tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36089748409012569642024-02-19T04:39:16.127-08:00Tales of AdventureThe digital home of the Adventure Squadron.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-24381289130121987382007-10-23T08:59:00.000-07:002007-10-23T09:00:12.027-07:00Greener PasturesI generally blog <a href="http://schooloflawblog.blogspot.com">here</a> now.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-11545787064867407982007-08-30T10:39:00.000-07:002007-09-04T08:43:11.043-07:00LeeGoon<span style="font-family: courier new;">I'll keep this adventure short and sweet because that's all it ever was.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Setting:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Lee and I both have season passes to Lagoon (park of amusement). We've been there twice together. It's creepy for oh so many reasons.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">1. We are both kind of seedy looking guys.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">2. We are the oldest human beings at Lagoon without child accompaniment.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">3. Lots of vaguely homosexual contact from two heterosexual men.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">4. Teens girls realizing their sexuality in public with acne riddled boys wearing oversized black clothing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">5. The embarrassment of not being able to win one another a large stuffed animal.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Some rides require straddling. Take for instance the Jet Star II:</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcle11SwFxlNpmUPgPDb6-X0qCANzbEoYNbB6iNq_bUDtFLhIO_rNRK-moj3SiXcm6ELxiThjkNuo1mlcrpsBkB5_PVDaOxfWitRMMUOMnCSRqbhubOSNu4BmCeNE-WFwG52LUAmSt4NMc/s1600-h/star2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcle11SwFxlNpmUPgPDb6-X0qCANzbEoYNbB6iNq_bUDtFLhIO_rNRK-moj3SiXcm6ELxiThjkNuo1mlcrpsBkB5_PVDaOxfWitRMMUOMnCSRqbhubOSNu4BmCeNE-WFwG52LUAmSt4NMc/s320/star2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104552275261977970" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;font-family:courier new;" ><br /><br />It's a great little coaster built in the 1970s for the price of $500,000.00. Lots of lateral g's and a double helix you could lose an arm on. However, every section of the car requires two riders. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlG5jpcPfLIquAbq7s3hAemXwmSz2tpwPVatosQ7qQJcxGTlk1dJ7qB6JZYs3_SFNpLOsmKrGy45vtkK08LILyRUGtZiCdcd3iStg0G_20esKes0_BnOpcfhLPD-Jn0ZWYW5V1QVHXxZm/s1600-h/DSC00761.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlG5jpcPfLIquAbq7s3hAemXwmSz2tpwPVatosQ7qQJcxGTlk1dJ7qB6JZYs3_SFNpLOsmKrGy45vtkK08LILyRUGtZiCdcd3iStg0G_20esKes0_BnOpcfhLPD-Jn0ZWYW5V1QVHXxZm/s320/DSC00761.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104553808565302658" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm not small, and Lee is of a larger carriage than I. We've been through this twice and it doesn't seem to matter who goes in back or who sits up front. The two of us don't really fit. Ride operators generally stare working up the nerve to ask us to leave, but the give up after about five seconds of non-action.<br /><br />Our best ride together, as a team, is probably the Tilt-a-Whirl. <br /><br />Enjoy:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjkoRIL3U_ZqsCPbJeIhY0Z83EaHoWNXGBlWnKjH-lKPIEZN_sKbQy_RdH_FaYZ5XSXNek5cp1xq7ro5BT-NEK5W7udb9F5o5AdY1Z8iq9aM3nm3C6Y6gFCNg1i61Bq_6LIwWtZrk6Skm/s1600-h/DSC00762.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjkoRIL3U_ZqsCPbJeIhY0Z83EaHoWNXGBlWnKjH-lKPIEZN_sKbQy_RdH_FaYZ5XSXNek5cp1xq7ro5BT-NEK5W7udb9F5o5AdY1Z8iq9aM3nm3C6Y6gFCNg1i61Bq_6LIwWtZrk6Skm/s320/DSC00762.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104556484329928082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrE4IUZsu1V3TEIS8cTzmQ24WY3CC5hrDR8uZ73uhNVC8wGjjTToOzkBhDOOACVG8AsdmM4T9IG2J5lRUnfRqSaD23pKuwZCP-RyKcS3DGKkIMLe2HT_QNai00fQZbGBu2tKzH0MTRtlsQ/s1600-h/DSC00767.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrE4IUZsu1V3TEIS8cTzmQ24WY3CC5hrDR8uZ73uhNVC8wGjjTToOzkBhDOOACVG8AsdmM4T9IG2J5lRUnfRqSaD23pKuwZCP-RyKcS3DGKkIMLe2HT_QNai00fQZbGBu2tKzH0MTRtlsQ/s320/DSC00767.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104556492919862690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZAUj3QOycyPWZKT8iMNJETUGSu_pNaMCEg1doaAkfQxavcHDJNgSIq-N76eyifHjrhtT-XxQyx3ris1HbvwGoJsdkfdlErqbbN2JXw2Dj180aqfAbK7Rt_bU4TA9e3MMJkVPqD-c4c4I/s1600-h/DSC00768.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZAUj3QOycyPWZKT8iMNJETUGSu_pNaMCEg1doaAkfQxavcHDJNgSIq-N76eyifHjrhtT-XxQyx3ris1HbvwGoJsdkfdlErqbbN2JXw2Dj180aqfAbK7Rt_bU4TA9e3MMJkVPqD-c4c4I/s320/DSC00768.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104556497214830002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lagoon is a hard place to get a picture taken. Pictures aren't the objective. Lagoon is for fun. But I didn't tote my camera around, sealed safely in a zip-lock bag, in too tight jeans all day for nothing. <br /><br />As we left I snapped a few more photographs. