Arriving in Balloon-town

Old Santa Fe Plaza

Spent the better part of yesterday in Santa Fe.  The Old Town area is charming with lots of shops bulging full of inventory.  A couple shops have gone under, while others are hanging on by the fingernails hoping for a good holiday season.

Old Santa Fe Street Scene

We didn’t contribute $$$ to the salvation of the place, but did enjoy a nice lunch at Tia Sophia’s that left us waddling after we finished. Visited the Georgia O’Keeffe art museum.  She spent most of her productive years in this area. Unfortunately, the video projector broke just before we arrived, so we missed the full biography. They ‘rain-checked’ us for the next time in Santa Fe, which could be the twelfth of never, to use a Johnny ‘Mattress’ term.  And that description of Johnny Mathis was passed on to me by my ‘best man’ and former law school roommate, now a Superior Court Judge. He claimed that  Johnny Mathis’ tunes had a special effect, and I don’t think he was talking about narcolepsy. I digress.

Old Santa Fe  

Was tempted again to buy a hat, but the one that was going for $32 the other day at the Indian flea market was being sold in Old Santa Fe for $47.50.  Apologies to the Indian flea market.

"Chief, I'm ready to bury the hatchet over this 'hat' thing."

Storm clouds gathered during the day and rain began to spatter as we left the NM State Capitol building.  Nice art exhibit there.  Apparently their legislators were not in session, as security was lax, with the security personnel in crossword puzzle mode.   No metal detectors, but then it is likely that most of the looneys have left NM for California.

"Jeff, why do you make me do these pictures?"

 Leaving town, we stopped at Trader Joes to replenish dwindling provisions, noting that NM is a ‘three-buck Chuck’ state. Such is the price to pay for fine imported wine from the golden state.

Today found us headed down Hwy 25, cruising downhill at 70-75 to Albuquerque where we landed at the American RV Park on I-40.  Very nice park except for the rumble of semis flying by on the highway.  The park is packed (222 sites) in anticipation of the Balloon Fiesta, our home-to-be starting Friday.

We checked out the Fiesta grounds on an afternoon recon mission.  Met Betty, a RV full-timer and balloon fan who encouraged us to sign up to crew for a balloon.  Sounds like fun, even for geezers.. Crewing means unpacking the balloon and basket, assisting its inflation and then chasing it when it goes up, and then re-packing it when it comes down.

In the “I can’t believe I did that” category:  When we arrived today, the park advised that the water would be off for about a half-hour while they made some repairs. We set up and then commenced a few hours of housework.  At one point water began flowing off the roof and down the awning.  A steady stream.  I clambered up on the roof and noted that water was gushing out the toilet vent pipe. (Fortunately the water was ‘clear’ as I had dumped the tank this morning.)  The culprit was the toilet tank back-flush line.  When I hooked up, I apparently had accidentally hit the valve and knocked it to an ‘open’ position.  Normally with the park’s water on, I would have noticed this immediately.

  

Instead it filled the ‘black’ tank with forty gallons of water and then headed up the vent pipe. We were fortunate that we had stayed ‘home’ cleaning rather than going out right away.  We were more fortunate that neither one of us used the toilet while the water was going up and out the vent pipe. A ‘flush’ would have opened the potty valve and ’Old Faithful’ would have gushed upwards. It would have been like a fire hose bidet. The perils of the road.  

New Mexico

Our plans for a Taos destination changed suddenly as we looked at ‘things to do in Taos.' Didn’t look like a good place for a 2-3 day layover, so we headed for Santa Fe instead. We were advised to backtrack through Durango and then take the major interstate (I-550) to Santa Fe. Otherwise we would be risking the perils of a mountainous two-lane road.

Having survived the perils of driving Baja, such warnings fall on deaf ears, so we headed out the back way.  What a beautiful drive through woods and meadows. Yes, it was hill and dale. Little traffic at all, save for some cattle transporters that were parked at roadside and backed up to corrals.  Steers that were grazing all summer in the mountains were ready for the next step, whether that be finishing off as US Prime in a feed lot, or going direct to the Big Mac grinder.

