Highway 160, Old and New

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September 1, 2022, Walsenburg, CO- The message outside the Bistro was endearing: “In the quilt of life, friends are the sticks that hold the quilt together.” The Farm Bistro, in downtown Cortez, is a place that I have patronized each time, save one, that I have been in Colorado’s southwestern commercial hub, since 2015. What matters to me, about a business establishment, even more than its products, is the reception I get when I enter and how I am treated while there. The Farm Bistro excels in that regard. Heck, the manager even gave me a peanut butter cookie for having been patient while the staff was serving a tour group. As long as we have eyes, ears and hearts, it pays to use them in a way that reassures others that their efforts matter.

I left Kayenta, an hour or so southwest of Cortez, after a delightful breakfast, courtesy of Hampton Inn. Across the highway from the hotel, the full geologic variety of Kayenta is in view. There were numerous families, of different compositions and sizes, in the wing where I stayed, but all were quiet and considerate. The Navajo Nation is a place where face masks are still required in public, so there I was with an N-95. At least we don’t have to pull them up and down, with every bite or sip.

Before going to The Farm, I noticed a man sitting on the corner of a gas station lot. He had a sign that read: “It’s my birthday. Any little bit helps, and God bless.” This was a new one, and even though I normally don’t hand money to sign-bearers, the notion resonated that this was a real birthday of a human being, and he had one other companion, who was bringing him a ball cap, food and water. I gave him a bill and was thanked profusely. Then, I went and enjoyed a Yak Burger and salad at The Farm Bistro.

Going past Durango and Pagosa Springs, I came to Treasure Falls, a small preserve at the foot of Wolf Creek Pass’s formidable ascent. I had stopped briefly at the bottom viewpoint of this small cascade, a few times. Today, I hiked up to the Falls topmost viewpoint, where on a good day, one can feel the spray. Colorado has not had as much rain as Arizona and Nevada, this monsoon, so the Falls were not as potent as they have been in past years.

Nonetheless, the hike energized me, in the warm mid-afternoon, far more than an iced coffee would have.

I was a bit tired here, but the rest of the hike was energizing-and unlike some other walks I’ve taken, I stayed on the established path. A group of other men did not-and advised against following their route.

This poor little one was struggling in the afternoon heat.

Once back on the road, it was an easy drive up and over Wolf Creek Pass. I spotted an overturned semi-trailer, on the opposite side of the road, with a large sign that said “KEEP OUT!”. My guess is that it has been laying there for some days now. I drove on, through South Fork, Del Norte, Monte Vista and Alamosa, before dinner time came-and I stopped at Lu’s Main Street Cafe, Blanca. Milynn served up a sharp and well-prepared Stuffed Sopapilla. It is a fabulous place to dine, and a worthy replacement for Del’s Diner, in nearby Fort Garland, which closed during the pandemic and now sits, looking forlorn and sad, at the east end of town. My only caveat about Lu’s is that the waitresses are high school students and closing time, on a school night, is around 6:30. They at least take their schedule as seriously as they do their jobs. Milynn and her co-worker were pleasant, but made it clear that they needed to get done soon. Nonetheless, when I come this way again, I will stop at Lu’s, hopefully earlier than I did this evening.

I got into Walsenburg, about an hour later, settling in to Anchor Motel. Other than a brief, but loud, dispute between two apparently drunken men, the place has been quiet. Walsenburg is a businesslike, but friendly, town.

Joy In A Sea of Sand

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August 31, 2022, Kayenta- I looked at the normally dry Red Lake, about fifty miles southwest of here, and was amazed to see it full! Traffic and lack of a safe place to pull off kept me from photographing the scene, but seasonal lakes are a definite joy to behold.

I am here, on the way to southern Colorado, and the Colorado East Baha’i Summer School, to which I was invited a month or so ago. There are always numerous visual delights on this route, US Highway 160, which starts near Tuba City and continues eastward, to near Poplar Bluff, Missouri. I have been on the route, as far east as Pittsburg, Kansas.

The Badlands, grasslands and Hoodoo country, from Cameron, AZ to the Ute town of Towaoc, Colorado seem energized and rejuvenated by this year’s specially productive monsoon rains. Even those areas normally devoid of vegetation are showing a certain lively energy. The sandy wonderland that is Monument Valley finds its southwestern terminus here, in this small but vibrant Dineh community. So, I have stopped here for the evening, as being among Dineh people has augured well for me, at the start of any journey-whether within the Southwest or transcontinental.

Monument Valley is a sea of sand, but what marvels that sand has helped create, with help from wind and water! I will begin tomorrow with a few photos and meditations of joy.