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLE9JS39qPxKuiQNBnXyM00RYnTXtUkQrbGxzVcDwEiwOOkPRoIEu27YgmG5rzfNq3aFDD605oXTyOPksmQJEXXZpGABO1hCoxKejujOck7BklosmHJnDwSKLc8CbEYbSS-vzFGdfi5cj/s1600-h/DSC00776.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLE9JS39qPxKuiQNBnXyM00RYnTXtUkQrbGxzVcDwEiwOOkPRoIEu27YgmG5rzfNq3aFDD605oXTyOPksmQJEXXZpGABO1hCoxKejujOck7BklosmHJnDwSKLc8CbEYbSS-vzFGdfi5cj/s320/DSC00776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104558060582925762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdWj4lAz0yR9Af-FlTByw9JRXOPflYPkliiPm8_XeL5fZOWM_ZXHwwRR8jem40Te4Or5DET33X8-1voKFp7kXFylYGOfN-qKW0TiGFGtLMw5Vt_O-hf8ghEw4kyzBERUAxfCg_ZXa8zt4/s1600-h/DSC00778.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdWj4lAz0yR9Af-FlTByw9JRXOPflYPkliiPm8_XeL5fZOWM_ZXHwwRR8jem40Te4Or5DET33X8-1voKFp7kXFylYGOfN-qKW0TiGFGtLMw5Vt_O-hf8ghEw4kyzBERUAxfCg_ZXa8zt4/s320/DSC00778.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104558073467827666" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVzEjCjoAywa5xb0DBPEe3XpfPz2NhNYXX-8AN_kzh0o0vFa24-iqm2WLd1ELtdFx-GsIsCWk8e2Jxl3Mw-mNXiHlOr_Y6Ca-xTBuRbgJ71bKRDmT1YSopyEd2nnPqbYcp5TpZEE0IDv4/s1600-h/DSC00781.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVzEjCjoAywa5xb0DBPEe3XpfPz2NhNYXX-8AN_kzh0o0vFa24-iqm2WLd1ELtdFx-GsIsCWk8e2Jxl3Mw-mNXiHlOr_Y6Ca-xTBuRbgJ71bKRDmT1YSopyEd2nnPqbYcp5TpZEE0IDv4/s320/DSC00781.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104558077762794978" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Goodnight, Lagoon. Goodnight, blog.<br /><br /><br /></span>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-41167773826210958692007-08-16T10:03:00.000-07:002007-08-16T11:20:01.974-07:00Mona, UT---Lavender Days<span style="font-family: courier new;">Sitting in front of a computer resizing pictures and formating blog entries is not an adventure, and since I've been trying to cram my remaining days before law school with as much adventure as possible, I haven't been around here much. Now law school is upon me, the adventures have been had, and hopefully I'll get at least three or four of those adventures up here before Jesus comes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">In the past three months or so I took approximately 700 photographs of various adventure. Big adventures in far off countries. Little adventures at local amusement spots. Many pictures. Many adventures.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">So where to start?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">To me there is no question about it: Lavender Days.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">This was the quintessential adventure because it was all adventures rolled into one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Lavender days can best be described as a small town fair, renaissance festival, old west shoot-out, bad high school play, and creepy multilevel marketing party all rolled into one.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Don't believe me? Behold!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">We arrive at 12:00, just in time to catch the Wild West Shoot-Out. Now I don't know about you, but to me the ideal shoot-out should go a little like this:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Step One: Poker table gets thrown over.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Step Two: Guns are drawn and shooting ensues.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Step Three: All present join into the fight regardless of association.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Step Four (optional): Town drunk falls into trough of water.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Step Five: The black-vested, silver-starred sheriff picks off the last of the ne'er do wells, who happens to be standing in front of a second story window, or possibly on a balcony, and gracefully falls into a serendipitously placed hay wagon.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Unfortunately, what we witnessed was five minutes of poorly improvised generally escalating dialog followed by a single unimpressive cap burst. Repeat for 60 minutes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">I don't know why I didn't take any pictures of this. Probably because in still frame it would have looked like a normal gunfight, except the players were wearing Van Huessen shirts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">But we got bored, and two of my friends went to sit in a wagon that was slightly back stage. Made sense to me.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6TY7vuW2rrKxstUvMxX8rBokRCdCwTj9VxvdrDLsViHGC7kjzLj6UYp6BHxywrHa743Ep_6q9x9oo_Cg9XciRgltHVnXwVvW0CjFhf029rR0NLTZUP-_5XN1Rh-TgKBy8n9ILjj3nD2T/s1600-h/DSC00644.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6TY7vuW2rrKxstUvMxX8rBokRCdCwTj9VxvdrDLsViHGC7kjzLj6UYp6BHxywrHa743Ep_6q9x9oo_Cg9XciRgltHVnXwVvW0CjFhf029rR0NLTZUP-_5XN1Rh-TgKBy8n9ILjj3nD2T/s320/DSC00644.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099351207305475234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">"Sitting in a wagon hardly constitutes adventure!" you say. I respond, "Hey, where did you ever sit that was so great?!?" Unless you've ridden a mechanical bull or a falling a-bomb, I don't want to hear it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Besides, check out this Olde Barrel of Fune that I sat in!