We drove past herds of mountain cows. They lollygagged under shade trees or stirred up dust clouds while butting horns (apparently forgetting their earlier neutering). I puzzled over how they would get these critters to the waiting trucks.  Not a cowboy in sight.When that dinner bell rings, it could be their last.

"Hey guys, if you hear the dinner bell, ignore it."

Arriving unblemished at the Santa Fe Skies RV Park south of Santa Fe, we set up camp and headed back up the highway to visit an Indian flea market that had been touted in one of the travel blogs I follow. As we pulled into the parking lot, signs warned ‘Absolutely No Cameras Permitted.’  This was apparently based on tribal beliefs. I holstered my Canon and left it in the car.  This flea market had been running since Friday afternoon and a cadre of desperate peddlers remained as we neared the 4:00 pm shutdown.  I was mildly tempted to buy a new hat to shield my barren pate from the scalding southwest sun, but the $35 price tag was too much. Even the hawkers cajoling would not move me: “They are made in St. Louis.” (Never heard of that Chinese town.)  That was it for the day. We cruised through downtown Santa Fe doing recon and then returned to the rig for BBQ’d steak and potatoes.

This morning we headed for a day trip to Taos, checking first with the RV park owner as to the attractions that shouldn’t be missed.  The drive up there took longer than expected due to roads that were poorly marked.  On one wrong turn,  we cruised through the dilapidated town of Truches. Folks in the street gazed in amazement and a dog sleeping in the street scurried out of the way.

A most potent memory of the drive was a sudden attack of flatulence by Annika, dozing in the back of the CRV.  I assumed it was Annika, accepting Janice’s immediate denial and knowing that I would never do that.  These were of ‘road-kill’ quality, requiring an immediate “windows down” drill.  Annika was so overcome by her own hyper-flatulating that she hung her head out the window for several miles.

" No more burritos for me.......I'm sooo sorry!"

Arriving in Taos, we headed for the Taos Pueblo, rated #1 on places to see in Taos. We parked the car and approached the tribal ‘registration desk’ to pay our admission. Ten dollars apiece  (plus tax! ---tax to whom?) for admission.  There are no pictures of our visit though.  They wanted $6.00 (plus tax) to bring a camera on site.  Mine was quickly returned to the car.  Let me see if I understand this Indian lore: You can’t take pictures at the flea market because of tribal beliefs, but all sins are forgiven for $6.00 (plus tax!). This must be hangover from the concept of penance taught to them by Catholic missionaries (before the local slaughter of the Padres in 1680). 

"Six bucks to use a stinkin' camera? Ridiculous!" 

Of interest, this site is the longest continually occupied site in North America.  Dust, adobe buildings and Indians hawking their goods.  “Take my picture for a dollar.”Gullible tourists wandering about with their green-tagged cameras shooting pictures that would soon be forgotten.   We did buy a couple genuine Indian cinnamon cookies, though I don’t think Indians in these parts actually had cinnamon in the olden days.

Next stop on the must-see list was the Royal Gorge Bridge.  At 500 feet above the Rio Grande, it ranks in the top 3 or 4. The fenced Indian lands prevented a good photo of the bridge, but standing in the middle with that ‘I might just throw up feeling’ looking down into the canyon, I snapped a quick photo.

Rio Grande- Royal Gorge-Taos

Finally we hit the downtown. The Kit Carson Museum was a hit with Janice, who is probably suffering museum withdrawal since the end of her writing ventures. Kit Carson was a ‘home-boy’ of many of her Oregon heroes, so she loved the brief oral presentation and the video.

Kit Carson Museum
Kit slept here...for 25 years.

With Annika in the car cooking like Indian fry-bread, we made a quick tour through the shopping area, window shopping with newly- purchased  ice cream cones (paid for by the pueblo camera savings).  I am grateful that Janice is not addicted to souvenir shopping. Yes, we did get an official Taos magnet done by a local artist.  Number 216 in the collection---all displayed proudly in our home on the road.

Taos tourist strip

Finishing the day at 5:30 back at the rig, we enjoyed a couple of games of Scrabble.  Janice is doing well this month.

