The Road to 65, Mile 71: What If They Gave A Desert, and Nobody Came?

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February 7, 2015, El Paso to San Antonio-  The most notable thing about many deserts is the stillness, even on an Interstate highway.  I set out from El Paso around 10, after making a visit to Cracker Barrel, for a small but satisfying breakfast.  I don’t patronize chains very often, and hadn’t been in one of those bustling, overstuffed establishments with the big front porch, in almost three years.  It was fun to look at the plethora of snack foods and old signs from the 19th and early 20th centuries, and to play Triangle Pegs, a couple more times.  The service was good, and the food, forgettable.

The traffic headed into El Paso today was jammed up, tighter than Mid-town Manhattan.  On the other hand, those of us headed eastward were relatively few in number.  We got even fewer once the road passed the last turn-offs to Chihuahua.  The desert of the same name was equally austere, except for a handful of the region’s signature yucca plants.  Below, are the Franklin Mountains, the link between the Rockies and Sierra Madre.

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The silence of the Chihuahua occasionally gets broken, by the presence of tough, and alternately congenial and taciturn folks, who are gathered in towns like Sierra Blanca, Balmorhea and Van Horn.  The last is the largest community in the I-10 corridor, east of El Paso and west of the Hill Country.  I stopped for lunch at La Cocina de Maria, a “Mom” place that draws the locals away from the branch of San Antonio-based Chuy’s.  Maria’s enchiladas are strictly Tex-Mex, but with home-made sauce and the salsa that went with the chips was Maria’s own.

SAM_3836 Another aspect of Van Horn life:  If it seems nobody is giving any thought to reforesting the High Chihuahua, think again.  Mountain View RV Park is maintaining a healthy grove of pines.

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I pressed on, stopping only in highway rest areas, for the obligatory stretch and strut.  The mountains call, from a safe distance.  I will drive the stretch between Uvalde and Van Horn, on the way back to Arizona, but for now:  This is a view, looking south towards Big Bend.

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The Hill Country starts to beckon, around Ozona.

SAM_3838  Not long after that, I found myself pulling off at Sonora, a town named for the Chihuahua Desert’s western neighbour.  Like Sonora, California, the Texas version is not so much desertified, but gives off an air of tough and dusty.  The early oil riggers liked it here.

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By  the time I reached Junction, barbecued brisket was calling my name, so I pulled into Lum’s.

SAM_3843 The cafeteria style that distinguishes so many Texas barbecue places is in effect here, but the family that runs Lum’s is down home friendly and payment is after the meal, almost on the honour system.  I’m certain, though, that cheaters and meal-beaters would run into Bubba, if they had a mind to take advantage of the situation.  The brisket was good, and the sauce a bit mild, but satisfying.  I’d stop at Lum’s again, if I pass through Junction.

San Antonio, which I reached around 8 PM, was full-on bustle- it being Saturday night and all.  I will save visits to the Missions and King William District for my return trip.  It was enough to get to the East Side, rent a room at a little place called Spur Motel and head out to look for wifi, as the Spur is one of only four motels at which I have parked my carcass, that haven’t had Internet. It was reasonable, though, so I took my trusty laptop and headed to a nearby McDonald’s, always good for Internet service, to post the successful journey across the Texas Outback.

The Road to 65, Mile 70: Seeds for Future Fruits

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February 6, 2015, El Paso-  Day One of my present journey started with a round of prayers, at the home of my steadfast morning devotions partner.  Getting my car’s tires rotated and balanced was the next order of business, along with a “Cheater’s Breakfast” of cinnamon crumb Bear Claw and coffee.  No apologies to the Diet Police are in order.

I set out around 11:30, headed through my oft-trod route of I-17, AZ 101 and US 60, past the Valley of the Sun, the Superstition Mountains, and across eastern Arizona and southern New Mexico. There were few stops, as my late start dictated making tracks.  Dinner was healthy, grilled cod and lightly steamed mixed vegetables at Kranberry’s, the best restaurant in Lordsburg, NM.  The day ended with a gorgeous 3/4 moon, rising over Las Cruces, as I made one last stop at the Rest Area,just west of town.  Then, El Paso came into view, thirty minutes later and I settled into this comfortable Red Roof Inn.