</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtBh-zhDN0094r0S4im4hx1yFEfzHff94o7jshwA6fWJLsg8ueoirh0p9hdbCyDsJJKC0bHkwFTxaa49fP7OnRD3GSpDBQPKEkt5CvIXVSmYPtpAcQMMvujp0t3lNVzooI0kQGoUEsrv-/s1600-h/DSC00653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtBh-zhDN0094r0S4im4hx1yFEfzHff94o7jshwA6fWJLsg8ueoirh0p9hdbCyDsJJKC0bHkwFTxaa49fP7OnRD3GSpDBQPKEkt5CvIXVSmYPtpAcQMMvujp0t3lNVzooI0kQGoUEsrv-/s320/DSC00653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099352298227168434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: courier new;">W</span><span style="font-family: courier new;">h</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: courier new;">o</span><span style="font-family: courier new;">a</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: courier new;">a</span><span style="font-family: courier new;">a</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: courier new;">a</span><span style="font-family: courier new;">!</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCDYDZlNXzWAspMGVB5lXptA_yDJgQk2uW_s5ykwcM_bqzCP4rJfyA0yy72GRNR27MENUEBU3dvx5Y3xlP9Ja-RfYNbNTxnVSxGHo8myMSuDwO2J6nwDOToSO_iq9YfrTTYbjrQtxPqT-/s1600-h/DSC00655.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCDYDZlNXzWAspMGVB5lXptA_yDJgQk2uW_s5ykwcM_bqzCP4rJfyA0yy72GRNR27MENUEBU3dvx5Y3xlP9Ja-RfYNbNTxnVSxGHo8myMSuDwO2J6nwDOToSO_iq9YfrTTYbjrQtxPqT-/s320/DSC00655.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099353109975987394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Sitting isn't your thing? Lavender Days offers many options for the vertically inclined patron. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXJzuksryo5TNG4wJviI0tB-r2voMeUuVC3pM4CHoENYl5FrjRZEHRMp0QbBxpTmAY2wc34wOw_qts92edzNfB0Xjryn5o-JpK-Zq5D1EIss7yFhhbYMTYfP4jk7NZnwe7Xu-IsZhRgeW/s1600-h/DSC00667.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXJzuksryo5TNG4wJviI0tB-r2voMeUuVC3pM4CHoENYl5FrjRZEHRMp0QbBxpTmAY2wc34wOw_qts92edzNfB0Xjryn5o-JpK-Zq5D1EIss7yFhhbYMTYfP4jk7NZnwe7Xu-IsZhRgeW/s320/DSC00667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099354338336634066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">A woman, totally unbidden but not totally unwelcomed, started flogging me from behind. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPG8-I3igYdlkyItPsEqigGkBWygPZDUTOc-2upTSiUv3OxCaw3DW361N8WDWtGfGAhCPOZWy2R_HhXgb6OirBviT91qsBsaJbOCcei8b3VeQSmpMGkgAe-ANeHlYfefFJkp21jHA-3sX/s1600-h/DSC00669.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPG8-I3igYdlkyItPsEqigGkBWygPZDUTOc-2upTSiUv3OxCaw3DW361N8WDWtGfGAhCPOZWy2R_HhXgb6OirBviT91qsBsaJbOCcei8b3VeQSmpMGkgAe-ANeHlYfefFJkp21jHA-3sX/s320/DSC00669.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099355343358981346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">She didn't quite have the vocabulary to be a convincing time traveler. When I tell her that the stocks aren't "that bad" she corrects me in haste.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">"Aye, not at all! Sometimes ye wouldst be in the stocks for day, perhaps even a fortnight. Ladies and gentlemen would fill the olde towne square and wouldst pelt you with rotten produce, and perchance even spit upon thee."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: courier new;">Without thinking</span><span style="font-family: courier new;"> I say, "Sounds a lot like working in a cubicle."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">It doesn't really sound like working in a cubicle, but it was still one of those jokes people laughed at, including this wench. She should have been more careful. I know the cubicle wasn't invented until after the industrial revolution and her cover is blown. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">But suspension of disbelief isn't the only thing disappearing. Behold Erik the Red!</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHRTLQZlTb_I7pAherYxXhIROoe_jR51IBvicBtBYu-_St9kKtFtZf23EyPxy9una78fTCq-0T-sIRBVV7JM4vrcilzNCAePWBc9dARgjyF48bwkZHnN485gxGc7E7RewNOBykpsu1JAd/s1600-h/DSC00670.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHRTLQZlTb_I7pAherYxXhIROoe_jR51IBvicBtBYu-_St9kKtFtZf23EyPxy9una78fTCq-0T-sIRBVV7JM4vrcilzNCAePWBc9dARgjyF48bwkZHnN485gxGc7E7RewNOBykpsu1JAd/s320/DSC00670.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099356859482436850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">I think in that picture he had just summoned some children from the nether realm while his son stands confidently behind him. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Erik has a vaguely Scottish, Irish, Euro, Mr. & Mrs. Howell accent. It's not shared by anyone in the family. So apparently Erik immigrated from his homeland. He claims to be a gypsie, so his story checks out. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">At one point he asks for some burly men from the audience. I don't swear, but darn this beard! I'm about to come toe to toe with one of my worst fears: being called into a magic show. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">The trick is me and this other (fat) dude supposedly pull a rope "through" Erik. It was kind of a crappy trick. Without further ado, here are the photographs. Please notice me gagging after having to examine Erik's sweaty, gypsie vest. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1edYzEsustGYqHqm6qHNIwXuuEyhEuMDC6QJb6fASTReKbUl-BJHY5uaZz9rBkkaBC8sZhnLxxtQUCR6pviiR83wGJF03iGjHmtNnnGPhSYXxYW0bBpwZR-d77VC_6Wz_tZG3b3wrW5Gg/s1600-h/DSC00671.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1edYzEsustGYqHqm6qHNIwXuuEyhEuMDC6QJb6fASTReKbUl-BJHY5uaZz9rBkkaBC8sZhnLxxtQUCR6pviiR83wGJF03iGjHmtNnnGPhSYXxYW0bBpwZR-d77VC_6Wz_tZG3b3wrW5Gg/s320/DSC00671.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099358457210270978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4ITq9-tQ6m0oLWRcstp4dLp0aPnnXF8AYvfTweGYW-QMYpqlhPdzF3Ckqj-onzCN_iNf-0TtbGIS2UMC4fKsPtlPEPMJKnhk8naRPkHsezqPXy4_33jgsCJil_ptaFf6VX6s9RG94Fj3/s1600-h/DSC00672.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4ITq9-tQ6m0oLWRcstp4dLp0aPnnXF8AYvfTweGYW-QMYpqlhPdzF3Ckqj-onzCN_iNf-0TtbGIS2UMC4fKsPtlPEPMJKnhk8naRPkHsezqPXy4_33jgsCJil_ptaFf6VX6s9RG94Fj3/s320/DSC00672.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099358830872425746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhW_hAbGHeZKKEmlc4JWp3IwrY6xh6HPaTA7uMmCrMsytFxtTsEBdxjFHFAMe1guNYr1Ps2IBEES7VZLktVudEv6An35tZG_fiqazHAuv2h9MRzFwsH6bSt-ZiLzXB_z6TlQEpn1CJeajQ/s1600-h/DSC00673.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhW_hAbGHeZKKEmlc4JWp3IwrY6xh6HPaTA7uMmCrMsytFxtTsEBdxjFHFAMe1guNYr1Ps2IBEES7VZLktVudEv6An35tZG_fiqazHAuv2h9MRzFwsH6bSt-ZiLzXB_z6TlQEpn1CJeajQ/s320/DSC00673.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099359208829547810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTA69FHBml8llo_tho7Y8syb6ldi8uRKDI4NPQd809UAjjC0XBCIiFmx6tKgvjFhO8aOmogzuUwkNapbtU4zodJDES2ihm4k1zdsF-P3YLUp2drNiGf8AyOaEJOK9LLw6LfNaj7l3-B9Yr/s1600-h/DSC00674.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTA69FHBml8llo_tho7Y8syb6ldi8uRKDI4NPQd809UAjjC0XBCIiFmx6tKgvjFhO8aOmogzuUwkNapbtU4zodJDES2ihm4k1zdsF-P3YLUp2drNiGf8AyOaEJOK9LLw6LfNaj7l3-B9Yr/s320/DSC00674.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099359522362160434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Don't clap. Say huzzah! (Erik insists.)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">After this, there is only one thing that would make me feel better. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkhlf4ePJilbngNsOdYBC17NWDu6qwptaiqcf3ifgkYtTPRB4day8uoTgtR9fZMHjM5-BljjvoFvnSAKD9-8tYS7Y19UPTAzzfTh2wYFEfUEFXGSrUVAHST6AptUvBrsoon7nE3bxnCfq/s1600-h/DSC00659.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkhlf4ePJilbngNsOdYBC17NWDu6qwptaiqcf3ifgkYtTPRB4day8uoTgtR9fZMHjM5-BljjvoFvnSAKD9-8tYS7Y19UPTAzzfTh2wYFEfUEFXGSrUVAHST6AptUvBrsoon7nE3bxnCfq/s320/DSC00659.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099360024873334082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">A little peasant boy gives me a pig to kill. I don't think he thought I would destroy it. I felt bad when the blacksmith had to come and help pull the lifeless, stuffing knocked out, burlap animal off the end of my spear, but I had a lot of aggression to work out. </span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9ZLTHmpk_TTiWOKKyG5FRlzU8Nl5oM99Ilj83mbSZ2rBxNa4oKZBIyBWcL8H4MKli4U7BNjcx4udDRI0X4ObWzQuWMHuoxUfEfyb5J4mXKG2k0zUHBzjkqLMKfBZKSXImibdh6gvB2UX/s1600-h/DSC00664.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9ZLTHmpk_TTiWOKKyG5FRlzU8Nl5oM99Ilj83mbSZ2rBxNa4oKZBIyBWcL8H4MKli4U7BNjcx4udDRI0X4ObWzQuWMHuoxUfEfyb5J4mXKG2k0zUHBzjkqLMKfBZKSXImibdh6gvB2UX/s320/DSC00664.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099361631191102802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: courier new;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4wNt3Sl3rN-MgzRpHB9yyRQ-VuZhYoIaeqQ8h4LAS1tTgkVB5PkFOGay3qDXGhZBhSnzqlVplvebzUqB8eMgfHS33YHAo_CvEBSVXR1daY17Dk7BkGTlT03BHG9A_w3BBYlTeejgvqcN/s1600-h/DSC00666.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4wNt3Sl3rN-MgzRpHB9yyRQ-VuZhYoIaeqQ8h4LAS1tTgkVB5PkFOGay3qDXGhZBhSnzqlVplvebzUqB8eMgfHS33YHAo_CvEBSVXR1daY17Dk7BkGTlT03BHG9A_w3BBYlTeejgvqcN/s320/DSC00666.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099364629078275426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">The End. </span>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-7193481680584071072007-07-02T23:35:00.000-07:002007-07-04T03:04:54.741-07:00Greer<div><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" >Hello! This is the very first blog post I have ever written, ever. Kind of an intimidating thought, that, but onward we go. I believe in Rip's theories about the beauty and necessity of taking in life off the freeways every now and again. My husband of 11 years, Ty, and I have been avid road trippers since we started dating. With the arrival of our daughter, Gabby, 2 years ago, our lives changed dramatically for the better, but there were a few casualties, the prevailing whimsicality of a road trip being one of them. Recently, we've decided to steal some of the whimsy back. "Recently" being "last weekend".