  

A Colorado Change of Scenery

"Jet-boat" and 1986 Bus - Colorado River

Finished up Moab  with a jet-boat ride on the river and a late afternoon/evening sunset vist to Canyonlands NP and Dead Horse Point State Park.

The jet boat ride was a ho-hummer, the first 15 miles down the canyon done by bus to the launch site. Towering canyon walls (red, red-striped and light red) might have been dazzling to the new arrivals to the area on-board, but if you’ve spent more than a day or two exploring the surroundings, they are more of the same (spectacular, but.....enough is enough)  The jet-boat was noisy and didn’t go all that fast. “Jet-boat” refers to a propulsion system and not the speed.  No more dam tours or jet-boat rides!
One notable site:  The cliff that Thelma and Louise drove off in their final scene.(see below)

Thelma and Louse's Final Ride
Their departure spot just left of the high point.

Canyonlands NP

Canyonlands was a top-down view of some pretty incredible canyons. Our real goal was a sunset picnic dinner at Dead Horse Point. We brought BBQ chicken and potato salad for the occasion. The view of a U-turn in the Colorado River is quite famous.  I think the view from Horseshoe Bend we saw  is more spectacular, in part because the river is green rather than buckskin brown. Can't help but thinking 'effluent' when you see that color.  The ambiance of the visit was marred somewhat by a busload of Russians (or Slavs) who had set up their own private bar on the point. They brought every conceivable mix and booze, but forgot glasses, so they wound up cutting plastic water bottles in half.  (Watch those sharp edges!) Their noise and cigarette smoke detracted from what is reputed to be one of the better sunset views in the west.

We enjoyed our dinner at a nearby picnic site, then returned to the point to bid the day adieu,

Dead Horse Point - Colorado River at sunset 

Leaving Moab Friday a.m. we stopped at the tire shop for our new front tires. The owner, Chip, quipped, “Thanks for driving all the way to Moab to buy tires from me.” This guy had the only tire shop for 50 miles around. It drew a steady stream of customers every time I dropped by. A veritable rubberized gold mine!

Never saw any.

We headed east into Colorado and were soon pleased to see trees in place of red-rocks. The foliage is starting to turn. We are about  a week early for the big show. By late afternoon we landed in Pagosa Springs, a town we drove through three years ago.  At that time it charmed us and we tucked it away in our list of places to return to.

After briefly driving around last night on our way to dinner, we are trying to identify exactly what the charm-factor was. Thinking back, we had been in the Denver suburbs before coming here. As the wise sage once said, "Where you are depends on where you were."  Had dinner at Bacces, an Italian joint. So-so food delivered to us by Michelle, whose interaction with us seemed pretty robotic.  "How's your dinner?" "It's fine"  "Awesome." Awesome???? How about "buon gusto?"  She was probably pre-occupied with thoughts of how she was going to get out of this town before the snow starts falling. It's coming soon. This place is at 6500 feet and it was38 degrees this morning.

  

Today is a day off to catch up. Do the wash, hang the new refrigerator door, check the batteries, change the engine air filter and check for loose spark plug wires. Pretty exciting stuff.. Janice in town for haircut and pedicure. Annika looking forward to swim in the San Juan River. Headed to Taos, NM. (Late info: Janice's pedicure performed by a 45 year old local Roller-Derby wanna-be in training. Visited downtown for a gelato. Annika got her swim.)

Official mourning day proclaimed for the end of the Giants 2011 pennant drive, after their 3-1 loss to Arizona last night. Will stop wearing my Giants cap and possibly toast  the season with either red or white wine tonight. Maybe both..  To Taos tomorrow. More rocks.   


Photo for Grandson Jonas:

Aged movie extras from "The Birds"

Rocks in My Head

Beauty and the Beast

  When I was a lad, my mother would occasionally chastise me regarding some stupid activity I might have engaged in: “Do you have rocks in your head?”

