and officials need to evacuate communities 48 hours before a storm's winds kick up.
Jindal said he doesn't anticipate the sort of mass evacuations forced by Gustav, which emptied out most of south Louisiana, including the New Orleans area. But even without a direct strike, the state's low-lying parishes could face strong tidal surges, tropical storm winds and heavy rains from the storm.
Florida Keys residents, meanwhile, breathed a sigh of relief that Ike had turned West. A hurricane watch for the island chain was discontinued Monday. Ike is still supposed to deliver heavy rain and wind to the islands and authorities suggested residents who had left stay away until Wednesday.
Many storm-hardened locals just rode out the hype the way they usually do - drinking. Key West residents are a hardy bunch, generations of whom have lived through storms.
Businesses were not as cavalier. It was the second time in a month vacationers left en masse. Tourists also cleared out of the Keys last month ahead of Tropical Storm Fay, and their departure means a hit to the bottom line. Officials estimate tourists spend about $175 a day in the Keys. With some 20,000 having fled for Ike, that's about $3.5 million for each day they're gone.
Ike roared ashore in eastern Cuba Sunday night as a Category 3 hurricane, blowing homes to rubble and sending waves crashing over apartment buildings. By Monday afternoon when the storm weakened along the country's southern coast, 1.2 million Cubans had evacuated and at least four were dead.
At 2 p.m. EDT (1800 GMT), Ike was centered 65 miles (105 kilometers) west-southwest of Havana, and was moving to the west-northwest at 12 mph (19 kph). It had maximum sustained winds near 75 mph (120 kph). Forecasters said the hurricane was likely to strengthen when it moved into the Gulf of Mexico on Wednesday before hitting Texas or northern Mexico this weekend.
The storm first slammed into the Turks and Caicos and the southernmost Bahamas islands as a Category 4 hurricane that peeled off roofs and knocked down buildings. It also pelted Haiti, killing at least 74.
http://www.brownsvilleherald.com/news/hurricane_89837___article.html/texas_storm.html
An early afternoon in Tombstone
This was my one day off for Jason and I to get together, but we knew that we wouldn't be without Mom behind the helm. He's been staying at her house without a rental car, and Mom won't let anyone touch her five vehicles unless she is the driver. That's no problem, but I also knew that she wouldn't want to visit Bisbee as well, a mining town south of Tombstone more to my liking and less of a tourist town.
We met at 11am on Tombstone's main street, which was rather dead without the usual overweight tourists from other parts of the country looking for the Old West. For the first time that I can remember, I walked the main street without cone-licking tourists blockading my view. Tourist season died after Labor Day, explained one local shop owner to me, and won't kick in again until mid October, during the weeklong "Helldorado Days" with more reenacted shoot-outs and other old western stuff. Then the season will go dormant until next spring.
But for me as a local, Tombstone doesn't offer anything new. I've seen all the things. This town makes its business as a touristy, overpriced old western town. "The Town Too Tough To Die" as it is known. Anyone wearing black leather spurs or vests and walking Main Street was anxious to get some tourist bucks for the day.
An elderly gentleman dressed in the town's typical 1880s regalia came up to us three times trying to sell us ticket for a three-mile, fifteen-minute carriage ride around all the town's historical sites.
We perused the main street for an hour, visited shops until noon when the Big Nose Kate Saoon's live entertainment began. That bar is my mother's favorite. It's an old saloon where allegedly Doc Holiday spent his last night with a prostitute before getting gunned down the next day across the street at the OK Coral.
Lunch was pleasant but the crowd was getting large and conversation difficult to sustain without yelling at one another. After lunch of quesadillas and iced tea I went downstairs to the Shaft and actually bought some trimmed jeans for 50% off.
Marcela got into the touristy stuff and had her picture taken with some of the 1880s men walking around just waiting to pose for a few dollars.
Mom was in a hurry to get back to her place --she refuses to drive after dark-- and at first seemed upset that Jason and I had "planned" a trip without her. That wasn't the case. Bisbee was just a suggestion but we knew with Mom around, who doesn't like driving after dark, was out of the question. Bisbee is a walking town and I would have taken the two (three) on the four-mile stair climb around town. That is one thing she no longer can do: walk for any period of time. She'd rather kayak for two hours than walk for two hours. No big deal to me.
We did as she wanted. After a quick tour of the Bird Cage Museum, the only decent authentic building in town. (Even Boothill Cemetery is not in its original spot). There are over 144 bullet holes in the building and the cashier gladly points the main ones out to you in hopes of getting interested in the $10 musuem self-tour.
We drove to Boothill Cemetery afterwards, admired Sheepshead Rock from a distance, toured the stone graves and said our good-byes. I drove back into town to drop off a bag of cans at the animal shelter and stop by the town library.
My vacation is now officially over. I want and need to get back to the office and involve myself in more mental challenges. The garden no longer needs my attention. Tomorrow I will drop off my teaching certificate at three different school districts in the morning. I am now free to make extra money and save it all for a trip back to Indiana for Christmas to see my kids and adore my mother-to-be daughter. Her baby is due 12 May and I only found that out yesterday when she called me while I was in the college library waiting for my class to start.
I have so much to do at home, too. I still haven't unpacked all those boxes in the garage nor gotten my office set up. That's my next plan now that the gardening season is winding down with the monsoon. Our next rain is residual rains from Tropical Storm Lowell due to hit Baja California tonight.
http://www.americanwest.com/pages/tombston.htm
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/5987712.html
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/5992505.html
We met at 11am on Tombstone's main street, which was rather dead without the usual overweight tourists from other parts of the country looking for the Old West. For the first time that I can remember, I walked the main street without cone-licking tourists blockading my view. Tourist season died after Labor Day, explained one local shop owner to me, and won't kick in again until mid October, during the weeklong "Helldorado Days" with more reenacted shoot-outs and other old western stuff. Then the season will go dormant until next spring.
But for me as a local, Tombstone doesn't offer anything new. I've seen all the things. This town makes its business as a touristy, overpriced old western town. "The Town Too Tough To Die" as it is known. Anyone wearing black leather spurs or vests and walking Main Street was anxious to get some tourist bucks for the day.
An elderly gentleman dressed in the town's typical 1880s regalia came up to us three times trying to sell us ticket for a three-mile, fifteen-minute carriage ride around all the town's historical sites.
We perused the main street for an hour, visited shops until noon when the Big Nose Kate Saoon's live entertainment began. That bar is my mother's favorite. It's an old saloon where allegedly Doc Holiday spent his last night with a prostitute before getting gunned down the next day across the street at the OK Coral.
Lunch was pleasant but the crowd was getting large and conversation difficult to sustain without yelling at one another. After lunch of quesadillas and iced tea I went downstairs to the Shaft and actually bought some trimmed jeans for 50% off.
Marcela got into the touristy stuff and had her picture taken with some of the 1880s men walking around just waiting to pose for a few dollars.
Mom was in a hurry to get back to her place --she refuses to drive after dark-- and at first seemed upset that Jason and I had "planned" a trip without her. That wasn't the case. Bisbee was just a suggestion but we knew with Mom around, who doesn't like driving after dark, was out of the question. Bisbee is a walking town and I would have taken the two (three) on the four-mile stair climb around town. That is one thing she no longer can do: walk for any period of time. She'd rather kayak for two hours than walk for two hours. No big deal to me.
We did as she wanted. After a quick tour of the Bird Cage Museum, the only decent authentic building in town. (Even Boothill Cemetery is not in its original spot). There are over 144 bullet holes in the building and the cashier gladly points the main ones out to you in hopes of getting interested in the $10 musuem self-tour.
We drove to Boothill Cemetery afterwards, admired Sheepshead Rock from a distance, toured the stone graves and said our good-byes. I drove back into town to drop off a bag of cans at the animal shelter and stop by the town library.
My vacation is now officially over. I want and need to get back to the office and involve myself in more mental challenges. The garden no longer needs my attention. Tomorrow I will drop off my teaching certificate at three different school districts in the morning. I am now free to make extra money and save it all for a trip back to Indiana for Christmas to see my kids and adore my mother-to-be daughter. Her baby is due 12 May and I only found that out yesterday when she called me while I was in the college library waiting for my class to start.
I have so much to do at home, too. I still haven't unpacked all those boxes in the garage nor gotten my office set up. That's my next plan now that the gardening season is winding down with the monsoon. Our next rain is residual rains from Tropical Storm Lowell due to hit Baja California tonight.
http://www.americanwest.com/pages/tombston.htm
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/front/5987712.html
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/5992505.html
Monday, September 8, 2008
The drive back home
Reveille was at 3am although I didn’t get up for 20 minutes to shower, load the van, grab a muffin and drink coffee with Iris before we took off at 4:20am in darkness. There were no critters dashing across the highway as expected, save for a lone coyote.
The sun rose an hour later, at 5:20am. We stopped to pee at a lone gas station. By 6:15am we were in Flagstaff eating at The Place on Route 66. Much to my disappointment, Mike and Ronda, whose names decorate the menu cover, no longer own The Place. Food was still good and affordable, though. Iris had the Arizona Omlette and Kevin and I both ordered two eggs with biscuits and gravy and hash browns. We had plenty of time from here on. We had time to enjoy our meal.
It was 7:15am when we continued our trip to Phoenix Sky Harbor, and I knew we had plenty of time. There were no traffic jams hindering our drive. We gassed up for $3.46 a gallon.
“Are there any blacks here?” asked Iris as we left Flagstaff. We hadn’t seen any all during our trip.
That question took me by surprise. “Sure we do, in Phoenix,” I answered, aware finally that not too many live in Navajo Country. Tucson and Sierra Vista are also more diverse. She also added that the nights here are cold, not warm like they are back East.
“That’s because we have clear skies and aridity,” I answered. Had she ever been in the Southwest desert before?