</span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" >It had indeed been a while since we had been out on the open road. Ty came home from work around noon to find Gabby and I held hostage indoors by the brutal 112 degree heat. He said he did not have to work the next couple of days, and what did I think about going camping? I thought it was the best idea </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" >ever</span><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >! We hurriedly packed and looked online for fire-permitted areas, and were on the road in under an hour.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082865180016382690" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron283gUEuI/AAAAAAAAACk/b1-TTDF0v7k/s400/2suit+002.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Here she is, our little <a href="http://www.pseudodictionary.com/search.php?letter=c&browsestart=100">Camperoo</a>. </span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron24HgUEtI/AAAAAAAAACc/IgRGILcDvM0/s1600-h/2suit+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082865098412004050" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron24HgUEtI/AAAAAAAAACc/IgRGILcDvM0/s400/2suit+001.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">Yes, she really is that cute almost all the time. And I'm totally not biased or anything.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Shortly, we began to encounter mountains. I should probably note at this point that with a few obvious exceptions, I took these photos from a moving vehicle, so bear with me. If you look closely, the rocks at the forefront bottom of this picture resemble a gorilla. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2x3gUEsI/AAAAAAAAACU/cQGKdlx6xD8/s1600-h/2suit+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864991037821634" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2x3gUEsI/AAAAAAAAACU/cQGKdlx6xD8/s400/2suit+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">I am like a happy puppy on road trips. I put my tongue back in my mouth and my sunglasses on to try and look cool, but inside I was like <a href="http://www.thegrandpaw.com/images/Dog%20in%20Car%20Window%20Corbis%20ValuPak%2010237259.jpg">this</a>.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2t3gUErI/AAAAAAAAACM/Drgh27OAPSg/s1600-h/2suit+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864922318344882" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2t3gUErI/AAAAAAAAACM/Drgh27OAPSg/s400/2suit+003.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">The 60, heading toward the White Mountains. Specifically, <a href="http://www.greerarizona.com/">Greer</a>. I had never been there ... had only heard tell tale of a wooded, be-cabined, nearly pristine place frequented almost entirely by nature and adventure lovers, and offering some of the loveliest non-primitive camping around. Since it's sort of not camping without a campfire, and campfires right now are only permitted in designated sites, we decided to go cush, not rough. But more on that in a bit.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2mXgUEqI/AAAAAAAAACE/LZokTLr_Bro/s1600-h/2suit+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864793469325986" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2mXgUEqI/AAAAAAAAACE/LZokTLr_Bro/s400/2suit+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">On the way to Greer, we first passed through <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miami,_Arizona">Miami</a> and <a href="http://www.globemiamichamber.com/">Globe</a>. Miami might be a mining town, but they recycle. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2eHgUEpI/AAAAAAAAAB8/JOmCGkq3fG0/s1600-h/2suit+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864651735405202" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2eHgUEpI/AAAAAAAAAB8/JOmCGkq3fG0/s400/2suit+008.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">The town of Miami has a certain metallic feel to it. Everywhere you look, there is something built out of metal. Living in a suburb, I guess I've gotten used to the prevalence of concrete. Metal ages so much differently than concrete. It rusts, it bends, rain sounds percussive falling on it. Given the choice of building materials, I think I'd take metal any day over concrete.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2X3gUEoI/AAAAAAAAAB0/cg0pBDQI8zQ/s1600-h/2suit+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864544361222786" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2X3gUEoI/AAAAAAAAAB0/cg0pBDQI8zQ/s400/2suit+009.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Here is one of the Miami mines, a copper mine, I believe.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2P3gUEnI/AAAAAAAAABs/VlDD1L-lsr8/s1600-h/2suit+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864406922269298" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2P3gUEnI/AAAAAAAAABs/VlDD1L-lsr8/s400/2suit+010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Sometimes on road trips, I feel a kinship with my fellow travellers. Admittedly, it's not usually with the q-tips in the the big white Caddy going 15 under the speed limit; nor with the teens in their tricked out imports treating the switchbacks like a real-life video game. This vehicle seemed like my people. Look at it -- doesn't it just look <span style="font-style: italic;">happy</span>? "Come follow me! Who knows where we'll end up?" And as our paths coincided for a stretch, follow we did.