View from Lower Faulty
Originally uploaded by ewhughes1
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
It's not easy being green
With the most noble of aspirations I dusted off my new favorite bike a sparkly blue Schwinn breeze 3 speed (with 2 that work) and set out for the bus stop today. It was my plan to take the bus to work with my bike, so I could ride home and stop at the farmers market. I had my organic cotton shopping bag and my crochet project of yarn from ethically treated alpacas. I was a poster child for being green. And I sat, and I sat and I sat and waited for my bus. I waited for about 45 minutes, no bus. Finally, at an impasse with the demands of work punctuality, defeated, I returned home and got in my car. So much for crochet and sunshine and heirloom tomatoes, I'm back on the 13-mpg-SUV-driving plan.
When I came back around the corner in my jeep, there was the bus, roaring past me while I waited for a train. Arg! There were two cute, blue cruisers (one even had a wicker basket with flowers on it). Even if I had waited, there would have been no room for my bike on the bus. There's never room on the bus anymore. Everybody rides bikes. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to see more people on bikes, and using public transport. Public consciousness has shifted in the right direction, but there's also that feeling about being in on a secret before it moves into the middle of the mainstream. People try to label that certain je ne sais quois: underground, independent,fringe, but by the time you need a label for, the thrill has gone. Like moving to the "live music capital of the world" for all it's eclectic weirdness and realizing it's being starbuck-icized faster than the place that you left. Like stumbling across a great neighborhood dive bar only to roll in on a Friday at five o'clock and find it full of hipsters.
When I came back around the corner in my jeep, there was the bus, roaring past me while I waited for a train. Arg! There were two cute, blue cruisers (one even had a wicker basket with flowers on it). Even if I had waited, there would have been no room for my bike on the bus. There's never room on the bus anymore. Everybody rides bikes. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to see more people on bikes, and using public transport. Public consciousness has shifted in the right direction, but there's also that feeling about being in on a secret before it moves into the middle of the mainstream. People try to label that certain je ne sais quois: underground, independent,fringe, but by the time you need a label for, the thrill has gone. Like moving to the "live music capital of the world" for all it's eclectic weirdness and realizing it's being starbuck-icized faster than the place that you left. Like stumbling across a great neighborhood dive bar only to roll in on a Friday at five o'clock and find it full of hipsters.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Boys will be Boys
Having stayed at a campground (or two) this summer has renewed my faith in boys. When we got to Telluride I was kind of disappointed to see my boy cousins (who range in age from 10 to 17) all in the basement of this gorgeous house playing Xbox. Now, I love me some video games, don't get me wrong, but the crisp mountain air and the views from this place were stunning. I could not tear myself away from the mountain vistas and the alpine glow.
Fast forward to Heron Lake in New Mexico. We're sitting around the campfire drinking coffee when one of our neighbors stops by and fills us in on the campground gossip. Apparently, the day before our arrival, some boys had been in the bushes, unloading a BB gun on a lone seagull at the lake. Heron Lake, is a man made lake, but it's a wildlife refuge for osprey, so someone called the camp host, who called the ranger, who gave em a lecture and (gasp!)took away there BB guns.
This story made me think of an earlier park incident I'd been privy to at Lake Somerville in Texas. One lazy afternoon when we were checking in with the camp host we heard over his radio there were boys on the roof of the bathrooms looking down in to the women's showers. From the tone in the park host's voice as he responded, I don't think it's the first time this had been a problem. I was overcome by giggles and my faith in boys was restored. This summer I hope the kids turn off the xbox and spend some time outside, in the real world, shooting BB guns and trying to sneak a peek at some boobs. Remember, the children are our future.
Fast forward to Heron Lake in New Mexico. We're sitting around the campfire drinking coffee when one of our neighbors stops by and fills us in on the campground gossip. Apparently, the day before our arrival, some boys had been in the bushes, unloading a BB gun on a lone seagull at the lake. Heron Lake, is a man made lake, but it's a wildlife refuge for osprey, so someone called the camp host, who called the ranger, who gave em a lecture and (gasp!)took away there BB guns.
This story made me think of an earlier park incident I'd been privy to at Lake Somerville in Texas. One lazy afternoon when we were checking in with the camp host we heard over his radio there were boys on the roof of the bathrooms looking down in to the women's showers. From the tone in the park host's voice as he responded, I don't think it's the first time this had been a problem. I was overcome by giggles and my faith in boys was restored. This summer I hope the kids turn off the xbox and spend some time outside, in the real world, shooting BB guns and trying to sneak a peek at some boobs. Remember, the children are our future.