Iris gave me the feeling she was uncomfortable the entire time in Arizona. It wasn't just the forced closeness with the family that seemed to put her at unease, but her discomfort in and around desolate desert places. She has truly become a big city, big spending type of woman. Being with her this week has contrasted our personalities even more so. People say we look like sisters but we hardly act like what sisters are supposed to act.
Kevin sat in the back as Iris and I chatted up front, talking about her painful past with her previous boyfriend. I finally told her it was her ex-boyfriend that kept me away from her for many years, as I never trusted that man. He had always given me a leary look, as if he dispised me. He was quick to criticize me for my flaws while hiding his own. He ended up serving a year in prison for bank fraud, and she learned after that fact that he had had a criminal record before they had met. I had missed these conversations. I told her about my woes.
Our drive started at 4200’ in Page, rose to 5000’ at Gap, rose further to 6000’ and finally 7247’ on the north side of Flagstaff and the high plateau below the San Francisco Peaks. Once we got back into the van we slowly lost elevation again as we passed Sedona, Black Canyon City (where we stopped again for a bathroom break), and finally the airport where we dropped her off an hour ahead of schedule at 10am.
A part of me didn't want to see her go, but she seemed relieved to get out of the van and start her own voyage back to Baltimore.
The rest of the drive was quiet as we were both hot from the 95F heat. Traffic was light through the Phoenix Metro. I gassed up for $3.46 again in Case Grande. We stopped for lunch in Benson before the final stretch home. We were both exhausted now, and fears of a trashed house and pieces of cat around the house and yard frightened me.
When we drove up to our driveway at 1:23pm the yard was quiet. None of the dogs welcomed us at the back gate and I feared they were either dead or gone. They normally jump up with delight to see us. Instead Kevin sneaked up on the dogs via the back porch; all three were staring out the front window instead, but then stormed outside to see us.
I went to the yard to water the parched vegetable patches. The corn that had been harvested was now dry. The squash looked like the downy mildew had killed off the growth. (The squash won’t grow any more.) A few of the cucumbers dried up but many more doubled in size. I ended up picking three buckets of Contender corn and was pleased to see new snow peas poking through the soil. I used half of the harvested water and watered a part of the yard for 45 minutes while I tended to the front yard. The garden did OK in our absence. The Galliardia is going to seed but nothing died, not even the acacia seeds.
Storm clouds briefly sprinkled some rain but the monsoon season is now coming to a close. It was a good season. The yard didn’t grow into one lush green yard of Bermuda grass as I had hoped, and it looks like some of the crab and quackgrass took over parts of the yard in the absence of daily weedings. I won’t do too much more to it this year.
The bush beans that were dying were now completely gone. But overall everything looked better than I thought it would. Even the house was tolerable. Two buckets of food were still untouched (!) but there was a lot of dog fur everywhere, and dog food kibble all over the place. I was too tired to clean up anything.
I took the dogs on a four-mile hike at 6pm, making it just shy of the green water tank on the frontage road. This was my longest walk in over a week. I need to burn off the excess fat I grew over the week. My jeans are feeling tight.
The sun rose an hour later, at 5:20am. We stopped to pee at a lone gas station. By 6:15am we were in Flagstaff eating at The Place on Route 66. Much to my disappointment, Mike and Ronda, whose names decorate the menu cover, no longer own The Place. Food was still good and affordable, though. Iris had the Arizona Omlette and Kevin and I both ordered two eggs with biscuits and gravy and hash browns. We had plenty of time from here on. We had time to enjoy our meal.
It was 7:15am when we continued our trip to Phoenix Sky Harbor, and I knew we had plenty of time. There were no traffic jams hindering our drive. We gassed up for $3.46 a gallon.
“Are there any blacks here?” asked Iris as we left Flagstaff. We hadn’t seen any all during our trip.
That question took me by surprise. “Sure we do, in Phoenix,” I answered, aware finally that not too many live in Navajo Country. Tucson and Sierra Vista are also more diverse. She also added that the nights here are cold, not warm like they are back East.
“That’s because we have clear skies and aridity,” I answered. Had she ever been in the Southwest desert before?
Iris gave me the feeling she was uncomfortable the entire time in Arizona. It wasn't just the forced closeness with the family that seemed to put her at unease, but her discomfort in and around desolate desert places. She has truly become a big city, big spending type of woman. Being with her this week has contrasted our personalities even more so. People say we look like sisters but we hardly act like what sisters are supposed to act.
Kevin sat in the back as Iris and I chatted up front, talking about her painful past with her previous boyfriend. I finally told her it was her ex-boyfriend that kept me away from her for many years, as I never trusted that man. He had always given me a leary look, as if he dispised me. He was quick to criticize me for my flaws while hiding his own. He ended up serving a year in prison for bank fraud, and she learned after that fact that he had had a criminal record before they had met. I had missed these conversations. I told her about my woes.
Our drive started at 4200’ in Page, rose to 5000’ at Gap, rose further to 6000’ and finally 7247’ on the north side of Flagstaff and the high plateau below the San Francisco Peaks. Once we got back into the van we slowly lost elevation again as we passed Sedona, Black Canyon City (where we stopped again for a bathroom break), and finally the airport where we dropped her off an hour ahead of schedule at 10am.
A part of me didn't want to see her go, but she seemed relieved to get out of the van and start her own voyage back to Baltimore.
The rest of the drive was quiet as we were both hot from the 95F heat. Traffic was light through the Phoenix Metro. I gassed up for $3.46 again in Case Grande. We stopped for lunch in Benson before the final stretch home. We were both exhausted now, and fears of a trashed house and pieces of cat around the house and yard frightened me.
When we drove up to our driveway at 1:23pm the yard was quiet. None of the dogs welcomed us at the back gate and I feared they were either dead or gone. They normally jump up with delight to see us. Instead Kevin sneaked up on the dogs via the back porch; all three were staring out the front window instead, but then stormed outside to see us.
I went to the yard to water the parched vegetable patches. The corn that had been harvested was now dry. The squash looked like the downy mildew had killed off the growth. (The squash won’t grow any more.) A few of the cucumbers dried up but many more doubled in size. I ended up picking three buckets of Contender corn and was pleased to see new snow peas poking through the soil. I used half of the harvested water and watered a part of the yard for 45 minutes while I tended to the front yard. The garden did OK in our absence. The Galliardia is going to seed but nothing died, not even the acacia seeds.
Storm clouds briefly sprinkled some rain but the monsoon season is now coming to a close. It was a good season. The yard didn’t grow into one lush green yard of Bermuda grass as I had hoped, and it looks like some of the crab and quackgrass took over parts of the yard in the absence of daily weedings. I won’t do too much more to it this year.
The bush beans that were dying were now completely gone. But overall everything looked better than I thought it would. Even the house was tolerable. Two buckets of food were still untouched (!) but there was a lot of dog fur everywhere, and dog food kibble all over the place. I was too tired to clean up anything.
I took the dogs on a four-mile hike at 6pm, making it just shy of the green water tank on the frontage road. This was my longest walk in over a week. I need to burn off the excess fat I grew over the week. My jeans are feeling tight.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Our last hurah: dinner at the Lake Powell Resort and Marina
Mom wanted to eat here and had made reservations for 5pm. Although we had a pretty view of the Wahweap Marina and Lake Powell, the high prices of the food scared me, especially since on the menu's bottom, in fine print, we learned that groups over six people automatically pay 20% gratuity AND a 6% "energy usage" tax and a separate 4.5% tax for a "environmental surplus" fee, making this an expensive meal even if everyone had just ordered salads and water.
Baring that in mind, I ordered a Ceasar's chicken salad for $8.50, which consisted of FOUR uncut Romaine lettuce leaves sprinkled with shredded Parmesan cheese and topped with HALF a cold chicken breast. I was not pleased.
Outside a small wedding party posed for photographs. It was a wedding with two Naval officers.
"Look honey, there's my fleet!" I mockingly injected, pointing to the houseboats docked in the marina.
Our waiter, a spunky "Firman" from Indonesia, was our server who constantly annoyed us with upsells: "Would you like some appetizers, more wine, how about dessert?" and Mom finally chased him away. He did a good job but the $345 bill for nine people, of which only $150 was for food, $70 for drinks, was just asinine. And then Jason paid the bill and wouldn't let me help out, another disappointment.
There were no Native Americans working in the restaurant or anywhere in the resort. But they had South Americans, Indonesians and Mexicans working there. Odd.
The only decent thing about this restaurant was the view. We saw the mountains change colors from bright yellow to orange and red as the hours dragged on.
The only consolation was that we were together for one last time, we thanked everyone for a good time, and conversation soon reverted to the inevitable return trip early in the morning. Our dinner ended up dragging out to 2.5 hours long (!).
I have noticably gained weight this week from lack of even basic exercise, but soon I'll be back on schedule and walking the dogs nightly on my powerwalks.
http://www.lakepowell.com/lodging-food/lake-powell-resort.cfm
Baring that in mind, I ordered a Ceasar's chicken salad for $8.50, which consisted of FOUR uncut Romaine lettuce leaves sprinkled with shredded Parmesan cheese and topped with HALF a cold chicken breast. I was not pleased.
Outside a small wedding party posed for photographs. It was a wedding with two Naval officers.
"Look honey, there's my fleet!" I mockingly injected, pointing to the houseboats docked in the marina.
Our waiter, a spunky "Firman" from Indonesia, was our server who constantly annoyed us with upsells: "Would you like some appetizers, more wine, how about dessert?" and Mom finally chased him away. He did a good job but the $345 bill for nine people, of which only $150 was for food, $70 for drinks, was just asinine. And then Jason paid the bill and wouldn't let me help out, another disappointment.