I have not taken photos of the intervening locales, as they will be subjects of weekend excursions between this March and December, 2016.  The delights are many:  More of the Superstitions; Superior and Boyce Thompson Arboretum; Globe and Miami; San Carlos Apache Community; the flats of Graham County and their eponymous mountain; the Duncan Valley and, to its north,  the Graham-Greenlee Trail, roughly between Safford and Clifton.  Then, too, there remain a return to Silver City and Gila Cliff Dwellings, a possible astronomy weekend, somewhere outside Lordsburg, and a few hours in the Deming area.

See how this whole road trip thing is a series of Chinese boxes, or Katuschka dolls?  Well, the missions are always manifold- Prayers, spiritual conversations, and educating about oils are parts of any journey, beyond just seeing things and taking photos.  So, I will head on over to breakfast, as it’s already Saturday morning- and bring my supplements with me.  Health is a fine conversation starter.

The Road to 65, Mile 62: No Snow

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January 29, 2015, Boulder-  I came to Boulder, this evening, after a long day of driving through an unusually dry series of Colorado roads.  There was a modest amount of snow, well off the roads, in the mountain passes, and a hardy quartet of young men buzzed around the base of Wolf Creek Summit, on their Skidoos.  Down in Del Norte, however, it was mild and the grounds of Piece of Art complex, at the west end of town, were muddy.  I had a hearty bowl of split pea soup there, one of my favourite cafes along Hwy. 160.  I found the complex is up for sale, for $699,000.  I certainly hope it falls into caring hands.  Piece of Art is one of a kind, especially in that area of Colorado.

It was a smooth ride further, up I-25, past Denver, and up to Hwy. 36, which was narrow, due to construction, and very dark, due to the Dark Sky Ordinance that seems to have been adopted by Boulder- both City and County.  I made it to a comfortable motel, though, and got a fine night’s sleep, after the six hour drive from Cortez.

I would like to see more snow hereabouts, though.  If it slows my return to Arizona, that’s okay.  My main concern is seeing our rivers enjoy the fruits of a good snowpack, and the mountains are the key to that.  Wherever the good snow falls, the chances of fire in the coming Spring and Summer become less.  That would do my heart good.

The Road to 65, Mile 55: Challenges

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January 22, 2015, Prescott- I got a call at 5:38 AM, got out of bed, fumbled with the phone, hit the wrong button, and ended up with no work today.  It always goes the way it is supposed to go, though.  While I won’t earn money from today’s activities, I did reassure a transient friend that he has allies in this community, got him where he needed to go, and spent some time with a friend in Prescott Valley, at a restaurant on the north side of the sprawling town.  The place is called The Chalk Board.  It’s a breakfast and lunch spot and has an inventive, well-prepared menu- like Soldi, here on the hilltop.  Several of us will probably gather there on Saturday morning, for breakfast.  I want to look for the trailhead where I left off of the Black Canyon Trail, last Spring, so a hearty breakfast, en route, will be a great start.

Slow days like this are a good time to look at challenges that lie ahead.  So, between now and the end of May, I have these:

Work- The full-time job will happen, if it’s meant to, by the end of February.  Otherwise, I will show up at every charter school in Prescott and Chino Valley, give them each a copy of my sub certificate, focus on building my Essential Oils business (which I’ll do, anyway) and sock money away.

Service- I am with the Red Cross as a volunteer, regardless.  American Legion? My continuing there, past May, will depend on the political climate.  Right now, it looks iffy.  Prescott Family Shelter is on my volunteer radar screen, also, unless I get full-time work.