I heard this when:

1. I rode my 24” Schwinn into a wall at nearby Parkmead school after viewing an episode of “You Asked For It.” (I did wear my football helmet, but it still knocked me out cold.)
2. I started a fire along the banks of a nearby creek to see how big it could get without going out of control. (An observant man on the far bank came to my rescue, likely saving me from a long stint in juvenile hall.)
3. I turned on the griddle on our stove one morning when ants invaded. (There are few things that smell worse than a 1000 sizzling ants). 

Today as I spent my second day in Arches National Park, I was walking down a trail (The Devil’s Garden 8- mile trail), and it occurred to me that the last week of looking at southwest landscapes had indeed OD’d me on rocks. Beautiful? Yes, but the brain can only handle so much eye-candy before its like a Xerox machine out of control. Red rocks. Red rocks. Red rocks.  Rocks in my head!! Reminded me of our 3 weeks in New England when we tired of the those %%##!! red leaves.  Like eating too much chocolate or playing too much golf (did I say that??).

Janice wisely took the day off today rather than subject herself to the Arches version of the Bataan death march. I was not so wise, and I know that tomorrow morning I will be beyond the reach of Advil. Only a few sips of the fermented grape are saving me now. Janice did enjoy a few hikes with me yesterday checking out the Arches.

An afternoon driving tour took us 13.7 miles up Hwy 128 to the Red Cliffs Lodge.  We agreed that this would be our Moab abode in post-RV days. Very classy western-themed place along the Colorado River.  It features a museum of all the western movies (and others, e.g. Thelma and Louise) that were filmed in the area.  But for the fact that Annika was beginning to sizzle in the car (87 degrees) we could have spent hours there.  In the words of our now disgraced former governor, “We’ll be baccccck.”

Moab is a town of activity, catering to every outdoor adventure you can dream of. One could spend a lot of time (and money) here.  Just west of us is a federal nuclear waste reclamation project---a left-over from the uranium boom days of the 1950s when yellow-cake created a modern-day gold rush. Folks in the Moab processing plant weren’t too careful with the tailings, so the feds came to the rescue in the 1970s. They created their own railroad to dispose of the stuff in who-knows-where.  Between tourists and federal workers, the economic machine is humming here.

Tomorrow’s activity is a 1/2 day jet-boat tour down the river. Just the right sit-down activity  for a newly  crippled person like me.

Enjoy the pictures.

Windows Arch through Turret Arch

Broken Arch

Skyline Arch

Tunnel Arch

Pine Tree Arch

Landscape Arch
(Click on picture for full view - it's a masterpiece)

Partition Arch

Navajo Arch

Double-O Arch

Chipmunk- For Grandson Jonas

Trail crossed this spine for 100 yards. It was 300 feet down on  the left, 50  feet down on the right.
No place for wusses.

Looking at Page in the Rearview Mirror

Upper Antelope Canyon - Page, Az

Our final full day in Page was interesting. We opted for a slot canyon tour, led by Ryan of the Overland Tour Company.  This tour company was aptly rated number one by TripAdvisor.com, our constant reference on what to do, where to eat, etc ANYWHERE.

Slot canyons have gained recent notoriety through Peter Lik, whose photo exploits are featured on the Weather Channel.  These narrow, twisty pathways through solid Navajo sandstone are a major tourist attraction in Page. During  our one hour tour, I snapped 181 pictures (no flash allowed).  I am no Peter Lik, but the amazing colors and lighting even found their way into my camera. Over 2 million people visited the local slot canyons this year. Amazing.

Page was founded in 1957 when the Glen Canyon Dam began construction. For nearly five years, the workers stayed in 1000 mobile homes installed on a deserted desert flat spot (where they enjoyed dessert after dinner). No doubt the bars and hookers followed close behind, but savory details like this were not included in my dam tour.

Annika got a brief swim in Lake Powell, enjoying compulsive ball retrieving.

Annika at Lake Powell

On the road early, we gassed up the rig at the local Navajo trading post station, lured there by a tempting $3.72 per gallon, which was about 2 cents cheaper than other stations in town. It was a ‘pay in the office’ type of station. After pumping $90.00 worth pf petrol, I walked into the office.The fine print over the register appeared: “$3.00 surcharge for use of credit card.”  This raised the actual cost of the gas purchase to about $3.84 per gallon. Is that snickering I hear from the Page wigwams?