There were no Native Americans working in the restaurant or anywhere in the resort. But they had South Americans, Indonesians and Mexicans working there. Odd.
The only decent thing about this restaurant was the view. We saw the mountains change colors from bright yellow to orange and red as the hours dragged on.
The only consolation was that we were together for one last time, we thanked everyone for a good time, and conversation soon reverted to the inevitable return trip early in the morning. Our dinner ended up dragging out to 2.5 hours long (!).
I have noticably gained weight this week from lack of even basic exercise, but soon I'll be back on schedule and walking the dogs nightly on my powerwalks.
http://www.lakepowell.com/lodging-food/lake-powell-resort.cfm
Floating on the Colorado River
Our meet-up was at 6:15am in the lobby for our 7am departure to float down the Colorado with Colorado River Discovery guides. I had no idea what to expect but I feared more water-related boredom.
We boarded a luxury bus driven by a white-haired Pam from Oregon who kept talking about "dam" this and "dam" that as we drove down a two-mile acess tunnel to the drop-off point just across the Glen Canyon Dam.
The dam was pretty impressive from this vantage point, but still not nearly as big as Hoover Dam further south. We had to wear hard-hats while standing near the rock ledges, just in case there was a falling rock.
The group of 40 got on two rafts. I sat closest to the guide, with Kevin to my left and Iris, Bill and Mom behind me on the outer rafts. Matt and Alex were across from us on the outer side and Jason and Marcela were up front.
The rocks were 700' tall at this point.
Our party boarded the first raft that was led by PJ from California, a 60-something-year-old from Santa Barbara, CA who got his foresty degree from UC Berkeley. His passion for the outdoors was obvious.
After he let everyone introduce themselves (Mom introduced herself as from Germany and added "I am European") we learned that the three young men next to us were from Israel. We also had a Dutch couple and an Indian couple from New Jersey. The others were from the Phoenix area.
But Mom asked all the questions until PJ turned the tide by making everyone be quiet for two minutes to observe the sounds and sights of the river. We were still in the cool shadows of morning and I had to place a jacket over me. But the wildlife was out there: herons, cormorants and even a few perching ospreys, all wildlife I had hope to see on Lake Powell.
The Colorado River here is beautiful as the water slowly meanders around the red rocks. We floated more than we rafted the first three miles as PJ also talked about the geology of the rocks, pointing out fault lines and other protusions along the way. He was the best tour guide of natural history I've had and told him so. (Later on a man from Phoenix on the raft came up to me to agree with me. "I could have asked so many more questions but I didn't want to bore the others")
"There is so much wildlife out here in the mornings, that is why I only lead the morning tours" said PJ. The one bird we didn't see was the California condor, a bird close to extinction that was re-released to the wild nearby in the Vermillion Cliffs.
Soon we passed the Horseshoe Bend, where the rocks stood 1200' tall.
A park ranger next to me, Cynthia Adams, a short blonde woman sporting a long braid in the back got off the raft at our first break to talk about the pectroglyphs on the walls. They were from two eras, one Pueblan and the other more recent, showing big horn sheep and buffalo. A spiny lizard and then a larger gecko scurried along the rock wall as she spoke. When we continue our journey Cynthia stayed behind to talk to the other rafting groups stopping at the site.
It got warmer now as we entered our second hour, admiring the rock formations and looking for ledges that resembled other animals.
By 11am we had approached Lee's Ferry, a narrowing in the river which also was the geographical end of the Colorado Plateau and the start of the Kaibab Plateau. Here the river descended noticably and special permits to float further were required. Our group got out here and re-boarded the bus driven by Pam back to Page, passing Indian settlements, a few hokams and some teepees and the 1200' drop of the Paria River that reflected green below.
Although people started to doze off here, I was wide awake looking at the expansive scenery around me. This was arid country, and Pam repeated several times how the Indians lived in homes with no running water and have to drive into town to fetch it for themselves and their livestock. Was this because the ndians preferred it this way, or because the water company didn't want to bother connecting the communities to city water? I didn't ask Pam but figured she would have given me a vague answer about the fate of James D Lee, a Mormon settler and first ferry runner at his namesake town, Lee's Ferry.
"Was Lee murdered?" I asked her, not sure of the story anymore.
"He was persecuted" replied Pam.
It turns out that Lee, an avid Mormon convert, was one of the main attackers to the 120 immigrants who were killed by a Mormon group in central Utah's Mountain Meadows.
We got back to Page at 1pm and Kevin was hungry for beer and some food before we were to meet up with the gang for one farewell meal at the Lakeside Marina Resort Restaurant.
He wanted to try the Dam Bar and Grille, and I agreed if only to try its Dam Blonde beer.
Everyone but Iris joined us. She stayed in the van with the windows and doors open while she napped during our lunch. (I have done a van nap many a times, but never with the doors open in a strange town). We were parked in the shade.
The beer was OK and the conversation pleasant. All agreed that we enjoyed the rafting trip. It was hot outside, approaching 90F. JP walked passed us and waved our way. I would have invited him to join us if we weren't in a time crunch by then. I was tired and could have taken a nap instead, but once I was in the hotel room I had less than an hour before dinner and was more interested in checking my email and down-loading my pics to Jason's computer.
"You would make a great tour guide" said Marcela, referring to my love for the outdoors and my passion with languages and learning new things. It's a thought I've had for a while.
'
http://www.coriverdiscovery.com/
http://www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/people/i_r/lee.htm
We boarded a luxury bus driven by a white-haired Pam from Oregon who kept talking about "dam" this and "dam" that as we drove down a two-mile acess tunnel to the drop-off point just across the Glen Canyon Dam.
The dam was pretty impressive from this vantage point, but still not nearly as big as Hoover Dam further south. We had to wear hard-hats while standing near the rock ledges, just in case there was a falling rock.
The group of 40 got on two rafts. I sat closest to the guide, with Kevin to my left and Iris, Bill and Mom behind me on the outer rafts. Matt and Alex were across from us on the outer side and Jason and Marcela were up front.
The rocks were 700' tall at this point.
Our party boarded the first raft that was led by PJ from California, a 60-something-year-old from Santa Barbara, CA who got his foresty degree from UC Berkeley. His passion for the outdoors was obvious.
After he let everyone introduce themselves (Mom introduced herself as from Germany and added "I am European") we learned that the three young men next to us were from Israel. We also had a Dutch couple and an Indian couple from New Jersey. The others were from the Phoenix area.
But Mom asked all the questions until PJ turned the tide by making everyone be quiet for two minutes to observe the sounds and sights of the river. We were still in the cool shadows of morning and I had to place a jacket over me. But the wildlife was out there: herons, cormorants and even a few perching ospreys, all wildlife I had hope to see on Lake Powell.
The Colorado River here is beautiful as the water slowly meanders around the red rocks. We floated more than we rafted the first three miles as PJ also talked about the geology of the rocks, pointing out fault lines and other protusions along the way. He was the best tour guide of natural history I've had and told him so. (Later on a man from Phoenix on the raft came up to me to agree with me. "I could have asked so many more questions but I didn't want to bore the others")
"There is so much wildlife out here in the mornings, that is why I only lead the morning tours" said PJ. The one bird we didn't see was the California condor, a bird close to extinction that was re-released to the wild nearby in the Vermillion Cliffs.
Soon we passed the Horseshoe Bend, where the rocks stood 1200' tall.
A park ranger next to me, Cynthia Adams, a short blonde woman sporting a long braid in the back got off the raft at our first break to talk about the pectroglyphs on the walls. They were from two eras, one Pueblan and the other more recent, showing big horn sheep and buffalo. A spiny lizard and then a larger gecko scurried along the rock wall as she spoke. When we continue our journey Cynthia stayed behind to talk to the other rafting groups stopping at the site.
It got warmer now as we entered our second hour, admiring the rock formations and looking for ledges that resembled other animals.
By 11am we had approached Lee's Ferry, a narrowing in the river which also was the geographical end of the Colorado Plateau and the start of the Kaibab Plateau. Here the river descended noticably and special permits to float further were required. Our group got out here and re-boarded the bus driven by Pam back to Page, passing Indian settlements, a few hokams and some teepees and the 1200' drop of the Paria River that reflected green below.
Although people started to doze off here, I was wide awake looking at the expansive scenery around me. This was arid country, and Pam repeated several times how the Indians lived in homes with no running water and have to drive into town to fetch it for themselves and their livestock. Was this because the ndians preferred it this way, or because the water company didn't want to bother connecting the communities to city water? I didn't ask Pam but figured she would have given me a vague answer about the fate of James D Lee, a Mormon settler and first ferry runner at his namesake town, Lee's Ferry.
"Was Lee murdered?" I asked her, not sure of the story anymore.
"He was persecuted" replied Pam.
It turns out that Lee, an avid Mormon convert, was one of the main attackers to the 120 immigrants who were killed by a Mormon group in central Utah's Mountain Meadows.
We got back to Page at 1pm and Kevin was hungry for beer and some food before we were to meet up with the gang for one farewell meal at the Lakeside Marina Resort Restaurant.
He wanted to try the Dam Bar and Grille, and I agreed if only to try its Dam Blonde beer.
Everyone but Iris joined us. She stayed in the van with the windows and doors open while she napped during our lunch. (I have done a van nap many a times, but never with the doors open in a strange town). We were parked in the shade.
The beer was OK and the conversation pleasant. All agreed that we enjoyed the rafting trip. It was hot outside, approaching 90F. JP walked passed us and waved our way. I would have invited him to join us if we weren't in a time crunch by then. I was tired and could have taken a nap instead, but once I was in the hotel room I had less than an hour before dinner and was more interested in checking my email and down-loading my pics to Jason's computer.
"You would make a great tour guide" said Marcela, referring to my love for the outdoors and my passion with languages and learning new things. It's a thought I've had for a while.