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2D3gUEmI/AAAAAAAAABk/I1CyIysxyJc/s1600-h/2suit+015.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864200763839074" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron2D3gUEmI/AAAAAAAAABk/I1CyIysxyJc/s400/2suit+015.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron19XgUElI/AAAAAAAAABc/f1kZNzdCrLA/s1600-h/2suit+016.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082864089094689362" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron19XgUElI/AAAAAAAAABc/f1kZNzdCrLA/s400/2suit+016.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron13HgUEkI/AAAAAAAAABU/nCMf40Ajv6s/s1600-h/2suit+017.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082863981720506946" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron13HgUEkI/AAAAAAAAABU/nCMf40Ajv6s/s400/2suit+017.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Now I would like to present some vintage neon signage shots I took in the Miami-Globe area, and dedicate them to my friend and colleague, B, a noted aficionado of neon.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1s3gUEjI/AAAAAAAAABM/Ri2qC5vPqzk/s1600-h/2suit+022.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082863805626847794" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1s3gUEjI/AAAAAAAAABM/Ri2qC5vPqzk/s400/2suit+022.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1nXgUEiI/AAAAAAAAABE/H2LdJgk0RBI/s1600-h/2suit+014.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082863711137567266" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1nXgUEiI/AAAAAAAAABE/H2LdJgk0RBI/s400/2suit+014.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1ingUEhI/AAAAAAAAAA8/x8nQ8ICQdpw/s1600-h/2suit+023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082863629533188626" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ron1ingUEhI/AAAAAAAAAA8/x8nQ8ICQdpw/s400/2suit+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">As the afternoon wore on, and the driving continued, our little Camperoo began to wilt a bit. Here she is zoning out on some Thomas the Tank Engine.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyxHgUEgI/AAAAAAAAAA0/f-dsl-TnOuY/s1600-h/2suit+028.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082860580106408450" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyxHgUEgI/AAAAAAAAAA0/f-dsl-TnOuY/s400/2suit+028.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Afternoon turned the corner into dusk. As we approached Greer, and the sunlight began to fade, I tried my best to capture what I could of the scenery from the car. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyqngUEfI/AAAAAAAAAAs/IBNoMAOieUg/s1600-h/2suit+026.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082860468437258738" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyqngUEfI/AAAAAAAAAAs/IBNoMAOieUg/s400/2suit+026.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ronyj3gUEeI/AAAAAAAAAAk/OTwPlSOw6Lw/s1600-h/2suit+029.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082860352473141730" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ronyj3gUEeI/AAAAAAAAAAk/OTwPlSOw6Lw/s400/2suit+029.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ronyc3gUEdI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8xy08jZB2Is/s1600-h/2suit+031.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082860232214057426" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/Ronyc3gUEdI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8xy08jZB2Is/s400/2suit+031.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">At last we arrived in Greer, and not a moment too soon. Within minutes of this photo, we were in pitch darkness, and still not ensconced in a campsite. </span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyYHgUEcI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Q4qfZWCt3cY/s1600-h/2suit+024.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082860150609678786" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyYHgUEcI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Q4qfZWCt3cY/s400/2suit+024.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">And here, my friends, is where it all began to unravel. Every campsite in all three areas was occupied. This was not a total surprise; our whimsicality meant we got on the road later and other folks beat us to the punch. No big deal, campfires are fun, but not a necessity, so we decided to go primitive, which would also give us privacy. Ty knows the area quite well, and in no time we were at the turn-off ... and the road was closed.