Traversing through Monument Valley, mega monoliths rose out of the red badlands, like ancient ships roaming on land. We lunched in Monticello next to the local park.  Annika enjoyed a nice roll on the lawn.

After 285 miles of driving (the last 15 miles because we overshot the runway) we settled into the Riverside Oasis RV Park, along the buckskin colored Colorado River. As I was completing set-up, I glanced at a front tire.  Several small cracks appeared in the sidewall, precursors to a blowout, loss of control and a swerving head-on collision into a 70 mph semi.  This meant an immediate visit to Chip’s Tire Shop.  Chip and I will “consummate the deal” (his words) tomorrow morning when he finds out the shipping costs to have the tires delivered from Salt Lake City, 250 miles away. Fortunately, this is a 4-day stop…and we await the Fed-Ex arrival of the new refrigerator door. The meter is running……. 

Tomorrow we visit Arches National Park where our $10.00 National Park geezer pass will once again give us a freebie entry.

On the Rocky Road

Based on the first few days,  we will be seeing a lot of rocks.  So far, so good,but it hasn’t been smooth sailing.

The initial 550 mile leg from Roseville to Las Vegas was completed in one long 12 hour drive, punctuated only by a hot dog lunch stop at the Bakersfield Costco and a couple of whizzers for Annika at rest stops.  Of course there was the ice cream stop at Peggy Sue’s, advertised on billboards along I-15 as a ‘50s diner.’  It was that and more, with a great collection of curios and gag gifts.  We’ve passed this place by many times, but this time the ice cream siren lured me in.  One scoop of mint chip and a new magnet for the collection and it was back on the road.

After parking the rig at the LV Oasis for the night, it was off to Casa Julie II for the night.

Rising early, we picked up the rig and headed up I-15, stopping briefly at St. George (Costco) for gas. Along the way, the Virgin River was flowing freely from recent thunderstorms, looking like weak tomato paste from the red rock sediment flushed down from the hills.

Zion National Park

Mt. Carmel Tunnel-Zion

We followed Hwy. 9 through Zion N.P., stopping briefly to crane our necks upwards and admire the towering mountains and cliffs. Also bought a magnet there. Leaving Zion we headed up the goat trail road to the Mt. Carmel tunnel. The sidewalls of the tunnel are only 11’2”, with the center being 13 feet.  Given the 12’ height of our rig, this would normally be a challenge or a wreck.  However, for the charge of $15 (‘escort fee’) they run one way traffic down the middle so tall rigs can avoid the shorter ceiling heights along the wall.  Entering the tunnel first in the multi-vehicle convoy, I had no taillights to follow as it suddenly went from bright sun into darkness. My old eyes looked for a centerline and after about 150 feet my eyes adjusted and I found myself fortuitously in the middle going 25 mph, which I continued white-knuckled for the next mile. Janice followed me in the disconnected CRV, unaware of my personal terror and the dire wall slamming collision I had avoided.

Hooking up (that’s an RV term for us roadies) at the Mt. Carmel junction, we joined the rig and CRV together for the next 17 miles to Kanab. I miss my co-pilot when she’s not there.

Arriving at Kanab, a town founded in the 1930s as a bus stop going to the Grand Canyon North Rim, we sought out the Kanab RV Corral.  This is where the fun began.

In extending the slide-out, only one end started to go out. Fortunately I noticed this and stopped, or the entire room would have been twisted catywompus.  Outside I peered at the debacle and my new neighbor pointed out a stream of red fluid gushing under the rig, smoking stinkily on the hot muffler as it pooled below the rig. It was the hydraulic fluid from the slide-out drivers. (This fluid also ran to our jacks and the rear bedroom slide-out).  We were up the creek.

We were able to pull things together enough to limp to the local all-purpose tow-yard and mechanic.  Old Nick crawled underneath and confirmed the dangling hydraulic hose that had blown its fitting and drug on the pavement for many miles. (This was the ‘bang’ I heard half-way between Bakersfield and Las Vegas. Annika was awakened from dreamland.). Since it was just past Nick’s 5:00 quitting time he invited us to stay in his yard and he’d get to work on it in the morning. We opted to return to the RV Corall and set-up sans jacks and slide out. (No jacks and a main slide that won’t go out is just an inconvenience. If the rear slide won’t go out, it means we can’t get to our drawers (figuratively and literally), which would mean no clean underwear.)