Recreation and Travel- Colorado, next weekend, is my most immediate focus- for a  Winter Summit.  Texas, the Gulf Coast and central Florida follow, from Feb. 6-17.  My MIL has a birthday during that time, in Leesburg.  Weekend hikes will be many, from mid-February until late May:  Continuing down the Black Canyon, McDowell Mountains’ Pemberton Trail(Scottsdale), Spur Cross Ranch (Cave Creek),Kendrick Peak (west of Flagstaff), Tucson’s Sahuaro National Park-West Unit, a few more places in Sedona and the rest of Tonto Natural Bridge State Park’s trails.  Then, there are the hikes I will no doubt take, on the spur of the moment.

Faith- Baha’i, like random acts of service, makes up the built-in cabinets and shelving of my Life House.  My growth, and that of the community, will continue in tandem with all of the above.

These may seem like trifling challenges, and they are.  Then again, I’m autistic.  Everything is a challenge.

The Road to 65, Mile 37: Visions of Mars

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January 4, 2015, Valley of Fire, NV-  I checked my social media messages this morning, and found a post which compared the temperature on Mars with that in Minnesota.  Mars was reportedly warmer today.

I was reminded of our nearest planetary neighbour, once on the trails at Valley of Fire State Park, between Moapa and Overton, NV, northeast of Las Vegas.  As you will see further on in this post, red soil abounds there.

I started the day with a hearty breakfast at Comfort Inn, joined by a family who were driving to Colorado, from San Francisco.  They will have clear weather for their return, which is gratifying.  After tooling around Vegas,unsuccessfully, in search of a Wells-Fargo branch, I just bit the bullet, paid the ATM fees and headed up I-15 to Moapa and the park.

SAM_3601 I shortly came upon the reason for the park’s name.

SAM_3606 The Beehives are well-named, in more ways than one.

SAM_3608 Balancing Rock, near the Visitor Center, reminded me of a similar formation at Garden of the Gods, in Colorado Springs.

SAM_3625 SAM_3630 The otherworldiness of the Southwest is in full voice, in Mouse’s Tank, so-named for an outlaw who hid out in this canyon.  The westernmost Ancient Puebloans also settled here, in the 800’s.SAM_3641 SAM_3657 SAM_3660 The Tank itself was empty today.SAM_3667 Life in the Great Basin is always a balancing act.SAM_3670 I came next upon Rainbow Vista, so named for the striated Aztec sandstone found there.SAM_3684 The trail goes through a narrow, rough wash, to end with a gaze upon Fire Canyon.

SAM_3689 SAM_3690 SAM_3693 The apex of the journey into Valley of Fire was at White Domes, a mass of limestone and gypsum.SAM_3698 SAM_3699 Several distance hikers were in this area today.  Someday, I will be back and share their experience.  On the way back towards the Visitor Center, I caught a few glimpses of the blend of colours.

SAM_3705 Seven Sisters, a sandstone formation just south of the Visitor Center, is a popular picnic spot.SAM_3720

Near the East Entrance to the park, a memorial is set up to honour Sergeant John Clark, who perished here in 1915, while en route from Bakersfield to Salt Lake City.SAM_3731 Lake Mead National Recreation Area abuts Valley of Fire, to the southeast.  Its terrain has less of the Aztec sandstone and more limestone and gypsum.SAM_3740 The lake may be down, but it’s far from out. The scenery is still inspiring, especially around sunset.  I enjoyed several stops along the North Shore.

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SAM_3753 Sunset hit its true magnificence as I came upon White Hills, AZ, and Rosie’s Den Cafe.

SAM_3756 Rosie’s is another amazing serendipitous find.  A homey, relaxing spot, with well-prepared food and engaging waitresses, it’s perfectly positioned between Hoover Dam and Kingman.  A plus is that one of the waitresses is also a baker.  Tracey’s no-sugar added cherry pie hits the sweet spot, of the palate, that is.

One caution, being in a rural community:

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JK.  White Hills has a competent volunteer fire service. The stuff of holidays was still well in evidence.