Unintended Requiem

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August 15, 2022- It is probable that the woman wanted to get home so badly, that nothing or no one else mattered, including the red light, at which two other motorists had stopped their vehicles. Regardless of the promptings, what ensued was that her vehicle ended up wedged to the car in front of it, which then slammed into mine.

Her insurance carrier’s senior agent was incredulous that I had driven from the accident site to my home, over 2000 miles away. The fact is that the vital parts of the Saturn Vue were in safe, operable condition- the fuel tank and exhaust, rear wheels, brakes and struts. I made it safely, and got to a few subsequent commitments, before submitting the vehicle to the auto body shop of my choice.

Insurance companies, by nature, are risk averse, as are State Insurance Authorities, and many mechanical shops. There are good reasons for all the above, mostly based on the history of litigation. So, upon finding that there was damage to the undercarriage of Saturn, Insurance Carrier A assessed the vehicle as a total loss. I was advised to have the matter transferred to my own carrier, and so Insurance Carrier B assumed control of Saturn, and will continue dealings with Carrier A. The auto body shop will be reimbursed by Carrier A, as well: Three days of labour and five days of storage are no trifle.

The vehicle that took me to the northern tip of Newfoundland, and many points between here and there, will soon be auctioned for parts. There will be those who say “I told you so!”, while not recognizing that ANY vehicle, in the wrong place at the wrong time, may be subject to death and dismemberment.

What will now transpire is that, for the first time since 1982, I will be totally responsible for the purchase of a vehicle. Saturn was a sentimental choice, as well as being chosen for its sturdiness. The next vehicle will be of more recent vintage, and have fewer miles under its belt. This is not because of the chance I will be taunted and ridiculed, but because the vehicle will need to last me several years-potentially being the last car I will own.

Do not “rust in peace”, Saturn. Your viable parts will do many others some good.

Crashes and Comfort Zones

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August 2, 2022- The woman two seats over from me, at the counter of a local establishment, began telling me about what she said was the worst accident she has handled, in twenty years in the automobile insurance industry. It involved a head-on collision, caused by someone who passed on a double yellow, on a curve, and was driving a luxury vehicle. The driver was from another state. His passenger was killed. The right-way driver has lost the use of his legs, for at least two years.

We agreed that there is a long-standing problem with people leaving their manners behind, when they cross out of their home states-and in some cases, home communities. There have been instances where a driver, culpable in an accident, has argued with police and the other parties’ insurance companies, saying that people should make way when said driver is approaching. You can easily guess how that worked for the guilty party. I was taught that other motorists, and pedestrians, are fellow travelers, and deserve every courtesy that I wish for myself.

Conversely, the other phenomenon the insurance agent has witnessed is the frequency of accidents caused by people within a few miles of their homes. The incident in which Saturn got bumped, on July 7, was caused by a driver who was two miles from home-and was headed there when a red light, and two other vehicles, were in between. My Elantra was once dinged by a woman who was backing up, while looking straight forward, because “this is a routine pick-up and I’ve done this every day for six months.” The same hapless vehicle was t-boned by a truck whose driver was two minutes away from his first landscaping job of the day. I was three minutes away from mine, and needless to say, neither of us worked that day. Had he driven the speed limit and had I looked left and right for ten seconds, instead of five, things would have been different.

As it happened, I made another run up to Bellemont today, to finish a cleaning task, using a power washer. There were no problems with traffic and drivers, as Tuesday is not a high volume day, even in summer. In any case, I tend to follow basic rules of courtesy, and follow laws, whether driving in Prescott or Parrsboro, NS.

Under A Gentle Mist

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July 26, 2022- I woke this morning, to a router/modem combo that was struggling to even fully load, and a candle pot that had somehow crashed to the floor and shattered, overnight. After cleaning up the pieces of ceramic and vacuuming the shards, I looked carefully at the device, and found its power supply was running very hot. So, the whole thing was unplugged and will remain so, until a technician from Sparklight comes over, tomorrow at some point. Thus do I write from the pleasant surroundings of Wild Iris Coffee House and will communicate with others, this evening, from Raven Cafe.

There is a misty rain in Prescott, this morning, a gentle reminder that, no matter how difficult things may seem at times, there is always a Guiding Hand that will help keep things on an even keel. Last night, as I walked from Bill’s Pizza, following a pleasant dinner served by a precious soul, I was approached by a longtime friend, who is a Youth Pastor. He asked my opinion on the political events of the past two years, then stated his disaffection with a certain defeated candidate for the presidency. My contention that any one of us can be dumb at times, but few are stupid, was reinforced by our conversation. My conservative friend has a good heart and a discerning mind.