'
http://www.coriverdiscovery.com/
http://www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/people/i_r/lee.htm
Friday, September 5, 2008
Day Four: Floating back to Page
Kevin and I were the first ones up again. Kevin put on two pots of coffee, smoked his cigarette while I once again photographed the rising sun over the red rocks. One outcropping, “The Penis” was just outside the aft deck. The color scheme never became spectacular.
This is when I noticed that there were no water fowl on Lake Powell. No gulls, no herons, no ibis, no egrets or cormorants. There wasn’t much wildlife at all except for z few whiptails, chipmunks or ravens whose footprints were in the morning sand.
I wanted to hike up the sliding schist rock. The rocks reminded me of so many other red rocks of southern Utah, where the sunlight bedazzles the various hues of the sandstone. I left the houseboat at 6:30am, missing the group breakfast of eggs, bacon and pancakes “We need to finish this gallon of milk!” said Mom, pointing to the half-gallon left.
The walk up the rock was my moment of solitude. I left the others behind as I hiked uphill in bare feet. A man in a small cave played the flute, adding a Native American theme to what I thought was at first an hallucination; was I really hearing a tune?
Several careless hikers engraved their names in the rock. From my standpoint I could see all the houseboats and jet skis in Padre Bay. This was an advantageous vantagepoint. Coming down was a little trickier, but I made it back in 40 minutes with little fanfare. I quietly ate a pancake Kevin had made for me, had a cup of coffee.
We were off for our return trip at 9am. Mom sat up front, alone and in silence and Iris hid upstairs, lost in her study book. I left her alone as I knew she was behind in her studies (I had given up studying at all). I chatted with Jason, Marcela and Alex, took a few more photos but was now just in the mood to get off the houseboat. I was aching for terra firma.
We sailed into the Wahweap Harbor by 11:30am, still ahead of schedule.
The attendees at the marina came to us quickly and within 30 minutes we were getting unloaded at our vans. Kevin, Iris and I took off and ended up getting to the hotel an hour ahead of the others, even after stopping at the Glen Canyon Dam and the bookstore.
Gas prices had dropped another five cents in Page in the four days we were gone, to $3.79.
We made it to the hotel at 1:30pm and were ready to head back into town when the others finally arrived, and an intimate afternoon shopping turned into all of us piling into the van for dinner at the Fiesta Mexicana in town. Mexican food is always a big hit with Europeans.
It was my first margarita since June 2007. One was enough. My bean burrito was tasty and the service quite good.
No one wanted to join me to see Horseshoe Bend a few miles south of town, a quarter-mile jaunt to a spectacular overlook of the Colorado River. I spent 40 minutes there before checking out two more scenic overlooks before heading back to the hotel. Now it was 6:15pm and Kevin was fast asleep. The beers he was guzzling on the boat in the morning had tired him out.
He let me know he was not going to join us for a second trip into town for ice cream and souvenir shopping. We didn't find much in town earlier, and the historic part of Page was a backroad of old hotels that looked more like tennements. But this time we struck it rich, shopping at the "Dam Outlet" which was next door to the "Dam Bar and Grille." We shopped at a t-shirt shop and then stopped again at Wal-Mart for more bottled water: our reveille would be early tomorrow as we need to meet everyone at the lobby at 6am for a river rafting cruise that will last all morning.
I flipped through the cable channels to get reruns of this week's Republican NAtional Convention. I got nothing. I missed McCain's acceptance speech. The only news I got was that Hurrican Hanna is striking the Carolina coast and Hurrican Ike could potentially become a Cat4 storm striking south Florida by early next week.
This is when I noticed that there were no water fowl on Lake Powell. No gulls, no herons, no ibis, no egrets or cormorants. There wasn’t much wildlife at all except for z few whiptails, chipmunks or ravens whose footprints were in the morning sand.
I wanted to hike up the sliding schist rock. The rocks reminded me of so many other red rocks of southern Utah, where the sunlight bedazzles the various hues of the sandstone. I left the houseboat at 6:30am, missing the group breakfast of eggs, bacon and pancakes “We need to finish this gallon of milk!” said Mom, pointing to the half-gallon left.
The walk up the rock was my moment of solitude. I left the others behind as I hiked uphill in bare feet. A man in a small cave played the flute, adding a Native American theme to what I thought was at first an hallucination; was I really hearing a tune?
Several careless hikers engraved their names in the rock. From my standpoint I could see all the houseboats and jet skis in Padre Bay. This was an advantageous vantagepoint. Coming down was a little trickier, but I made it back in 40 minutes with little fanfare. I quietly ate a pancake Kevin had made for me, had a cup of coffee.
We were off for our return trip at 9am. Mom sat up front, alone and in silence and Iris hid upstairs, lost in her study book. I left her alone as I knew she was behind in her studies (I had given up studying at all). I chatted with Jason, Marcela and Alex, took a few more photos but was now just in the mood to get off the houseboat. I was aching for terra firma.
We sailed into the Wahweap Harbor by 11:30am, still ahead of schedule.
The attendees at the marina came to us quickly and within 30 minutes we were getting unloaded at our vans. Kevin, Iris and I took off and ended up getting to the hotel an hour ahead of the others, even after stopping at the Glen Canyon Dam and the bookstore.
Gas prices had dropped another five cents in Page in the four days we were gone, to $3.79.
We made it to the hotel at 1:30pm and were ready to head back into town when the others finally arrived, and an intimate afternoon shopping turned into all of us piling into the van for dinner at the Fiesta Mexicana in town. Mexican food is always a big hit with Europeans.
It was my first margarita since June 2007. One was enough. My bean burrito was tasty and the service quite good.
No one wanted to join me to see Horseshoe Bend a few miles south of town, a quarter-mile jaunt to a spectacular overlook of the Colorado River. I spent 40 minutes there before checking out two more scenic overlooks before heading back to the hotel. Now it was 6:15pm and Kevin was fast asleep. The beers he was guzzling on the boat in the morning had tired him out.
He let me know he was not going to join us for a second trip into town for ice cream and souvenir shopping. We didn't find much in town earlier, and the historic part of Page was a backroad of old hotels that looked more like tennements. But this time we struck it rich, shopping at the "Dam Outlet" which was next door to the "Dam Bar and Grille." We shopped at a t-shirt shop and then stopped again at Wal-Mart for more bottled water: our reveille would be early tomorrow as we need to meet everyone at the lobby at 6am for a river rafting cruise that will last all morning.
I flipped through the cable channels to get reruns of this week's Republican NAtional Convention. I got nothing. I missed McCain's acceptance speech. The only news I got was that Hurrican Hanna is striking the Carolina coast and Hurrican Ike could potentially become a Cat4 storm striking south Florida by early next week.
Day Three: Rainbow Bridge
Kevin was up early Thursday morning. By 4am he was up to make coffee and sit at the aft working on his Boston Globe crosswords. I didn’t get up until 5:30am. Iris was already up and slowly Jason and Marcela showed themselves, then Mom, then Bill and finally Alex and Matt.
The plan was to see Rainbow Bridge this morning, taking the speed boat up the canyon, hike up to the bridge and return to the houseboat. Mom and Bill would stay behind since they had already been to the Bridge, and kayak by themselves while we were gone. It sounded like the perfect plan.
We left by 8am. The ride there took longer than I thought, but once we were in the right canyon the scenery became more majestic. The canyon walls narrowed. The colors became more starker, and the smell of sage and other desert brush became stronger. It was my first flora aroma.
What did this canyon look like before the flooding back in 1963? I couldn’t help but wonder what really went on in DC when the Natives fought to keep Glen Canyon from flooding over. The US Supreme Court ruled against Native American rights and for water rights. Now the Rainbow Bridge is a Park Monument. It all seems so ironic to me.
The closer we came to the bridge, the more of a maze the water became. We went up one false alley, only to turn around and go into another one. The correct passage way was only well-marked at the last 1/8 of a way.
There were only two other jet skis parked at the dock when we pulled up, and the two men were on their way back as we jaunted out.
The canyon entrance to Rainbow Bridge started in a lush but not wet creek bed that ascended for another 2/3 mile. The path was paved (!) which took away from the natural state, but that was to make the passage easier for others with more disabilities. I couldn’t wait to see the bridge and neither could Kevin, who was ahead of everyone else. He’s already been labeled the Union Jack, someone who could relive the Civil War, as he wore his brown Indiana Jones hat and scoped out distance canyons through binoculars.
It was a pleasant walk to the Navaho monument. And although it was highly discouraged, I walked to the base of the bridge to look upward and marvel at God’s handy work. How long has the bridge been standing there? I did not walk pass the “Trail Closed “ signs, only walking near the ledge with the creek bed below. Iris kneeled down to marvel at a squirrel while others climbed around further up.
We weren’t alone for long. Soon a tourist group of around 30 came over the hilltop to join us, led by Tom the Tour guide from Arizona. He was decked in a white shirt and wore turquoise on his wristband, watch and ring. French and Germans were in this group but were amazingly quiet. We were ready to leave when Tom gathered everyone around to talk about the Paiute legend of the two boys and the stone lizard, and how the bridge became. He also showed up faint imprint of a dinosaur foot and an oyster. I never would have noticed them myself!
We were now ready to leave. After a short chat with Rick near the deck, who happened to be from Sierra Vista, we sped back to the houseboat where Mom and Bill were waiting. They had just come back themselves from a long kayak, exploring the Bay’s alcoves.
“Who wants to go back with me to Rainbow Bridge?” asked Mom. No one volunteered as we were all tired. And soon thereafter Mom and Bill were in the speedboat as we drove back west toward Wahweap to anker closer nearby.
They found a nice sandy beach near Padre Bay, the best beach so far.