SAM_3759 Rosie’s is definitely cracklin’.

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The Road to 65, Mile 36: Glitter, Followed by Reality

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January 3, 2015, Las Vegas-  Tomorrow morning, a couple of “reality stars” will reunite, sort of, in a Federal prison.  They will leave four young girls behind, and all because money mattered more than it should have.  Money is a tool, a means to an end, and nothing more.  Love, especially the love of a child, is beyond all measure, in its value to human life. At the very same time, a seven-year-old girl will live the rest of her life without her parents and older sister.  She was saved by God’s grace- towards what end is known only to the Universe, and found her way to the home of a good man, and a caring community.

We often seek the quick fix, in the rush to a “good life”.  This is the allure of glitter, though Mankind has known, deep down, since the days of Croesus, and of Solomon, that gilt is seldom golden.  Flamboyance, a smooth tongue, glamour have their place in this world, and often that place is to serve as a red flag to the beholder.  In the end, they matter not one whit.  Good people suffer, as do the not-so-good.  “Bad” people appear to prosper, as do some of those who live the Life. We each have our purpose, and all-in-all that purpose is to know and serve the Creator, the Life Force.  We are each contributing to the Whole.

I drove up to Las Vegas today, stopping first in the little town of Ash Fork, AZ, at the junction of US Hwy 89 and I-40.  The waitress in the small cafe appeared to be undergoing a serious amount of stress, but was keeping a fair focus on her work, and a brave face.  Mentally, I found myself in thought-hug mode.  As a stranger towards another man’s wife, though, what was mental did not become physical- except she got a bigger tip and “have a better day”.

I took a room at Comfort Inn, a ways north of the Strip, which I don’t frequent, being a non-gambler.  I have enjoyed the shows and the exhibits at a couple of Steve Wynn’s properties, in times past.  My purpose this time was to visit some friends, who turned out to be busy, and to spend some time in the Valley of Fire, which looked fascinating, from I-15, when Penny and I drove through to St. George, from California, so many years ago.  Las Vegas has a burger shop, Farmer Boys, part of a chain that seems to be rooted in Southern California, as many chains are.  The difference is that the ingredients are guaranteed fresh, hormone-free meat and organic vegetables.  There is a genuine sense of warmth and graciousness about the staff.  This is the reality that will bring about stability and success.  It was a soothing meal, which I can’t always say, with respect to a hamburger.

Tomorrow, then, will feature the grandeur of nature, followed by a return to the reality which I have come to treasure.  Work that is based on service is always that way.

The Road to 65, Mile 34: Within the Realm of Possibility

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January 1, 2015, Prescott-  Bet you thought I’d never catch up.  Well, the Moveable Feast that was 2014 is a springboard to endless possibilities, this year.  I said farewell to  several friends, family and admired public figures:  Norman Fellman, Richard Keffer, Bill Warden, Steve Archambault,Brooke Bohner, Dane Mc Donald, Ginny Stobie, Helen Fellman, Howard and June Moxham,Bob Wittmann, Mardy Taylor, Norman Hansen, Mary Chrisos, Jack Harper and a few of whom you may have heard:  Pete Seeger, Eli Wallach, Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, Edward Herrmann,  Joe Cocker, Luise Rainer, Bob Hoskins, Christine Cavanaugh, Phil Everly, Dave Madden, Jack Bruce, Ann B. Davis, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Shirley Temple, Johnny Winter, Mickey Rooney, Sid Caesar, Paul Revere, Maya Angelou, Ruby Dee, Ralph Waite, Mike Nichols, Joan Rivers.

They have each moved on, and are in the Gallery, cheering us on,  as we navigate the challenges before us.  My path forward, this year, will soon come to a fork in the road.  One turn would take me to a full-time position with a non-profit.  Then, my free-lance travel will be limited, but I will be constantly on the road, making sure Disaster-Preparedness programs are in place, throughout northwestern Arizona, and that volunteers are receiving training, and are feeling appreciated.