Monday, June 30, 2008
mining for BINGO
In Mora we stopped at an Alpaca ranch at the beginning of our day. I got some really great yarn and got to see a new born Alpaca. There were lots of pretty woven woolen things, but mostly I just bought yarn. The Alpacas were really cool. We noticed that they chomped on the grass in such a way that they trimmed it down like a putting green. When they sit in the grass they almost look like swans. I can wait to finish my road crochet project. Of course I don’t really know what its going to be, because I just chained a random number of stitches and got down to business, no pattern at all.
Beyond Mora we drove up 518 through the Carson National Forest. It was a gray day, but the forest and the valley were some of the best country yet. We got to Taos around lunchtime, starving of course. I had some yummy blueberry pancakes and lots of coffee to help thaw the chill from intermittent showers and high altitude mountain passes. We went to a tiny casino on the reservation in Taos. It’s not well marked, or advertised, its actually probably smaller than the house we’re staying in in Telluride with lots of slot machines. I was sad to hear Taos had sold out, but felt much better after Tiger won big (he’s so lucky, sometimes I just can’t stand it!) I also learned how to play multiple lines on a slot machine, so I can lose even more money, even faster.
Outside of Taos we stopped at the Rio Grande Gorge. It’s a really big, really deep gorge, it was actually just as big as I remembered.
The rolling hills beyond Taos were beautiful and mystical. Lightning danced across the sky and it felt like the landscape was locked in a beautiful embrace with the sky, each applying equal force upon the other creating an energy unlike anything else I’ve felt before.
In Antonito we stopped to take pictures of old time steam engines and the galloping goose We crossed in to Colorado and caught more storms. We stopped to rest at the San Luis Brewery. I had a beer sampler while we waited out the rain. Absolutely every beer they had was delicious. If we had any idea what lay in store for us we probably would have stayed right there, but we had a hotel reservation in Creede, so we pressed on.
This last leg of our journey was the toughest yet. It was still raining and now it was getting dark. The country became more desolate, and some of the gas stations that were few and far between were out of gas. We rode hard through a mean rain with some hail thrown in for good measure. We drove up a river valley on the Silver Thread Scenic Byway past many cottages along the river. The wet road twisted and turned gaining elevation the whole way. Tiger was champ and took it all in stride, but it was a scary journey through dark, desolate back country on wet roads. It was also kind of disappointing because I bet it’s really pretty in there in the day time.
We finally arrived in Creede about 11 pm. About a 10 hour day of travel, but the Creede hotel was adorable and the saloon across the street was still open when we got there. Even though we were exhausted our adrenaline was still on high and we stayed up late singing the Carne Seca song and drinking beer.
The next morning we had a delicious breakfast at the hotel, got some coffee and some internet across the street.
Creede is a tiny town, reathat dead ends at a mine. They’ve drilled in to the mountain and created the Creede Mining Museum and Community Center. We took an audio tour (usually I hate those things) and it was really good. I learned a good deal about mining and we had fun taking pictures down there too. It’s pretty cool that the town’s community center is bored in to the side of a mountain and they have bingo on Monday nights at 7 pm. We seriously considered staying another night, just so we could brag that we played bingo in a cave. But we didn’t. We left to get rained on some more.
When we were getting ready to take a cruise when the moto refused to start. After some coaxing and a jump, Tiger got it working and we were ready to roll. We decided to check out some geological sites. We tried to find some florescent calcite but never found the turnoff, so we went further back where we had been the night before to a Forest Service Rd. named “Pool Table.” We didn’t go all the way to the top so I’m still left to wonder if there’s a pool table up there. We drove up the winding road about 4 miles and stopped to look for rocks. My roadside geo guide said we should find jasper and agate there. Tiger, who is far more interested in Geology asked me what agate was, so I guess you can say we didn’t really know what we were looking for. The mountain was peaceful and the vistas were the best yet, so I was sad to leave when the temperature dropped and we started our descent.
Just as we had done in the darkness the night before, we found ourselves heading in to Creede in the pouring rain. We pulled in to the first place that looked warm and had coffee and plotted our next move. Basically, I wasn’t moving until I got some rain pants. We were generally lethargic and didn’t get back on the road to leave Creede until about 3 pm.
Driving out of town, still on the Silver Thread Senic byway we followed the fast flowing river (I’m guessing the Rio Grande) and looped around several grassy hills, calderas, indicators of volcanos. Then we started climbing to the Continental Divide.
Beyond Mora we drove up 518 through the Carson National Forest. It was a gray day, but the forest and the valley were some of the best country yet. We got to Taos around lunchtime, starving of course. I had some yummy blueberry pancakes and lots of coffee to help thaw the chill from intermittent showers and high altitude mountain passes. We went to a tiny casino on the reservation in Taos. It’s not well marked, or advertised, its actually probably smaller than the house we’re staying in in Telluride with lots of slot machines. I was sad to hear Taos had sold out, but felt much better after Tiger won big (he’s so lucky, sometimes I just can’t stand it!) I also learned how to play multiple lines on a slot machine, so I can lose even more money, even faster.