I got a reasonable estimate from the auto body shop that I use here, so Saturn should be repaired, relatively easily, sometime in August, courtesy of the culpable party’s insurance company. In the meantime, it’s roadworthy and will get its welcome back oil & lube on Thursday.

Late August and early September will find me in Colorado and northern New Mexico, with a Baha’i school in Colorado Springs as the centerpiece. The second half of October will bring a visit to northern Nevada and eastern Idaho. I had considered a train ride to Sacramento, and renting a car from there, but the time and money required to drive up there is actually less than a train/rental car combination. So, once again, it’ll be Saturn and me going forth together. Thanksgiving will, most likely, be a Texas affair, with Christmas right here at Home Base, but more on those, later.

This is a community of very finely-tuned synchronicity. I left the coffee house, momentarily, to change parking spots, as there is a two-hour limit. Spotting an empty space in Iris’s lot, I went to the car, turned around and, lo and behold, the car in front of me got the empty space. Having been raised with a mindset of abundance, I pulled around the corner and found several spaces available. There is, most often, room for everyone in this world.

Golden Wrap-up

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July 17, 2022- Upon the conclusion of each journey I’ve taken, since 2011, at least one family member asks “What was the highlight of your trip?” I can most often rattle off something that stands out, yet there is, truth be known, more than one highlight-especially when I’ve been away from Home Base for a month.

The two anchors, as it stands, were the first stop, Homolovi State Park, where I returned an arrowhead to its guardians, the ancestors of the Hopi people, and L’Anse aux Meadows, where the first Europeans of record met the Indigenous people of the Americas. It would seem an ironic twist to have laid the artifact back in sacred soil, when so much of the San Francisco Peaks, an area holy to many First Nations people, was under siege from a fire, apparently ignited by a random camper trying to burn his refuse. It was my first instruction from my spirit guides.

From there, the road presented a mix of family and friend visits, with stops at places of historical, social, natural and spiritual significance. The historical gems included Marland Mansion, in Ponca City, OK; Prescott, ON Riverwalk; St,. Joseph’s Oratory, Montreal; Provincial Assembly Building, Fredericton, NB; Shediac, NB; the villages and towns along the Cabot Trail, NS-especially Cheticamp and Ingonish; L’Anse aux Meadows, NL; St. Croix Island International Peace Monument, ME; State Capitol, Nashville TN. These, of course, each have natural features that add luster to the historical aspects of the place. This is especially true of L’Anse aux Meadows, with its stark subarctic and maritime beauty.

The natural treasures also included Lake Ontario Park, Kingston, ON; Moosehead Lake, Greenville, ME; Wilmot Park, Fredericton; Bras d’Or Lake and Cape Breton Highlands, NS; Gros Morne and Terra Nova National Parks, NL; Pippy Park, St; John’s, NL; Deer Lake Park, NL; Fundy National Park, NB; anywhere along the coast of Maine; Natchez Trace Parkway, TN. and of course, the open Atlantic Ocean.

Spiritually, I felt especially at ease in and around the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, IL ; Lake Ontario Park; St. Lawrence Riverwalk, Prescott, ON; Waterfront Park, Shediac; looking out anywhere along Bras d’Or Lake; Grand Faillante, French Mountain and Green Cove, Cape Breton Highlands; Matthew Head, Fundy National Park; Green Acre Baha’i School, Eliot, ME; Natchez Trace; and Centennial Park, Nashville.

Socially, my family and I were there for one another, in Sarcoxie, MO; Boothbay Harbor, ME; Saugus and Lynnfield, MA; Exton, PA and Grapevine, TX. Likewise, long-time friends in Enid, OK; Mishawaka, IN; Oley, PA; Crossville, TN; Amarillo, TX and Moriarty, NM made travel a lot lighter. I also feel like lasting new friendships were made in Montreal; McAdam, NB; Wycocomagh, Bras d’Or Village and Eskasoni, NS; Doyles, St.Lunaire-Griquet and Grand Bank, NL; Jonesboro and Perry, ME (the last, as long as the cranky restaurant owner isn’t around); Hohenwald, TN and Tallulah, LA. I missed friends in Wilkes-Barre and Bedford, PA; Harrisonburg, VA; Wildersville, TN; other family members in Maine, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania- and I will see them again. The purpose in all this journeying is indeed to “make new friends and keep the old”, as the old children’s tune goes.

For the time being, I will quickly get back into life here at Home Base. Baha’i camp, near Flagstaff, a day of dog-sitting and whatever else surfaces will keep me in peace and harmony for the rest of July. We’ll talk about August and September, a little later.