Since this disaster was way beyond my Mr. Fixit capabilities, I slept fitfully, wondering whether Nick had ever worked on this kind of problem We were a good hundred miles from any regular RV shop.

As we were readying to leave for Nick’s in the morning, the door to the refrigerator fell off, spilling its contents on the floor and narrowly missing Janice’s foot as she stood mouth agape holding the handle. To make a long story short, the previous door fell off 2 ½ years ago (when I bought a 2 year warranty).  The door has a plastic hinge mechanism and the refrigerator sits right above the bangety-bang rear axle.

Arriving at Nick’s garage, I looked for my cell phone that disappeared during the night, wanting to call the Norcold Company to tell them what I thought of their plastic mechanisms. About the time I was headed for a sure brain aneurism, the phone re-appeared.  As I sat in the rig in Nick’s yard, I connected with Norcold, only to get a recording that they were out to lunch.  My temples throbbed.  Ultimately I connected with Norcold and they agreed to ship a new door (arriving in 6 days) to Moab. This would be a freebie due to my prior door failure. They assured me that they ‘beefed up’ the new doors.

By 10 am Nick and the boys had fixed the slide hydraulic system and we returned to the RV Corral, pondering how we would handle the next 6 days with a door that was now held in place by duct tape. I told Janice that we would just have to plan carefully when we needed to get into the refrigerator. At this point, I could see that the brain aneurism virus was starting to hit Janice too.

By divine inspiration, I conjured up a possible fix and headed back to the Ace Hardware store for parts. Modestly, I must admit that not even MacGyver could have beat me on this one. For $2.67 we were back in business. Janice beamed a smile my way. I just know she was thinking, “My hero.”

North Rim Lodge Overlook

North Rim Lodge

It was time (after noon) for fun so we headed to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, about 2 hours away.  After reaching the main lodge (built in 1937), we headed to the Cape Royal Road (new magnet in hand).  This is a road that daughter Julie worked on last summer on a volunteer vacation trail fixing program. Though a long, twisting 23 miles, as we reached the final third, the vistas became progressively more spectacular, easily out-doing the South Rim.  A thunderstorm rumbled in sending jagged streaks towards the far side of the canyon.

For those who might seek a place for quiet refuge, we would recommend the cabins at the North Rim lodge.  The tourist load is much lighter than the South Rim and there is a sense of less hectic days of the past. Just pull up a chair at the rail and spend the days gazing at the canyon where the picture changes minute by minute as shadows and clouds paint new scenes.

View from Cape Royal Road

Today we arrived in Page, Arizona after a short drive.  After setting up ‘camp’ at the Lake Powell RV Park, we headed to nearby Horsehoe Bend Overlook for a short hike. The view is one that most of us have likely seen before.  Annika joined us on the hike, filling two blue bags along the trail as the many European visitors gawked aghast. (What? No dog shit over there?) I hung over the edge to get some pictures.  It was a terrifying 500 feet straight down.

Horseshoe Bend - Page, AZ
Click on photo for full view
I risked my life for this one. JM 

We rewarded ourselves with ice cream cones.  I dropped off Janice and Annika (both trail-weary) and headed for the Glen Canyon Dam tour.  Two minutes into the tour, I realized that if you’ve seen one dam tour, that’s  enough. My Hoover Dam tour of a couple years ago was a near duplicate of this one.  How many ways can you build a dam??

Glen Canyon Dam - Lake Powell, AZ

Back to the rig, it was time for a game of Scrabble (Janice won), a fine dinner and now blog-o-mania.. 

Oh, and thanks (I think) to Bob Lees, my brother in law who recently confessed that he missed my blogs---that he actually enjoyed them. He has inspired me to take up the pen and camera on this jaunt.  

When one gets old and decrepit, these blogs help to jog the memory as to where we've been and what we did there.   .