There were plenty of other houseboats ankered at the same beach as us. This was a nice, sandy beach. The boys got off the boat to build a fire pit, burning the last of the firewood we had brought along. Kevin made the rest of the hamburgers and hotdogs and we had a nice meal by the fire pit after dark as we admired the night sky.
The Milky Way beamed in when the last of the sunrays set behind the mountain. Matt and I saw a few falling stars, and Matt pointed out a few satellites.
“There goes a polar satellite” he said as he pointed to one distant moving light.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“It’s moving toward Polaris.”
Oh.
Jason gave me the idea to photograph the night sky, but with my Rebel xTi it wasn’t easy as there is no manual mode for the shutter speed.
We were on the beach until 8:30pm. The sand never got cold and the breeze stayed warm. It was quite a delight being on shore like this, all together.
“Jason, have I ever told you I loved you?” I asked him as I looked over him.
“Yes, you have, but it’s been a while. I love you too, Connie.”
The plan was to see Rainbow Bridge this morning, taking the speed boat up the canyon, hike up to the bridge and return to the houseboat. Mom and Bill would stay behind since they had already been to the Bridge, and kayak by themselves while we were gone. It sounded like the perfect plan.
We left by 8am. The ride there took longer than I thought, but once we were in the right canyon the scenery became more majestic. The canyon walls narrowed. The colors became more starker, and the smell of sage and other desert brush became stronger. It was my first flora aroma.
What did this canyon look like before the flooding back in 1963? I couldn’t help but wonder what really went on in DC when the Natives fought to keep Glen Canyon from flooding over. The US Supreme Court ruled against Native American rights and for water rights. Now the Rainbow Bridge is a Park Monument. It all seems so ironic to me.
The closer we came to the bridge, the more of a maze the water became. We went up one false alley, only to turn around and go into another one. The correct passage way was only well-marked at the last 1/8 of a way.
There were only two other jet skis parked at the dock when we pulled up, and the two men were on their way back as we jaunted out.
The canyon entrance to Rainbow Bridge started in a lush but not wet creek bed that ascended for another 2/3 mile. The path was paved (!) which took away from the natural state, but that was to make the passage easier for others with more disabilities. I couldn’t wait to see the bridge and neither could Kevin, who was ahead of everyone else. He’s already been labeled the Union Jack, someone who could relive the Civil War, as he wore his brown Indiana Jones hat and scoped out distance canyons through binoculars.
It was a pleasant walk to the Navaho monument. And although it was highly discouraged, I walked to the base of the bridge to look upward and marvel at God’s handy work. How long has the bridge been standing there? I did not walk pass the “Trail Closed “ signs, only walking near the ledge with the creek bed below. Iris kneeled down to marvel at a squirrel while others climbed around further up.
We weren’t alone for long. Soon a tourist group of around 30 came over the hilltop to join us, led by Tom the Tour guide from Arizona. He was decked in a white shirt and wore turquoise on his wristband, watch and ring. French and Germans were in this group but were amazingly quiet. We were ready to leave when Tom gathered everyone around to talk about the Paiute legend of the two boys and the stone lizard, and how the bridge became. He also showed up faint imprint of a dinosaur foot and an oyster. I never would have noticed them myself!
We were now ready to leave. After a short chat with Rick near the deck, who happened to be from Sierra Vista, we sped back to the houseboat where Mom and Bill were waiting. They had just come back themselves from a long kayak, exploring the Bay’s alcoves.
“Who wants to go back with me to Rainbow Bridge?” asked Mom. No one volunteered as we were all tired. And soon thereafter Mom and Bill were in the speedboat as we drove back west toward Wahweap to anker closer nearby.
They found a nice sandy beach near Padre Bay, the best beach so far.
There were plenty of other houseboats ankered at the same beach as us. This was a nice, sandy beach. The boys got off the boat to build a fire pit, burning the last of the firewood we had brought along. Kevin made the rest of the hamburgers and hotdogs and we had a nice meal by the fire pit after dark as we admired the night sky.
The Milky Way beamed in when the last of the sunrays set behind the mountain. Matt and I saw a few falling stars, and Matt pointed out a few satellites.
“There goes a polar satellite” he said as he pointed to one distant moving light.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“It’s moving toward Polaris.”
Oh.
Jason gave me the idea to photograph the night sky, but with my Rebel xTi it wasn’t easy as there is no manual mode for the shutter speed.
We were on the beach until 8:30pm. The sand never got cold and the breeze stayed warm. It was quite a delight being on shore like this, all together.
“Jason, have I ever told you I loved you?” I asked him as I looked over him.
“Yes, you have, but it’s been a while. I love you too, Connie.”
Floating upstream
On Wednesday we all got up at sunrise, although the sunrise wasn’t as spectacular as I imagined it would be with the rocks around us. “The sun just came up and there was light!” said Iris.
We gathered at the table for coffee or tea and mixed cereal. After a quick jaunt up some brittle rocks for a hilltop view, we were off again for another ride on Lake Powell in the direction of Dangling Rope Marina and then Rainbow Bridge afterwards.
The only problem was, we were not on the man channel. We were floating up Last Chance Canyon in a northwesterly directon when we needed to go northeast and enjoying the many side canyons and waving at boats going in the opposite direction.
We had failed to pay attention to the buoys. “We drove two hours in the wrong direction!” said Bill rather disgustedly, two hours that took time from Rainbow Bridge that I was so looking forward to because of the Native American significance.
It wasn’t time wasted, though. Mom and Iris and I sat upstairs for a while and talked about her past and her hard time adjusting to American culture as a German in post-war United States.
The crowd changed over the day. Marcela and Jason and Alex came upstairs. Jason got into my crinoid passion. “Look, there are crinoids to the right!” said Jason as we passed a red sandbank, I became the Crinoid Hunter. Everything revolved around crinoids, which slowly took on a monstrously evil configuration. I gladly played up on the crinoid fascination. Everyone in the group learned all about crinoids from me.
My 1983 book “The Colorado River in the Grand Canyon” by Larry Stevens, a book I picked up for $2 at the town’s swap meet, came in handy in reference to crinoids in the area and the history of the river.
Iris kept texting her boyfriend Ed, telling him about the crinoids.
“What are crinoids?” he asked.
“They are small aquatic fossils, also known as Indian beads” replied Iris. The texting went back-and forth for as long as Iris got reception.
I was getting antsy for some exercise as we were filling up on tortillas and salsa, gummi bears, chips. We made it to Dangling Rope Marina at 3:30 to retank ($400) as Mom, Iris, Alex, Jason, Marcela got off the boat to check out the shoppette. Where was the dangling rope?
I got my National Park Passport stamped with the Glen Canyon NRA Dangling Rope stamp and picked up a canyon map and a 12-pack of Heineken beer. Those two items were $28.
“Must be the Mormon tax” I said, shocked at the price.
“The Mormons don’t get any of it” replied the blonde cashier. Good.
But I didn’t want to say no more as I knew how Mormons feel about their image.
“The Mormons are the reason why the beer here is only 3.8 percent” she added.
The beer was still good, although it didn’t last too long. I had two beers and Jason and Marcela finished off the rest.
I stayed on the houseboat while Jason, Iris, Alex and Matt sped by in the rented speed boat ahead of us, making fast turns around us and looking for a place to anker for the night. We ended up going back west a few miles before we found a sandy beach to spend the night.
Alex and Matt kayaked into the evening, I walked around some more looking for crinoids, swam around the boat for a bit, but then stayed on the boat the rest of the evening, working on photographs, talking to Jason and Marcela. Jason managed to download all 430 photographs I had taken up to that point. It was the only way I could see exactly what shots were focused and which ones weren’t. There were about ten landscape shots that were out of focus; probably when the lens was acting up on me.
We gathered around the computer to look at the photographs, something I have always been self-conscious about because I don’t like looking at other peoples’ vacation shots unless I was there as well. There were a few very good angles I took, and most of the shots I took of Marcela were very nice. She’s a very photogenic young woman.
Everyone left after the picture show. It was 8pm and the generator was turned off. I had no choice but to head toward my little cabin as well. The night was cooler and more comfortable this time and I could have sworn I heard the howling of coyotes and the drumming of a beat in the distance. Ancient Indian spirits, perhaps?
It was another inactive day for me spending most of it eating junk food. At this rate I was snacking I was going to put on a lot of weight. I wish I enjoyed water sports more. Mom brought three kayaks and I've yet desired to kayak. I'd rather hike up a side canyon.
We gathered at the table for coffee or tea and mixed cereal. After a quick jaunt up some brittle rocks for a hilltop view, we were off again for another ride on Lake Powell in the direction of Dangling Rope Marina and then Rainbow Bridge afterwards.
The only problem was, we were not on the man channel. We were floating up Last Chance Canyon in a northwesterly directon when we needed to go northeast and enjoying the many side canyons and waving at boats going in the opposite direction.
We had failed to pay attention to the buoys. “We drove two hours in the wrong direction!” said Bill rather disgustedly, two hours that took time from Rainbow Bridge that I was so looking forward to because of the Native American significance.
It wasn’t time wasted, though. Mom and Iris and I sat upstairs for a while and talked about her past and her hard time adjusting to American culture as a German in post-war United States.
The crowd changed over the day. Marcela and Jason and Alex came upstairs. Jason got into my crinoid passion. “Look, there are crinoids to the right!” said Jason as we passed a red sandbank, I became the Crinoid Hunter. Everything revolved around crinoids, which slowly took on a monstrously evil configuration. I gladly played up on the crinoid fascination. Everyone in the group learned all about crinoids from me.
My 1983 book “The Colorado River in the Grand Canyon” by Larry Stevens, a book I picked up for $2 at the town’s swap meet, came in handy in reference to crinoids in the area and the history of the river.
Iris kept texting her boyfriend Ed, telling him about the crinoids.
“What are crinoids?” he asked.