<br /><br /><br />After a bit of off-roading (which was a feat in itself in our low-profile vehicle), we came to a clearing in the woods. Under typical lighting conditions, it would have appeared as a vast patch of thick darkness amidst patchier pieces of tree-shaped darkness. That night, however, there was a full moon -- the brightest, clearest, quietest moon I may have ever seen. The area was empty of any trace of humanity, populated only by sweet-smelling pines, tall grasses, and a stillness that nearly broke my heart. It was already dark, and our campsite would keep. Ty stopped the car, turned off Gabby's movie, and we sat in silence and stared. This was peace, and my heart drank it up through my eyes. Looking back, we'd have happily driven hours more had we known those moments were waiting; but we didn't know, and there is something magical in that.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">After setting up camp with the aid of the flashlight moon, we played with Gabby for hours, and still, she was nowhere near sleep, as evidenced by this photo, taken around 11pm. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyLHgUEbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/xV__N-vNT1w/s1600-h/2suit+035.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082859927271379378" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XDeLFhU3Eb4/RonyLHgUEbI/AAAAAAAAAAM/xV__N-vNT1w/s400/2suit+035.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">It was so fun being outdoors with her, watching her romp, laugh and explore her nighttime playground. However, after we attempted to put her to bed, and she managed to climb out of her pack n' play a half dozen times, we realized we may have bitten off more than we could chew. Neither Ty nor I wanted to spend the weekend sleepless and exhausted; we desired to enjoy as much of it as possible. We weighed our options, deciding, at last, to wave the white flag, pack up, and decamp to my parent's home an hour away in <a href="http://ci.show-low.az.us/">Show Low</a>. Part II of this adventure will pick up from there ...</span><br /><br /></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-12687009667242182622007-06-14T10:12:00.000-07:002007-06-14T17:35:01.497-07:00Echo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHbHaL2aeW5ySKwLQ61QbJMWc0qKQ8furrA0fEmXPjM55dgErFzxMuanUhcJifZzSIAsH2z5rm9h9evwa7Qrg-IIf35hLOL9rnTJZQhzpm5uOh953Mltah3ONz32feqyb8A6whZupbhVz/s1600-h/AUT_0290.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075971421516308018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHbHaL2aeW5ySKwLQ61QbJMWc0qKQ8furrA0fEmXPjM55dgErFzxMuanUhcJifZzSIAsH2z5rm9h9evwa7Qrg-IIf35hLOL9rnTJZQhzpm5uOh953Mltah3ONz32feqyb8A6whZupbhVz/s400/AUT_0290.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div>Hey readers, B here. I’m thrilled to be contributing to this blog and I wanted to get something up right away. These are some old pictures that I’ve never really done anything with. They were taken in 2003.<br /><br />I’m writing this from memory, and though I could do some research I choose not to because I want this to go straight from my head to your hands. Because of this, there may be some geographic inaccuracies.<br /><br />Let’s set the stage. During the Fall Semester of 2003 I had two classes, but about three hours of free time in between. I certainly wasn’t going to use those three hours studying, and there’s only so much time one can spend not buying CDs at Graywhale.<br /><br />One of my favorite activities is Driving Around, so that became my tween-class pastime. I explored various canyons, and on a road that connected Emigration Canyon and Parley’s Canyon I found a nice spot overlooking a reservoir where I would park and eat lunch (sandwiches).<br /><br />Eventually I started exploring further and further, following Emigration Canyon over to East Canyon. I was hesitant at first, like a young man making out with a girl for the first time, trying to see how much handsiness he could get away with.<br /><br />Anyway, let’s break from the story to enjoy some fall colors.<br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HenZqOWUhwaAKTAm6I5-SSYJl08-K8SaLPGuWaqTc_PC53gAfg5vBna9zktx_gVRGhPSjAf1acturuTwInCyheYWybqANMuq3eBQIOXB6CLDI29nIQO2qJg6EHUdOpXamtiAlEIsmiki/s1600-h/AUT_0267.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075971288372321826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1HenZqOWUhwaAKTAm6I5-SSYJl08-K8SaLPGuWaqTc_PC53gAfg5vBna9zktx_gVRGhPSjAf1acturuTwInCyheYWybqANMuq3eBQIOXB6CLDI29nIQO2qJg6EHUdOpXamtiAlEIsmiki/s400/AUT_0267.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLYI-Z1XtVDszvYZkFENNSwY2tT1DVqHc6ki3Bt3OpHZzOphZWZ4GUoV23kKWckfX0YyiiSW_v027BlW7WFADrhTBop3exs0KwJj6n2MItYwtnX-4WOCBx7oQeofwEANFo85owPd23DTi/s1600-h/AUT_0272.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075971219652845074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxLYI-Z1XtVDszvYZkFENNSwY2tT1DVqHc6ki3Bt3OpHZzOphZWZ4GUoV23kKWckfX0YyiiSW_v027BlW7WFADrhTBop3exs0KwJj6n2MItYwtnX-4WOCBx7oQeofwEANFo85owPd23DTi/s400/AUT_0272.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>One day I decided to go all the way, and I had a camera with me. Here’s the thing about East Canyon: it goes on and on and on and on. Over hills, ‘round curves, through the trees. In certain parts of East Canyon I get a weird feeling. I think there might be something sinister going on up there.<br /><br />After a lot of driving the thick pine forest gives way to sand n’ sagebrush, a desolate area patrolled by dragons.