The other turn would lead me to work as a substitute teacher in more schools than I am, at present.  It would also continue my going to such places as I sense the Universe wants me to go.  The one constant, on both paths, will be my using, and educating people on, essential oils.  These have made a significant difference in my life and in my health.

So, stay tuned.  2015 will be another tumultuous ride.  It started slowly today, with a few errands and a young friend’s birthday.  Tomorrow, I visit and hike with my son, in the Phoenix area, and head up to Las Vegas, for a visit with friends and to Valley of Fire, on Saturday & Sunday.  Then, it’ll be time to get serious again.

The Road to 65, Mile 33, Part II: The Gate Stayed Open

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December 31, 2014, Prescott-  When I returned to North America, on 6/29/14, I had the pleasure of a long and varied conversation with a fascinating young lady from Montreal, who is a baker by trade.  The flight back was thus energizing, rather than draining.

July- I spent the first week of July visiting family in the Boston area.  My brother, SIL and I took in a Red Sox game on July 2, which was as marvelous an experience as the team itself was awful, in its play. Fenway Park and the surrounding area are old enough to be somewhat a cross, to me, between old Europe and the modern U.S.  Our fireworks, two days later, were rained out, but some local youths tried anyway- so we had some sky colours.  Going back to Phoenix was an experience.  I ended up staying overnight in Charlotte, as the plane out of Boston was delayed for six hours, due to some problem in Miami, of all places.  At least this way, I didn’t get to Phoenix at 1:30 A.M., so the Universe was looking out for me, in an oblique way.

August-  The interment of my father-in-law’s remains, in Arlington National Cemetery, brought me back to the East Coast, at the beginning of the month, for four days. This was the least a grateful nation could do for him.  I also visited several war-related places on the National Mall, and the 9/11 Memorial west of the Pentagon.

In a rustic camp, west of Prescott, a group of us formed a well-running team, serving Slow Food Prescott’s 50-Mile Dinner,consisting entirely of ingredients from within a fifty-mile radius of our town.

September- In the middle of the month, I drove from Prescott to Salt Lake City, for an annual convention.  Staying in a cheap, Baha’i-owned motel and scrimping where I could, got me through this time, and still I got a  lot out of the convention itself.  Driving all the way back home, in one fell swoop, though, is probably something I would prefer to avoid in the future.

October-  There is very little I won’t do for my son, the only responsibility I really still have, outside of self-care.  When he called, in July, and said I was on the list to take part in the ship’s return cruise, from Honolulu to San Diego, I got the paper work done, made flight arrangements to Honolulu, and enjoyed  1 1/2 days in that exquisite city.  Waikiki, Iolani Palace and Pearl Harbor were each every bit as fascinating as others had said.  The cruise itself was 6 1/2 days, and I learned much about day-to-day shipboard life and about the many hues of blue and aquamarine that are visible from the deck.  After a short few days in San Diego and Crystal Cove State Beach, I drove home, exhausted and just wanting to be in Prescott again.

November-  The month was quiet, until  Thanksgiving weekend.  I went back to San Diego, enjoyed the holiday with Aram and a friend, in Julian, and celebrated my 64th, in low-key fashion, visiting La Jolla and enjoying a Korean lunch.

December- Western New Mexico was where Penny and I first met, 34 years ago, in the Pueblo of Zuni.  I had a salubrious visit to some of our old favourite spots:  El Morro National Monument, with ancient Puebloan ruins and petroglyphs/inscriptions of several time periods and Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, with its myriad sandhill cranes and raptors.  The town of Truth or Consequences, named for a 1940’s and ’50’s radio/TV show, was a lovely revelation.  Its Old Town, centered around the original hot springs resorts, kept me fascinated to the point where my original plan, of visiting the Gila Cliff Dwellings, was put off until another date.  Paying respects to the Apache chief Cochise was accomplished, as was Christmas Eve and Day with some friends who had moved to the Tucson area, from Oklahoma.  The 30th annual Grand Canyon Baha’i Conference was a fitting end to this most filling of years. We got eight inches of snow, on New Year’s Eve.  I rang in the new, by watching Prescott’s midnight fireworks, from my front porch.