“They are small aquatic fossils, also known as Indian beads” replied Iris. The texting went back-and forth for as long as Iris got reception.
I was getting antsy for some exercise as we were filling up on tortillas and salsa, gummi bears, chips. We made it to Dangling Rope Marina at 3:30 to retank ($400) as Mom, Iris, Alex, Jason, Marcela got off the boat to check out the shoppette. Where was the dangling rope?
I got my National Park Passport stamped with the Glen Canyon NRA Dangling Rope stamp and picked up a canyon map and a 12-pack of Heineken beer. Those two items were $28.
“Must be the Mormon tax” I said, shocked at the price.
“The Mormons don’t get any of it” replied the blonde cashier. Good.
But I didn’t want to say no more as I knew how Mormons feel about their image.
“The Mormons are the reason why the beer here is only 3.8 percent” she added.
The beer was still good, although it didn’t last too long. I had two beers and Jason and Marcela finished off the rest.
I stayed on the houseboat while Jason, Iris, Alex and Matt sped by in the rented speed boat ahead of us, making fast turns around us and looking for a place to anker for the night. We ended up going back west a few miles before we found a sandy beach to spend the night.
Alex and Matt kayaked into the evening, I walked around some more looking for crinoids, swam around the boat for a bit, but then stayed on the boat the rest of the evening, working on photographs, talking to Jason and Marcela. Jason managed to download all 430 photographs I had taken up to that point. It was the only way I could see exactly what shots were focused and which ones weren’t. There were about ten landscape shots that were out of focus; probably when the lens was acting up on me.
We gathered around the computer to look at the photographs, something I have always been self-conscious about because I don’t like looking at other peoples’ vacation shots unless I was there as well. There were a few very good angles I took, and most of the shots I took of Marcela were very nice. She’s a very photogenic young woman.
Everyone left after the picture show. It was 8pm and the generator was turned off. I had no choice but to head toward my little cabin as well. The night was cooler and more comfortable this time and I could have sworn I heard the howling of coyotes and the drumming of a beat in the distance. Ancient Indian spirits, perhaps?
It was another inactive day for me spending most of it eating junk food. At this rate I was snacking I was going to put on a lot of weight. I wish I enjoyed water sports more. Mom brought three kayaks and I've yet desired to kayak. I'd rather hike up a side canyon.
Glen Canyon NRA: Wahweap Marina, the first day
I got back to the hotel lobby at 7am and the rest of the family was already seated to eat breakfast. There wasn’t much of a choice: donuts, toast, Raisin bran and Fruit Loops, orange juice, apple juice, coffee and tea. I had two small bowls of Raisin bran. I wasn't expecting it to last long.
We all sat at a small round table built for two, squeezed in together and made small talk. It turns out that we all met our partners on-line in some form.
“The cybersex was the best I’ve ever had!” I exclaimed, getting the group to chuckle.
We drove to the Wahweap Marina shortly thereafter, in two vans. Mom and Bill got the paperwork ready while Iris and I chatted with Marcela at the pier. Everyone else was at the boat, too.
We asked Marcela all the questions and she willingly answered. She and Jason met on-line three years ago on Yahoo! She left Romania to work as an au-pair girl in Germany, where she picked up the language rather fast. Her mother is an alcoholic and she has seven other siblings. Her German isn’t perfect and neither is her English, but she can communicate in either language, sometimes switching words from one to another if she doesn’t know a particular meaning. I had no trouble understanding her.
Our luggage was loaded on for us by the marina employees: Lucasz from Poland drove the luggage cart, Garth from South Africa gave the captain and skipper boating instructions. There was a lot of inspecting to do before we could leave. The boat across from us had a two-year-old German Shepherd Dog on board, and another man, from Boston and now living in Carmel, IN, chatted with Kevin for a bit. It seemed like we would never leave the marina.
Our houseboat rental was M22 Myacht, a 53-footer with four cabins and room to sleep 12. We had a TV and DVD player, a stove, two small refrigerators and two toilet-shower stalls.
We finally left the marina at 9:20am, only to get confused as to what was the main channel. The red and green buoys were hard to see in the sun.
The three stacks of the Navajo Power Plant never left us. Rocks around us were red rock sandstone from the Protorozoic and Paleozoic era, 1.7 billion years ago, from the Colorado Plateau. It was hard to see the buoys on the river as in the distance all we could see were rocks.
Mom, Iris and I chatted upstairs on the upper deck for a while and never noticed we were going the wrong way. We were in Last Chance Canyon, a riverway with no way out. We were floating in a northwesterly direction when we needed to go northeast.
We made a long U-turn before we settled on a compass direction of South, then North and finally a gradual Northeast before ankering in Padre Bay for the afternoon. Alex and Mom kayaked, Kevin snorkeled, I walked around in vain looking for crinoids and took lots of good photographs. Dinner was chicken breasts with rice mix and lots of tortilla chips. Everyone went around and chatted in groups for a few minutes.
Our bunk was upstairs with Mom’s but it was closest to the generator which blasted long after we went to bed. We could hear the water pump activate everytime someone flushed the toilet.
At night I couldn’t sleep too well as I felt congested and it turned out that everyone else was congested and overheated as well. I didn’t do too much today but was tired nonetheless. Hopefully tomorrow would be more active.
We all sat at a small round table built for two, squeezed in together and made small talk. It turns out that we all met our partners on-line in some form.
“The cybersex was the best I’ve ever had!” I exclaimed, getting the group to chuckle.
We drove to the Wahweap Marina shortly thereafter, in two vans. Mom and Bill got the paperwork ready while Iris and I chatted with Marcela at the pier. Everyone else was at the boat, too.
We asked Marcela all the questions and she willingly answered. She and Jason met on-line three years ago on Yahoo! She left Romania to work as an au-pair girl in Germany, where she picked up the language rather fast. Her mother is an alcoholic and she has seven other siblings. Her German isn’t perfect and neither is her English, but she can communicate in either language, sometimes switching words from one to another if she doesn’t know a particular meaning. I had no trouble understanding her.
Our luggage was loaded on for us by the marina employees: Lucasz from Poland drove the luggage cart, Garth from South Africa gave the captain and skipper boating instructions. There was a lot of inspecting to do before we could leave. The boat across from us had a two-year-old German Shepherd Dog on board, and another man, from Boston and now living in Carmel, IN, chatted with Kevin for a bit. It seemed like we would never leave the marina.
Our houseboat rental was M22 Myacht, a 53-footer with four cabins and room to sleep 12. We had a TV and DVD player, a stove, two small refrigerators and two toilet-shower stalls.
We finally left the marina at 9:20am, only to get confused as to what was the main channel. The red and green buoys were hard to see in the sun.
The three stacks of the Navajo Power Plant never left us. Rocks around us were red rock sandstone from the Protorozoic and Paleozoic era, 1.7 billion years ago, from the Colorado Plateau. It was hard to see the buoys on the river as in the distance all we could see were rocks.
Mom, Iris and I chatted upstairs on the upper deck for a while and never noticed we were going the wrong way. We were in Last Chance Canyon, a riverway with no way out. We were floating in a northwesterly direction when we needed to go northeast.
We made a long U-turn before we settled on a compass direction of South, then North and finally a gradual Northeast before ankering in Padre Bay for the afternoon. Alex and Mom kayaked, Kevin snorkeled, I walked around in vain looking for crinoids and took lots of good photographs. Dinner was chicken breasts with rice mix and lots of tortilla chips. Everyone went around and chatted in groups for a few minutes.
Our bunk was upstairs with Mom’s but it was closest to the generator which blasted long after we went to bed. We could hear the water pump activate everytime someone flushed the toilet.
At night I couldn’t sleep too well as I felt congested and it turned out that everyone else was congested and overheated as well. I didn’t do too much today but was tired nonetheless. Hopefully tomorrow would be more active.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Reveille at Oh-Dark-Thirty
Kevin was up at 3:30am.
"Kevin, it's three-thirty!" I exclaimed.
"I know, and I'm wide awake now!"
My back was aching from something I did to it yesterday.
So we turned on the TV for the latest news: Gustav was now a tropical depression heading into NE Texas, after drenching southern Arkansas, northern Louisiana and eastern Texas. Hurricane Hanna was off the Bahamas with winds of 80mph. Ike was off further east and another depression was forming off Africa. More coverage of Sarah Palin's 17-year-old pregnant daughter, the slow coverage of the RNC which reminded me of a Geriatric convention turn fund raiser for hurricane victims, and the anti-war protests in St Paul, MN. So in other words, nothing new happened.
There was nothing on TV despite the many channels: Jesus Talk, Sports, Shopping and reruns of stupid 1960s sitcoms. I even watched Joel Osteen talk about hope, the Houston-based evangelist who lives off the donations of his church visitors and who, IMO, should get a new hair style because the Wet Head went out of style 30 years ago.
Kevin showered at 4am, got coffee from the lobby and was out at 5am to load up the van and go to WalMart at 6am when it opens. He had chatted with the night shift downstairs and learned that the WalMart needed 600 employees to operate 24 hours a day. They were only able to get 300 from town. That is why the SuperCenter closed at midnight and opens at 6am. For a WalMart it's clean and the aisles widely-spaced.
My plan was to walk around town at 6am, come back at 7am when Mom wanted the family to gather for breakfast, and at 7:30am leave for the Marina and get the houseboat.
"Kevin, it's three-thirty!" I exclaimed.
"I know, and I'm wide awake now!"
My back was aching from something I did to it yesterday.
So we turned on the TV for the latest news: Gustav was now a tropical depression heading into NE Texas, after drenching southern Arkansas, northern Louisiana and eastern Texas. Hurricane Hanna was off the Bahamas with winds of 80mph. Ike was off further east and another depression was forming off Africa. More coverage of Sarah Palin's 17-year-old pregnant daughter, the slow coverage of the RNC which reminded me of a Geriatric convention turn fund raiser for hurricane victims, and the anti-war protests in St Paul, MN. So in other words, nothing new happened.