Outside of Taos we stopped at the Rio Grande Gorge. It’s a really big, really deep gorge, it was actually just as big as I remembered.
The rolling hills beyond Taos were beautiful and mystical. Lightning danced across the sky and it felt like the landscape was locked in a beautiful embrace with the sky, each applying equal force upon the other creating an energy unlike anything else I’ve felt before.
In Antonito we stopped to take pictures of old time steam engines and the galloping goose We crossed in to Colorado and caught more storms. We stopped to rest at the San Luis Brewery. I had a beer sampler while we waited out the rain. Absolutely every beer they had was delicious. If we had any idea what lay in store for us we probably would have stayed right there, but we had a hotel reservation in Creede, so we pressed on.
This last leg of our journey was the toughest yet. It was still raining and now it was getting dark. The country became more desolate, and some of the gas stations that were few and far between were out of gas. We rode hard through a mean rain with some hail thrown in for good measure. We drove up a river valley on the Silver Thread Scenic Byway past many cottages along the river. The wet road twisted and turned gaining elevation the whole way. Tiger was champ and took it all in stride, but it was a scary journey through dark, desolate back country on wet roads. It was also kind of disappointing because I bet it’s really pretty in there in the day time.
We finally arrived in Creede about 11 pm. About a 10 hour day of travel, but the Creede hotel was adorable and the saloon across the street was still open when we got there. Even though we were exhausted our adrenaline was still on high and we stayed up late singing the Carne Seca song and drinking beer.
The next morning we had a delicious breakfast at the hotel, got some coffee and some internet across the street.
Creede is a tiny town, reathat dead ends at a mine. They’ve drilled in to the mountain and created the Creede Mining Museum and Community Center. We took an audio tour (usually I hate those things) and it was really good. I learned a good deal about mining and we had fun taking pictures down there too. It’s pretty cool that the town’s community center is bored in to the side of a mountain and they have bingo on Monday nights at 7 pm. We seriously considered staying another night, just so we could brag that we played bingo in a cave. But we didn’t. We left to get rained on some more.
When we were getting ready to take a cruise when the moto refused to start. After some coaxing and a jump, Tiger got it working and we were ready to roll. We decided to check out some geological sites. We tried to find some florescent calcite but never found the turnoff, so we went further back where we had been the night before to a Forest Service Rd. named “Pool Table.” We didn’t go all the way to the top so I’m still left to wonder if there’s a pool table up there. We drove up the winding road about 4 miles and stopped to look for rocks. My roadside geo guide said we should find jasper and agate there. Tiger, who is far more interested in Geology asked me what agate was, so I guess you can say we didn’t really know what we were looking for. The mountain was peaceful and the vistas were the best yet, so I was sad to leave when the temperature dropped and we started our descent.
Just as we had done in the darkness the night before, we found ourselves heading in to Creede in the pouring rain. We pulled in to the first place that looked warm and had coffee and plotted our next move. Basically, I wasn’t moving until I got some rain pants. We were generally lethargic and didn’t get back on the road to leave Creede until about 3 pm.
Driving out of town, still on the Silver Thread Senic byway we followed the fast flowing river (I’m guessing the Rio Grande) and looped around several grassy hills, calderas, indicators of volcanos. Then we started climbing to the Continental Divide.
Heading North
Todays journey was by far the most sentimental, although it was also the most fun. We managed to cram so much stuff in to our day, it feels like its been a week since we were leaving las vegas. One of the many many many benefits of our unplanned stop at the Days Inn in Vegas, was its adjacent proximity to the flea Market. We were super ultra lazy the night before so we were up early to score free motel breakfast. After breakfast we went to the muddy field next door to the flea market. Because of the rain the night before, the morning after mud and the general “land of manana” vibe, not many vendors were setting up, but while perusing what was there, we ran in to a friend of Tiger’s father. We asked him to mail the treats we had already accumulated back to Houston, and he obliged. It’s a good thing, too, because we didn’t pass a single post office in our travels that had the computer in the lobby for mailing things on Sunday. In fact, most places we went, I did notice that the post office had been upgraded from being in someone’s home, or the local general store, to having it own structure.
The storms we had gotten caught in died out shortly before dark, so the morning was overcast and soggy as we made our way north. There was no sun in the low country to warm us, but we pressed on. Storrie Lake, which had looked like a hurricane scene the afternoon before had returned to its peaceful level, we posed for pictures by the mile market while a lone man fished undisturbed on the rocky shore below.
As we headed northward again, my childhood sense of direction failed me in the most basic of ways. I was amazed at how quickly we were in Mora, and how little had changed. When my grandparents had their ranch, and I spent my summers there from ages 3 to 12 a drive to the Allsups in Mora was a big deal adventure. Now as a grown up, on a motorcycle, the trip up from Vegas, and the trip from Mora to the ranch road was quick 10 or 12 miles, perhaps it was the anticipation of seeing my pony in those early years that made the trip seem so unbearably long.