The Road to 65, Mile 33: The Gate Swings Backwards, and Then……

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December 31, 2014, Prescott- I woke up around 6:30, on New Year’s morning, 2014, and knew that this would be the year I would hop on board a plane and head over to Europe.  Exactly where, and for how long, remained subject to the vagaries of substitute teaching and my investment income.  All year long, though, things that were meant to happen did, and other things had to be consigned to a later time.

January- The Boot dropped, on Whiskey Row, right at 12 Midnight, as I sipped the hot chocolate I had bought, fifteen minutes earlier in Devil’s Pantry.  The rest of the month brought lots of hiking: Tucson’s Bear Canyon and Seven Falls, the depths of Kartchner Caverns,Casa Grande Ruins, Cave Creek’s Go John Trail, the northern portion of Black Canyon National Recreation Trail, a march through downtown Prescott on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  It was a rather dry month.

February- I started the  month by presiding over the Four Chaplains Commemorative ceremony, at our Legion post, went most of the way up Harquahala Peak, visited Desert Rose Baha’i Institute, studied my Faith a lot, and prepared for the sale of the house where I had lived for the past 2 1/2 years.  We said goodbye to the unofficial “greeter” of Willow Creek Gardens.

March- Three years had passed since beloved Penny left her pain behind.  I moved. Then, I went on an errand of mercy and tribute, to Denver-in a U-Haul, and made it safely through the blizzard that greeted me, just north of Pueblo.  It was a fabulous little impromptu community, first at Walsenburg, then at Colorado City, which made things a whole lot easier.  We who had to negotiate the snow, stuck together.  On the Ides of March, I learned about a Loyalty Rewards Program; how ironic.  The next day, we Legionnaires paid homage to those who left us since last March.  We refer to the departed members as ” Post Everlasting”.  Aram headed out on deployment, for seven months, on the last day of Winter.  I saw him and the ship off, then joined other Baha’is, in San Clemente, for Naw-Ruz, the Baha’i New Year.  Blue Herons and Egrets were plentiful at Dana Point and on Doheny Beach.  History abounded in San Gabriel and Redlands.  An International Dinner ended the month, at home.

April- My little apartment began to feel homey.  I did not stray far, this month.  The next several will be peripatetic enough.  Prescott held the photo session for its Sesquicentennial.  I would miss the real deal, on June 30, but one can’t be everywhere.  Affairs of Faith dominated, as they do every April, on the Commemoration of the Declaration of Baha’u’llah, as to His mission.  We  call it the Festival of Ridvan, after its venue.  It last twelve days, April 21-May 2.

May-  My father-in-law, Norman Fellman, had been getting progressively weaker.  He passed away, on May 7, at the age of 90.  Few affected my life in so powerful a way.  Pop held the bar high, but he’d occasionally help us over it, either with encouraging words, or his left foot- whichever he thought best for the situation.  Mother’s Day was surreal- a silent breakfast with my heart-broken MIL, followed by the flight back to Phoenix.  I would come back, three weeks later, to catch a flight to Frankfurt, Germany.  In the meantime, more heartache struck.  A little Baha’i child drowned, and a large gathering honoured his life, in the western suburbs of Phoenix.  The month ended with my landing in Frankfurt, and getting a good day’s rest at the Q-Green Hotel.