There was nothing on TV despite the many channels: Jesus Talk, Sports, Shopping and reruns of stupid 1960s sitcoms. I even watched Joel Osteen talk about hope, the Houston-based evangelist who lives off the donations of his church visitors and who, IMO, should get a new hair style because the Wet Head went out of style 30 years ago.
Kevin showered at 4am, got coffee from the lobby and was out at 5am to load up the van and go to WalMart at 6am when it opens. He had chatted with the night shift downstairs and learned that the WalMart needed 600 employees to operate 24 hours a day. They were only able to get 300 from town. That is why the SuperCenter closed at midnight and opens at 6am. For a WalMart it's clean and the aisles widely-spaced.
My plan was to walk around town at 6am, come back at 7am when Mom wanted the family to gather for breakfast, and at 7:30am leave for the Marina and get the houseboat.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The trip to Page, Arizona
Reveille was at 4am , but I didn’t get up until 4:20am to brew coffee and do last-minute chores: fill up the dog bowls, refresh the cats’ water and food, clean out the kitty box, empty the grey water into the yard where the grass seed was still growing. (The grass I cut three days ago was already looking tall. It was still covered in dew after sunrise.). It was 60F at 4:30am. The birds weren't even out yet.
I ran out of time. Ideally I would have walked the dogs one more time around the neighborhood, but I only got them around the .8-mile route. The dogs wanted more and would have gone the usual route in the figure-eight, but I was already running late. We didn’t leave the house until 6:20am.
Traffic on I-10 was minimal. It was quieter than a Sunday morning. We faced no slow-gos. The construction in and around Tucson was closed for the day. We even had time to spare south of Phoenix where we gassed up at a Love’s for $3.53 (the lowest gas was at a B-grade station in Tucson for $3.41) and ate a late breakfast at Burger King.
Our responsibility was to pick up my sister Iris flying in from Baltimore. Mom's job was to pick up the other sister from Raleigh, NC. Both luckily were expected in within 30 minutes of each other. We were to drive via convoy from the airport to Page via Flagstaff.
Iris landed at Sky Harbor on time: 9:50am. We got to the parking area at 9:51. Despite her long travel time she looked happy and refreshed, wearing red knee-length shorts and a white shirt with red trim. Her hair was cut shoulder-length with blonde highlights. Within 20 minutes we were on the I-17 driving further north with contact to Mom via cell phone. Mom picked up Alex and Matt from Termnal 2 and was packing up the van. They were behind us, with a van full of passengers and two kayaks in tow.
We commuted via cell phone throughout the commute without meeting face-to-face. I was anxious to see Alex and Jason again. We finally met up at a quaint tourist restaurant in Black Canyon City, at Rock Springs Café that was once a stage coach/post office in 1918. A photograph of George and Barbara Bush hung on the wall behind me. The wait was a little long and the food so-so and the place didn't look all that authentic to me, but to the out-of-stater, who cares? Arizona has a lot of authentic Old West sites (most of them in ruins or abandoned) but most road-side attractions are cheap replicas of a bygone era.
Everyone looked great. I got to meet Jason’s girlfriend Marchella and Alex’ boyfriend Matt once we had stopped to eat. But everyone was tired from the drive and our table was a thick wooden table. It wasn’t very conducive to talking. Mom was so excited about having all of her children together at one table and kept interrupting our private talks to divert the attention to her. I sat between Iris and Alex. I figured I’d talk more privately when the timing was better.
But what to talk about? Where to start? There was so much to get caught up with.
Back on the road the drive was more settled as everyone had eaten and taken a bathrom break. We were now 80 miles from Flagstaff.
“There sure isn’t much out here” said Iris as she looked out the window. The elevation slowly got higher as we closed in on the town. This is beautiful country albeit the Sedona area is overpriced and super-regulated. Despite its beauty it's not a place I go to much because of the high concentration of tourists awing at red rocks.
“What do you mean, nothing? There’s all those beautiful rocks!” It’s the spirituality of Arizona’s terrain and air that make this state so beautiful. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I filled her in on Arizona geography and some history but she was tired. She had been traveling for over six hours and I didn’t want to bore her, but I wanted to point out some of the historical buildings in Flagstaff. I really like the town and always enjoy spending time there. The mixture of Native American, aging hippie and ueber-progressive Northern Arizona University student make Flagstaff especially enticing.
“You will see a lot of Native Americans in town. This town has some of the highest percentage of Native Americans” I said.
“How can you tell who is a Native American and who is a Mexican?” Iris asked.
“The Natives are much fatter” I replied, not wanting to be racist, but to point out an observation. I see so many obese Natives in this town.
“Oh yeah, I remember reading about how the Natives lack an enzyme that breaks down certain particles we have in our processed foods.” I remember the CDC talking about the extremely high obesity rates in Mexican-Americans and Native Americans a few years ago.
Once we were outside Flagstaff after a pit-stop and gas ($3.67) she napped in the back seat as we headed north on Highway 89 toward Page. We maintained an elevation of 6000' most of the distance as we drove due north on the two-lane highway.
Kevin and I listened briefly to CNN radio to get caught up with Hurricane Gustav. The storm was downgraded to a Cat 2 storm and had by-passed NOLA to the west. The city had been spared the worst. But to CNN Gustav was all the news.
Arid red peaks scattered on either side of the highway. Small homes on either side of the highway were Native American homes. They stood in small clusters with large acreage lots around them. The lots were large and clean, but there were no people anywhere. No water ran here unless it came off the red rocks. The homes were often just single-wide trailers or simple wooden homes. Old rusty full-sized pick-ups stood in the front yard. Cattle grazed nearby. This was the simple life I admire the People for. They live so meekly with so little. It’s a humbling feeling knowing so many White Folk would be miserable living like that. And I can't forget that the Union Army faught many battles against the Native Americans for this land.
Some of the homes were naked or totally abandoned. Many of the road-side vendors were just wooden shacks crudely constructed. “Buffalo Jerky” was advertised on hand-written signs near towns with "Major credit cards accepted" written below.
By 4pm the Labor Day traffic going south from Page got congested. Full-sized pick-ups towing full-sized boats were all heading back to the Flagstaff-Phoenix area.
“We may have Lake Powell all to ourselves!” I said.
By now we were ahead of Brian’s van. Two rest stops along the 90-mile stretch still didn’t get them caught up with us until we made it to the Day’s Inn in Page.
The last 20 miles south of Page were the prettiest. We were cresting the hill near the North Rim, as the Grand Canyon opened into a wide valley to our west. The highway was still going uphill when we reached a road-side vista where Indians were selling their jewelry. Natives were seated but many were already packing up there goods.
Iris managed to get some nice turquoise, and even bought me a lovely diamond-cut turquoise necklace that I will always wear. It hangs over my Iraqi cartouche which I haven’t taken off either.
Several other tourists around us were German. Iris and I spoke German on occasion. He accent I heard sounded Swaebisch, one of the ugliest German accents IMO.
Two miles south of Page we passed signs for Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend. We could see the Colorado River poke its way through the peaks around Page.
We arrived in Page at 5:30. The Days Inn was the first hotel in town, and just across the street was a WalMart where we stopped to get last-minute toiletries. We met up with Mom and Gang 30 minutes later and at 7pm we met for dinner at the Jack-In-The-Box fast food restaurant next door.
News on TV already downgraded Gustav to a Tropical Storm. None of the levees in NOLA had broken and Geraldo Riviera was not blown away by hurricane winds into the Gulf. Hurricanes Hanna and Ike are five to ten days away from hitting US landfall as well.
Jason, who has lived the past 20 years in Germany, had no clue who “Jack” the bald Cueball head figurine was so both Iris and I filled him in on that stupid gimmick even I don’t understand. We sat eight across as we chomped down our sandwiches and talked politics again.
“Did you hear that Sarah Palin’s teen daughter is pregnant?” asked Alex. “We heard that tonight on Larry King” Ouch. So much for conservative Republican family values. To me a pregnancy is no big deal—unless it were miraculously my own—but I know how hyped up conservatives get about unwed teen mothers when the teens aren't their own. The news media is making this subject a big deal and I'm wondering...who cares?!
We also talked briefly about Iraq, chemical poisoning in Iraqi veterans, life back East and Iris’s hospital work, but we all decided that we needed a good night’s sleep and would continue our conversations over the next few days while traversing the rental boat along the Lake.
Mom looked so content and at peace with herself, and to me that was my priority. Jason, Alex, Iris and I promised each other that we all would have a good time.
“No arguing!” stressed Alex.That’s right, definitely no arguing. The trip already promised to be better than planned.
We had driven over 540 miles today.
http://www.rockspringscafe.com/
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1813984-1,00.html
I ran out of time. Ideally I would have walked the dogs one more time around the neighborhood, but I only got them around the .8-mile route. The dogs wanted more and would have gone the usual route in the figure-eight, but I was already running late. We didn’t leave the house until 6:20am.
Traffic on I-10 was minimal. It was quieter than a Sunday morning. We faced no slow-gos. The construction in and around Tucson was closed for the day. We even had time to spare south of Phoenix where we gassed up at a Love’s for $3.53 (the lowest gas was at a B-grade station in Tucson for $3.41) and ate a late breakfast at Burger King.
Our responsibility was to pick up my sister Iris flying in from Baltimore. Mom's job was to pick up the other sister from Raleigh, NC. Both luckily were expected in within 30 minutes of each other. We were to drive via convoy from the airport to Page via Flagstaff.