The storms we had gotten caught in died out shortly before dark, so the morning was overcast and soggy as we made our way north. There was no sun in the low country to warm us, but we pressed on. Storrie Lake, which had looked like a hurricane scene the afternoon before had returned to its peaceful level, we posed for pictures by the mile market while a lone man fished undisturbed on the rocky shore below.
As we headed northward again, my childhood sense of direction failed me in the most basic of ways. I was amazed at how quickly we were in Mora, and how little had changed. When my grandparents had their ranch, and I spent my summers there from ages 3 to 12 a drive to the Allsups in Mora was a big deal adventure. Now as a grown up, on a motorcycle, the trip up from Vegas, and the trip from Mora to the ranch road was quick 10 or 12 miles, perhaps it was the anticipation of seeing my pony in those early years that made the trip seem so unbearably long.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
hail no!
As soon as we finished buying carne seca and native tan at Ludi's in Las Vegas, the heavens opened up (again) and rained down upon us. We had hoped to spend more time exploring the town, especially sinceOld Country for Old Men had been filmed there and the parts that were not filmed there, were filmed in Marfa which we had recently visited as well.
Despite the ominous skies, In a hopeful effort to power thru it, we toughened ourselves against the afternoon storms and headed for Storrie Lake. All day, in the hot, desolate plains between Roswell and Santa Rosa and finally Las Vegas we had fantasized about spending the "afternoon at the beach." We would check in to a motel and then take a day trip to the lake. How utterly civilized, but totally NOT happening. Still chasing the dream, we drove 2 miles to the lake, it was dark as night and raining sideways. Lightening danced and crackled on Hermit's Peak. There were no shelters available, and the park attendant wasn't exactly sympathetic to our plight, so we we did the only thing we could. We drove on. We swang back through town and found a Days Inn. I rallied for this choice because I sensed it would have an indoor pool.
SCORE!
After a punishing 6 hours of hard riding through the desert, then being frozen and pelted by sideways hail, we wanted to settle in, if the price was right. As ghetto as this may sound, there have been many occasions when the Days Inn has been over budget. Today was not one of those days. We pulled in, checked in, and were suddenly thrust from a hail storm to the warm and friendly accommodations of hot tubs and cable tv. I walked across the street for a six pack and we were good to go. After blistering in the West Texas sun, and freezing in the New Mexico hail we had found a bug free place to hang our hats.
Despite the ominous skies, In a hopeful effort to power thru it, we toughened ourselves against the afternoon storms and headed for Storrie Lake. All day, in the hot, desolate plains between Roswell and Santa Rosa and finally Las Vegas we had fantasized about spending the "afternoon at the beach." We would check in to a motel and then take a day trip to the lake. How utterly civilized, but totally NOT happening. Still chasing the dream, we drove 2 miles to the lake, it was dark as night and raining sideways. Lightening danced and crackled on Hermit's Peak. There were no shelters available, and the park attendant wasn't exactly sympathetic to our plight, so we we did the only thing we could. We drove on. We swang back through town and found a Days Inn. I rallied for this choice because I sensed it would have an indoor pool.
SCORE!
After a punishing 6 hours of hard riding through the desert, then being frozen and pelted by sideways hail, we wanted to settle in, if the price was right. As ghetto as this may sound, there have been many occasions when the Days Inn has been over budget. Today was not one of those days. We pulled in, checked in, and were suddenly thrust from a hail storm to the warm and friendly accommodations of hot tubs and cable tv. I walked across the street for a six pack and we were good to go. After blistering in the West Texas sun, and freezing in the New Mexico hail we had found a bug free place to hang our hats.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Picture Perfect
One thing you can count on in New Mexico in the summer is an afternoon thunderstorm. We caught our first one shortly after crossing the state line. I guess it's ok, because the clouds here are so perfect. Absolutely perfect, cartoon, pictorgraph clouds, white and puffy with diagonal stripes of rain hailing down from above. They looked like the weather icons you see on the five-day forecast. We got lucky and chased the storm, and the got sprinkled on, a welcome refreshment after a day of hard riding through hot, dry West Texas with nothing but oil derricks and wind farms as far as the eye could see.
I can't complain about West Texas too much, because our route took us through the unusually verdant Concho valley. There were pastures of green grass throughout most of the journey. There were also lots of those lil roadside picnic shelters, that are one of the things I adore about Texas.
I can't complain about West Texas too much, because our route took us through the unusually verdant Concho valley. There were pastures of green grass throughout most of the journey. There were also lots of those lil roadside picnic shelters, that are one of the things I adore about Texas.
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