June- This was a dizzying, dazzling and endearing month:  Paris, with Tuilleries, Louvre, Tour d’Eiffel, Hotel Monte Carlo,Versailles- both palace and town, the  residence of ‘Abdu’l-Baha during His 1911 visit to Paris, Montmartre, and Champs Elysees, the Roma along the Seine and the various refugees in the Metro;

Rouen, home of my paternal ancestors, prison cell and execution place of Jeanne d’Arc, Hotel Morand,Vieux Marche, my first glimpse of a great cathedral, Roman fortifications, hungry swans in a pond behind a church, Feast with local Baha’is, Palais de Justice;

Utah Beach, and the 70th Anniversary of D-Day, tanks on the beach, hordes in the village square of St. Marie-de-Mont and a couple of roundabout taxi rides;

Mont St. Michel, every bit as inspiring and cacophanous as I’d been told, a place of legends;

Rennes, capital of Brittany, more remparts, the great House of Brittany’s Parliament,  more grand churches and forts, Hotel Grande Bretagne, a sad and lonely teenager, sobbing for her friends, engaging street people;

Vannes, great showcase of Breton culture, fascinating walks in the hills above town and along the quay, a large duck pond-off the beaten track, and cuisine lovingly prepared and served by Madame Virginie, side trip to magnificent Carnac;

Brest, the American Memorial,  Le Chateau de Brest, “Speak Breton, forget French!”, the exasperated Cyber cafe proprietress, the helpful hotelier, leaping onto the early train back to Rennes;

Amiens, the canals, the great botanic gardens, bright nights, Jules Verne’s memorial, the helpful student, Restaurant Kathmandu, the Peace Church, the great cathedral, no one there named M. Foucault;

Lille, Hotel Balladins, the Cyber Laundry, the grand Arts Palace, one of the biggest City Halls ever, Paris Gate and Tournais Gate;

Bruges, a welter of medieval streets, Historium, first time dipping French fries into mayonnaise, flinty-eyed Flemish householders;

Ghent, officious train conductor (reminded me of Anthony Perkins, playing Inspector Javert), lovely Hotel Sint Pieters, more canals, saucy but adorable Flemish schoolgirls, Gravensteen, the Old Butcher’s Market, Turkish emigres in the New Quarter, interplay between hills and riverfront;

Brussels, chaotic, graffiti-ridden, bilingual, snarky coffee house baristas, inquisitive German schoolkinder, World Cup Victory Gathering at the Bourse, Hotel George V, vibrant Algerian neighbourhood, sweet-natured Italian couple and their Pizzeria Bella, Palais Royal, the Central Square, the Baha’i Centre near an apartment complex;

Bastogne, Batttle of the Bulge  Memorial and Museum, Place McAuliffe, Hotel Leo, the train car as restaurant, vibrant teens at a music festival, happy young family at dinner, tough British motorcyclists with hearts of gold, the helpful drunkard at the bus station, Loup Garou;

Luxembourg, astonishing fortresses of two time periods,bustling Financial District, quiet neighbourhood of the Baha’i Centre, Monument to the Martyrs of World War II, Place Guillaume II, Hotel Vauban, Dani Kohll and Felix Schaber, the Luxembourg Philharmonic Plays Disney, a Sunday brunch in a Baha’i family’s garden, a great small nation honouring its sovereign;

Metz, Residhotel, Jardin de L’Eau, teen lovers seeking solitude, people eating lunch along the river, on a busy workday, everyone out in force on a Sunday evening, boys teasing an Arab girl and getting their comeuppances, a little boy’s first encounter with ducks, the German Gate, the enchanting woods, Bellecroix, the disaffected North Africans and their high rise ghettos;

Strasbourg, modernistic train station,hipster hotel manager, venerable cathedral and chateau, spacious and vibrant central park, supremely welcoming Baha’i community(They all were, but this one especially so), interesting city tour by night;

Heidelberg, three hour wandering through University District, walk along the Neckar, Robert Bunsen,gazing upward at Heidelberg Castle, pleading housewife seeking directions;

Frankfurt– The Dom, the bustling, enjoyable Main Walk, delectable Bosnian lamb chops, the long-suffering clerk at Penthostel,   the Baha’i House of Worship at Langenhain,bratwurst  and friendship in a small wurst haus, a night walk around the Messe and ignoring the working girls along the route;

Gera and Berga– Resurgence in the once downtrodden East, bumbling while trying to exit a city bus, engaging drunkards in a surreal conversation, a view of the mine where Pop worked as a prisoner, standing in front of the V-1 Rocketwerks, eating frozen yogurt in a quiet section of Neu Berga, a small memorial to those held captive in the Nazi Era, the POW barracks.