Glimpses of Shutdowns

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July 16, 2022- The lines of traffic on I-40, east of Gallup and again, west of Holbrook, as I went along in the opposite direction, were apocalyptic. Even my own many forays along Chicago’s I-94 seemed like a Sunday drive, in comparison. There was little information about the New Mexico tie-up, though it was likely due to an accident relative to a construction project. The Arizona snag was due to police activity. I noted several patrol cars blocking the road, and despite the inconvenience of the heat, it was no doubt for the best. There didn’t appear to have been any accident, so my guess is someone was up to no good-and got caught.

This has been a hard year, indeed, a hard decade for many. The ongoing outbreaks of COVID remind me of the three major outbreaks of bubonic plague, which occurred generations apart from one another, and were equally global in impact. It is best to keep this in mind, when expressing “being tired of restrictions”. No one is presently being “restricted”, by the government or private enterprises, but there are occasions when even those of us who have been vaccinated and boosted, but not infected, deem it prudent to put on a face mask. I did so, on several occasions during my just-concluded journey to and from Atlantic Canada. I will again, around Home Base and when going up to Bellemont Baha’i School, on a couple of occasions, during the next two weeks, as prudence dictates.

The costs of fuel and other staples are stuck at high levels, with many predicting that, with industry smelling record profits, these costs are unlikely to go down much, if at all. This places a serious burden on those who commute to work, or who depend on their vehicles in the course of their work. Other than promoting telecommuting, I don’t have any snap answers to this dilemma. My own vehicle has maximized fuel efficiency, thanks to having good mechanics available, both here and in other parts of the country. Even so, gas is sky-high in price, and diesel, for those who depend on it, is downright astronomical.

My only personal recourse, in all this, is to maintain my daily life and continue to follow those guides, visible and invisible, who provide me with a course of action, both short and long-term. Our parents and grandparents made it through equally difficult, if not worse, times. We can do the same, by sticking together.

Across A Scarred, Blessed Land

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July 11,2022, Grapevine, TX- All of my errands were tended, in a little mini-mall at Muscle Shoals, right next to one of the Blues hub’s many recording studios. I went there, briefly, after checking out of Budget Inn, in nearby Florence. Last night, I was swept up in love for some openly devout people. Quiet strength is an overwhelming force. The manager of Budget Inn showed the same determination and fortitude as that precious family. I will not forget any of them.

I had a mission: To get to my little family’s home, here in the northwest of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metro area, before calling it a night. Crossing three states to get into Texas is an all-day affair, even with few or no stops. I find the scarred, blessed, lands of the South to be of particular beauty, both in terms of terrain and of their people. With all that came of following the doctrine of human ownership of other humans, of patriarchy and dominance-which existed in other parts of the continent and around the globe as well, just in other guises, the character of people and the force of faith have forged an indomitable culture of resilience-among Black and White people alike. That resilience is far from complete, but I saw a much stronger sense of self-worth, across Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana today, than I did on my last journey in this area, in December, 2020. Black workers were not furtively looking about, when serving me, but were forthright and confident. White youths were not engaged in mocking and ridiculing me for “walking like a Yankee”, whatever that meant back in 2020.

I had a fine meal, at Country Pride, in Tallulah, LA, served by a an amiable woman, of regal bearing. The magnolias and pines of the Appalachian foothills gave way to the grasslands of the Delta, which in turn gave way to the pines of the Big Thicket, then to the short grass prairie. I am in my little family’s home now, for three days.

A better South is rising.

The Parthenon, Natchez Trace, and The Sanctity of Family

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July 10, 2022, Florence, AL- The woman, standing 5’2”, and looking for all the world like a present-day Madonna, arrived at her family’s gathering, and instantly commanded the room. Her strapping teenaged son, who had been alternating between being a responsible big brother and goofing around, for the benefit of the three girls at the teenagers’ table, straightened up with a brief, sharp glance from Mama. Her husband, likewise, exercised a measure of control- distributing portions of food and drink from the adults’ table. to the teens and the younger children. The after-church dinner thus proceeded smoothly, in the small, cozy southern Tennessee eatery. I sensed, though, that there was nothing but love in this family-no patriarchy, per se, just a devoted couple who treasure all their children, and one another.

I had left my friends’ house, in a bucolic section of Crossville, a little after 10 a.m., stopping for a few photographs along the route I had taken to yesterday’s Food Truck event. The most breathtaking was this view of Sparta, TN, from an overlook.

I was given an inkling to spend a bit of time in Nashville, a city that I have tended to overlook, in many of the journeys across our home continent. So, a brief visit was first made to the Tennessee State Capitol.