Iris landed at Sky Harbor on time: 9:50am. We got to the parking area at 9:51. Despite her long travel time she looked happy and refreshed, wearing red knee-length shorts and a white shirt with red trim. Her hair was cut shoulder-length with blonde highlights. Within 20 minutes we were on the I-17 driving further north with contact to Mom via cell phone. Mom picked up Alex and Matt from Termnal 2 and was packing up the van. They were behind us, with a van full of passengers and two kayaks in tow.
We commuted via cell phone throughout the commute without meeting face-to-face. I was anxious to see Alex and Jason again. We finally met up at a quaint tourist restaurant in Black Canyon City, at Rock Springs Café that was once a stage coach/post office in 1918. A photograph of George and Barbara Bush hung on the wall behind me. The wait was a little long and the food so-so and the place didn't look all that authentic to me, but to the out-of-stater, who cares? Arizona has a lot of authentic Old West sites (most of them in ruins or abandoned) but most road-side attractions are cheap replicas of a bygone era.
Everyone looked great. I got to meet Jason’s girlfriend Marchella and Alex’ boyfriend Matt once we had stopped to eat. But everyone was tired from the drive and our table was a thick wooden table. It wasn’t very conducive to talking. Mom was so excited about having all of her children together at one table and kept interrupting our private talks to divert the attention to her. I sat between Iris and Alex. I figured I’d talk more privately when the timing was better.
But what to talk about? Where to start? There was so much to get caught up with.
Back on the road the drive was more settled as everyone had eaten and taken a bathrom break. We were now 80 miles from Flagstaff.
“There sure isn’t much out here” said Iris as she looked out the window. The elevation slowly got higher as we closed in on the town. This is beautiful country albeit the Sedona area is overpriced and super-regulated. Despite its beauty it's not a place I go to much because of the high concentration of tourists awing at red rocks.
“What do you mean, nothing? There’s all those beautiful rocks!” It’s the spirituality of Arizona’s terrain and air that make this state so beautiful. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I filled her in on Arizona geography and some history but she was tired. She had been traveling for over six hours and I didn’t want to bore her, but I wanted to point out some of the historical buildings in Flagstaff. I really like the town and always enjoy spending time there. The mixture of Native American, aging hippie and ueber-progressive Northern Arizona University student make Flagstaff especially enticing.
“You will see a lot of Native Americans in town. This town has some of the highest percentage of Native Americans” I said.
“How can you tell who is a Native American and who is a Mexican?” Iris asked.
“The Natives are much fatter” I replied, not wanting to be racist, but to point out an observation. I see so many obese Natives in this town.
“Oh yeah, I remember reading about how the Natives lack an enzyme that breaks down certain particles we have in our processed foods.” I remember the CDC talking about the extremely high obesity rates in Mexican-Americans and Native Americans a few years ago.
Once we were outside Flagstaff after a pit-stop and gas ($3.67) she napped in the back seat as we headed north on Highway 89 toward Page. We maintained an elevation of 6000' most of the distance as we drove due north on the two-lane highway.
Kevin and I listened briefly to CNN radio to get caught up with Hurricane Gustav. The storm was downgraded to a Cat 2 storm and had by-passed NOLA to the west. The city had been spared the worst. But to CNN Gustav was all the news.
Arid red peaks scattered on either side of the highway. Small homes on either side of the highway were Native American homes. They stood in small clusters with large acreage lots around them. The lots were large and clean, but there were no people anywhere. No water ran here unless it came off the red rocks. The homes were often just single-wide trailers or simple wooden homes. Old rusty full-sized pick-ups stood in the front yard. Cattle grazed nearby. This was the simple life I admire the People for. They live so meekly with so little. It’s a humbling feeling knowing so many White Folk would be miserable living like that. And I can't forget that the Union Army faught many battles against the Native Americans for this land.
Some of the homes were naked or totally abandoned. Many of the road-side vendors were just wooden shacks crudely constructed. “Buffalo Jerky” was advertised on hand-written signs near towns with "Major credit cards accepted" written below.
By 4pm the Labor Day traffic going south from Page got congested. Full-sized pick-ups towing full-sized boats were all heading back to the Flagstaff-Phoenix area.
“We may have Lake Powell all to ourselves!” I said.
By now we were ahead of Brian’s van. Two rest stops along the 90-mile stretch still didn’t get them caught up with us until we made it to the Day’s Inn in Page.
The last 20 miles south of Page were the prettiest. We were cresting the hill near the North Rim, as the Grand Canyon opened into a wide valley to our west. The highway was still going uphill when we reached a road-side vista where Indians were selling their jewelry. Natives were seated but many were already packing up there goods.
Iris managed to get some nice turquoise, and even bought me a lovely diamond-cut turquoise necklace that I will always wear. It hangs over my Iraqi cartouche which I haven’t taken off either.
Several other tourists around us were German. Iris and I spoke German on occasion. He accent I heard sounded Swaebisch, one of the ugliest German accents IMO.
Two miles south of Page we passed signs for Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend. We could see the Colorado River poke its way through the peaks around Page.
We arrived in Page at 5:30. The Days Inn was the first hotel in town, and just across the street was a WalMart where we stopped to get last-minute toiletries. We met up with Mom and Gang 30 minutes later and at 7pm we met for dinner at the Jack-In-The-Box fast food restaurant next door.
News on TV already downgraded Gustav to a Tropical Storm. None of the levees in NOLA had broken and Geraldo Riviera was not blown away by hurricane winds into the Gulf. Hurricanes Hanna and Ike are five to ten days away from hitting US landfall as well.
Jason, who has lived the past 20 years in Germany, had no clue who “Jack” the bald Cueball head figurine was so both Iris and I filled him in on that stupid gimmick even I don’t understand. We sat eight across as we chomped down our sandwiches and talked politics again.
“Did you hear that Sarah Palin’s teen daughter is pregnant?” asked Alex. “We heard that tonight on Larry King” Ouch. So much for conservative Republican family values. To me a pregnancy is no big deal—unless it were miraculously my own—but I know how hyped up conservatives get about unwed teen mothers when the teens aren't their own. The news media is making this subject a big deal and I'm wondering...who cares?!
We also talked briefly about Iraq, chemical poisoning in Iraqi veterans, life back East and Iris’s hospital work, but we all decided that we needed a good night’s sleep and would continue our conversations over the next few days while traversing the rental boat along the Lake.
Mom looked so content and at peace with herself, and to me that was my priority. Jason, Alex, Iris and I promised each other that we all would have a good time.
“No arguing!” stressed Alex.That’s right, definitely no arguing. The trip already promised to be better than planned.
We had driven over 540 miles today.
http://www.rockspringscafe.com/
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1813984-1,00.html
The Day Before
Yesterday (Sunday) was busy for me. I had so much planned for the garden, getting things ready before leaving for a week: picking all the peppers and beans, watering the vegetable patches and getting the last of the grass seed sowed. How was I going to get it all done AND have time for one last walk with the dogs?
I managed to get most of the garden chores done, but then the skies darkened in the mid afternoon and I delayed my hike with the dogs. At 4pm the sky burst open and it rained hard for over an hour. Even the 50-gallon bins got filled with fresh water. The clothes that were hanging outside were wet, too. This may be the last of the monsoonal rains, according to the meteorolists on KVOA. Will be just-seeded grass die from lack of rain?
So much for driving down Hunter Canyon for one last run. The dogs would have dragged the wet mud into Essie and smelled up the truck.
Instead, I opted to walk the dogs and as soon as it dried up enough, I was off. I left the house at 6:42pm and ended up walking over four miles...reaching a green water tank off Highway 92, just short of the Hunter Canyon trailhead parking. I had never walked that far south with the dogs along the frontage road, and it was a scenic, uphill jaunt. Sara loved being upfront, and Sadie took turns running fast-forward to catch up with Sara, then running back to wait up for Sammy and me. And when she could, she'd race through a water puddle.
San Jose Peak in Mexico was shrouded in a low fog cloud, adding a mystical view of the desert sky as the sun faded behind the mountains. It was quite dark by the time I got back.
All three dogs were wet when I returned, from running through the tall weeds along the path. I got a good work-out, too. I needed that walk! Kevin was already in bed but left his home-made ravioli on the stove.
Hurricane Gustav continued to be the newsmaker. Sen McCain announced that the Republican National Convention would be curtailed quite a bit on opening day on Monday so that GWB could concentrate on any hurricane-related news.
I managed to get most of the garden chores done, but then the skies darkened in the mid afternoon and I delayed my hike with the dogs. At 4pm the sky burst open and it rained hard for over an hour. Even the 50-gallon bins got filled with fresh water. The clothes that were hanging outside were wet, too. This may be the last of the monsoonal rains, according to the meteorolists on KVOA. Will be just-seeded grass die from lack of rain?
So much for driving down Hunter Canyon for one last run. The dogs would have dragged the wet mud into Essie and smelled up the truck.
Instead, I opted to walk the dogs and as soon as it dried up enough, I was off. I left the house at 6:42pm and ended up walking over four miles...reaching a green water tank off Highway 92, just short of the Hunter Canyon trailhead parking. I had never walked that far south with the dogs along the frontage road, and it was a scenic, uphill jaunt. Sara loved being upfront, and Sadie took turns running fast-forward to catch up with Sara, then running back to wait up for Sammy and me. And when she could, she'd race through a water puddle.
San Jose Peak in Mexico was shrouded in a low fog cloud, adding a mystical view of the desert sky as the sun faded behind the mountains. It was quite dark by the time I got back.
All three dogs were wet when I returned, from running through the tall weeds along the path. I got a good work-out, too. I needed that walk! Kevin was already in bed but left his home-made ravioli on the stove.
Hurricane Gustav continued to be the newsmaker. Sen McCain announced that the Republican National Convention would be curtailed quite a bit on opening day on Monday so that GWB could concentrate on any hurricane-related news.
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