Part II of this retrospective:  July-December

The Road to 65, Mile 26: Homage to a Chief, and Hail to the Heathens

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December 24, 2014, Vail, AZ-  Growing up, and especially in my teens and twenties, Christmas Eve almost achieved a holiday status all its own.  As a young adult, it almost became a not-so-dry run for its sister Eve, a week later.  This morning, I scouted around for a breakfast place in Lordsburg.  The Pilot Truck Stop store turned out to be the closest thing to such an establishment, since I swore off fast food chains, a while back.  (Well, I do go in Subway, now and then, but you get the picture.)  Armed with a blueberry muffin and high test coffee, I checked out of Holiday Motel and headed west.

Cochise, the famed Apache warrior chief, was a complex man.  His thoughts on the state in which he found himself and his people were summed up by his observation to General Crook that the common enemy of both Apache and American was the Spaniard, who had long since disappeared from these lands, to be replaced by the Mexican, whom Cochise neither understood, nor trusted.  He didn’t particularly like Crook, but he did see the General as a man of his word.  The feeling was mutual.

Cochise would probably like the way in which his old redoubt, the Stronghold that bears his name, has been kept largely wild.  There are horse camps and vacation cottages nearby, but the campsites that are set aside, for those who come to pay their respects to him, are primitive.  Pack it in, pack it out, just as the Chiricahua people did.

I walked a short distance, from the Day Use trailhead, to the base of the Dragoons, and said quiet prayers to the Father of us all.  Like Quanah Parker did, at the Sipapu in Palo Duro Canyon, nearly three years ago, Cochise communicated with me:  “You are ever welcome at this place.  Return, at length, when you are able, my son.  For now, go in peace and harmony, and above all else, keep your word.”

SAM_3498 SAM_3502 SAM_3504 The ruggedness of Cochise Stronghold was soon replaced by the wild yapping of those whose owners call them the Heathen Hounds.  Hacienda Ranch lies a fair stretch down towards the road from Vail Steak House, one of my homes away from hom, when I’m down this way.  The Heathens and their people came this way, from Oklahoma, about six months ago.  These are hounds (chihuahuas) that like all such little critters, would gladly enjoy me as their breakfast.  Bob and Tamy are of a different opinion regarding yours truly, and so I was given a fine lunch and a nice little guest room.  So, I hailed the Heathens from the other room, and went off with Bob, exploring the low country, and a winding hill.

SAM_3505 After such a repast, the confluence of the Chihuahua and Sonoran Deserts called out pretty loudly.  There are no sahuaro, or yucca, in this transition zone, but everything else is here, including the javelina and coyotes.

SAM_3508 These ancient rocks are found along a wash, just southwest of Hacienda.SAM_3509 SAM_3511 SAM_3512 Bob and i went a bushwackin’ through the scrub, and found this seasonal tank.  He thinks a larger one lies just to the west of this one.  Maybe on a future jaunt, one or both of us will find it.SAM_3513 Th scene is recorded for posterity.SAM_3514 These next scenes are from the winding road up a nearby hill.SAM_3516 SAM_3519SAM_3517 SAM_3521 In the absence of sahuaro, the ocotillo take full advantage.  The dogs didn’t take advantage of me, but even if they tried, I’d have loved to death.

This Christmas Eve was spent watching a rebroadcast of A Christmas Story 2″, which bored me to tears, and . another, of “Pearl Harbor”, which delivered the full horror of that awful day.   One element of surprise, though, led to another, and as Admiral Yamamoto said, the sleeping giant had been awoken.