I headed out of downtown, along a route that took me to The Parthenon, a recreation of the original building by that name, in Athens, Greece. Tennesseans treasure the Classical Age, and this museum is the centerpiece of Centennial Park, a vast and salubrious gathering place for all of Nashville. This lush urban park was dedicated in 1897, one year after the centenary of Tennessee’s statehood. Parthenon has two floors: The first hosts special collections of art; the present exhibit being selections from the private collection of James M. Cowan, a Tennessee native and businessman base din the Chicago area. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5e305abfabc0e4424fd1454a/t/5f0ceb6694be7a33f9f830bf/1594682228862/15139+Parthenon+Cowan+brochure_PROOF+%281%29.pdf

On the second floor, there stands an impressive statue of the Greek goddess Athena. Here are some scenes of the lady, the building and the park itself.

The true circumstances of this woman’s life are lost in the mists of time; yet it is clear that she had a powerful personality, being influential in a variety of areas, from education and craftsmanship to the conduct of warfare. That such personages were dubbed gods and goddesses, by pastoral people, is not surprising.

I wandered about the park itself, after spending about a half hour in the museum, which was about to close, anyway. Here’s Lake Watauga, just north of the Parthenon.

After this long overdue attention to the delights of Nashville, I headed west and took in a sliver of Natchez Trace Parkway, which I encountered while looking for Loveless Cafe, a small restaurant southwest of Nashville. The Trace runs for 440 miles, from Nashville to Natchez, and offers a fine cross-section of Southern wilderness.

The Falls themselves were a trickle, as were other waterfalls in the area. The South could use more rain, as could any number of places. I left the Parkway and spotted a sign for Hohenwald, a town whose name means “High Forest”, in German. It has a sanctuary for elephants and is a haven for people in recovery. It is also home to very devout people, including the family mentioned above. The women and girls were conservatively dressed; the men and boys looked more like they had been working a bit. Nonetheless, they were all very relaxed and could have been any close-knit family, anywhere-an attractive, happy bunch. The very sweet waitress took good care of all of us, and it made for a pleasant end to a solemn (Martyrdom of the Bab) but hopeful day. I came to this northern Alabama town, on the Tennessee River, around 9:30.

I will long remember the strong women, both real and stuff of legend, encountered today. It was interesting that, just before leaving Centennial Park, I encountered two young men who claim to worship God the Mother.

The Rains Came-and Stayed

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July 8, 2022, Crossville, TN- Breakfast came, not long after the little girl had poked her head in the downstairs kitchen and hinted that she’d like some hot chocolate. “It’s there for your enjoyment, my love.”, I thought, and simply nodded, with a smile, towards the box of K-pods that had plenty of the delicious beverage. She helped herself, zip-zip, with the usual energy of an eleven-year-old, and was back out the door and up to her Sleepover room, in no time. Her aunt then brought my breakfast of avocado toast, granola and Bing cherries and mused about the challenges of raising three girls who had come from a challenging environment. Right now, they are in probably one of the safest environments they could ever want, looked after, nurtured and protected by a wealth of grounded, caring adults. I was, for a fleeting moment, one more.

I left the salubrious Oley Valley around 10:30, enjoyed the rolling hills and valleys of south central Pennsylvania for another two hours or so, before rolling down through the snippets of similar countryside in Maryland and West Virginia, before the long spine of Appalachian Virginia, itself a Heaven on Earth. The rain was with me, off and on, from Strasburg to just west of Knoxville, a series of gully washers that variously slowed traffic to a crawl or only mildly perturbed the stream of drivers, most of whom, it seemed, were headed from points along the Megalopolis to the Great Smokies. That perception was reinforced by seeing 90 % of my fellow travelers veer off onto I-77 South, at the fork in the highway, some fifteen miles north of Knoxville.

This trip has not seen me stop at three of my favourite eateries. D’s Diner and Rte. 220 (formerly Bedford) Diner, both in Pennsylvania, were simply not on the itinerary this time, with family meals being a priority. Neither, as it happened, was Dukes Bar and Grill, in Harrisonburg. That little spot will be a place for future visits, but today was a move-along steadily day. It was important to be in Crossville, before my hosts were dead-to-the-world asleep, which would have led to my sleeping in the Saturn, in their driveway. (Complex situation short: Their schedule is full, from tomorrow morning until Sunday noon, and any sleep they get is golden.)

So, move-along it was, with gas-ups in Leesport, PA, Winchester and Wytheville, VA and a crispy chicken wrap as my second meal- enough to sustain this still ample frame. After a few knocks, my startled host opened the door, and here I sit, inside another cozy house. This is home, until sometime on Sunday, when we all head out the door, in two separate directions.