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6OsVb2XkLEpUF9lrvBeHWcZhqPtD0nd3IIXzmm6nVc55rvhvPtXTXJ-VzNdfdIMuRG5s6BWeXZvUfK2F-tsohlNEWws2_yWoLwtG9p-tp-CZR5MeYuLZdDoZYcs_qBWfo2scNoUWLGLI/s1600-h/AUT_0298.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075971133753499138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6OsVb2XkLEpUF9lrvBeHWcZhqPtD0nd3IIXzmm6nVc55rvhvPtXTXJ-VzNdfdIMuRG5s6BWeXZvUfK2F-tsohlNEWws2_yWoLwtG9p-tp-CZR5MeYuLZdDoZYcs_qBWfo2scNoUWLGLI/s400/AUT_0298.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div>There’s a crossroads near the town of… Hennifer? It’s a nice area. Got itself some kind of stream, some algae filled ponds, a post office.<br /><br />First, a left turn, where the spirit of locomotive industry lives on.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RDQtBEBb7IVTBeGfTfIfqlN2sHMpdPbYCgyyKGD_BdtoJ2EHFONoQBLIv-UnGDWUJO4RRfMwZ7654JaANP2wRBbZJi0oK1lNlY9b-8MxynTeH6wtqsfO9mq9lLkdWLvypy6JGbBkW0y5/s1600-h/AUT_0274.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075971052149120498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5RDQtBEBb7IVTBeGfTfIfqlN2sHMpdPbYCgyyKGD_BdtoJ2EHFONoQBLIv-UnGDWUJO4RRfMwZ7654JaANP2wRBbZJi0oK1lNlY9b-8MxynTeH6wtqsfO9mq9lLkdWLvypy6JGbBkW0y5/s400/AUT_0274.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanoaEBfAtVSpfpjPy6DYExnzC3Alub_DbqmtgNAYyJY9HUrvWnBNdzVKW3PhY5XCdU3UIth9EeV_urLL3nr7JjpXnwl7S0_PR6RrmRWY7QTsZw7h_Usa96eUqNfMPVEnbH8p3JKc_caEm/s1600-h/AUT_0296.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970966249774562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanoaEBfAtVSpfpjPy6DYExnzC3Alub_DbqmtgNAYyJY9HUrvWnBNdzVKW3PhY5XCdU3UIth9EeV_urLL3nr7JjpXnwl7S0_PR6RrmRWY7QTsZw7h_Usa96eUqNfMPVEnbH8p3JKc_caEm/s400/AUT_0296.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />You come ‘roun these parts boy, you best be watchin’ yeh self. This here de Devil’s Slide.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNoEOh6n7jPBPs51L7jSJpksAblm7EnAw1obFG3Tei3X70J4-yrJME6K3kP40FA2YWPU2P3Im8RSSDEvmygQ66tki_wnkfJ_wm6wBPijWlNvZSkL7TkKA3HUCtK-SVrkJRWcAeAZ2pj4q/s1600-h/AUT_0294.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970828810821074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNoEOh6n7jPBPs51L7jSJpksAblm7EnAw1obFG3Tei3X70J4-yrJME6K3kP40FA2YWPU2P3Im8RSSDEvmygQ66tki_wnkfJ_wm6wBPijWlNvZSkL7TkKA3HUCtK-SVrkJRWcAeAZ2pj4q/s400/AUT_0294.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div>That’s all there is to see to the left. Turning right at Hennifer yields a more interesting destination: Echo.<br /><br />Named for the popular character from Lost, there doesn’t seem to be much of anything going on in Echo these days.<br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AWf3eHKYZJq6mhGqwaLbOopWPrgUUp5hKFK8fZfEGBQPMERLenWlom2BgOFTmdTtIPBbXfbYFHK42MBPqogKVlJXup71OBCC_ErSSwliMDcD_aQa8G7gaedG9LVAzXYEoWOZELs23841/s1600-h/AUT_0276.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970622652390834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AWf3eHKYZJq6mhGqwaLbOopWPrgUUp5hKFK8fZfEGBQPMERLenWlom2BgOFTmdTtIPBbXfbYFHK42MBPqogKVlJXup71OBCC_ErSSwliMDcD_aQa8G7gaedG9LVAzXYEoWOZELs23841/s400/AUT_0276.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I’m surprised to see Echo surrounded by red rocks. I thought those lived solely to the Southern portion of the state.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBacmddS5IJ89JwhsYjNm2R9Ee5AZPkQC7dLX_hLo0MCMw31En4gh-sT4gMo8rNUmMVwZw9NjpIiMjXYURBwxI3P_yLixXcpovSqmPOppMX3QA1RPP0x4aRBriv5Y21aslsApybqR6-TTU/s1600-h/AUT_0284.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970553932914082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBacmddS5IJ89JwhsYjNm2R9Ee5AZPkQC7dLX_hLo0MCMw31En4gh-sT4gMo8rNUmMVwZw9NjpIiMjXYURBwxI3P_yLixXcpovSqmPOppMX3QA1RPP0x4aRBriv5Y21aslsApybqR6-TTU/s400/AUT_0284.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Looks like the Modern Motel is the local hotspot.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrLhoyRm45BPZ0qhhiP_f0bZPLvC41rGtedoDXxNYksh485200RpT2Udm2mpsMa7U1zcJ6b5IYxw4EB0XFzRo4LR86mfW5LJ-knn1XxVoFoNKYPlQDDjr_dhlMqzzfwSiXMlV0o-EENq-/s1600-h/AUT_0282.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970485213437330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrLhoyRm45BPZ0qhhiP_f0bZPLvC41rGtedoDXxNYksh485200RpT2Udm2mpsMa7U1zcJ6b5IYxw4EB0XFzRo4LR86mfW5LJ-knn1XxVoFoNKYPlQDDjr_dhlMqzzfwSiXMlV0o-EENq-/s400/AUT_0282.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nMEf1uVkPtotJVewtcrOipt5xwhzIb8J29P89nqOYv3DnpQ8ud-ExzS-YYiukU_A43rUVgsJtwBssClZi_S7Xo-fubvtqFjdYvlyVU2c1AgF2dTqPhODuVA7pAga1VdCTFDmRiqbR6AD/s1600-h/AUT_0281.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075970038536838530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nMEf1uVkPtotJVewtcrOipt5xwhzIb8J29P89nqOYv3DnpQ8ud-ExzS-YYiukU_A43rUVgsJtwBssClZi_S7Xo-fubvtqFjdYvlyVU2c1AgF2dTqPhODuVA7pAga1VdCTFDmRiqbR6AD/s400/AUT_0281.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I don’t go in because of the general spooky feeling emanating from the town. Seems like the kind of place where a hapless city slicker like me goes snooping around, only to run into a pack of Wolfpires.<br /><br />“Hello? Anyone? What does it take to get some service around here? I just need OH NO I’M BEING ATTACKED BY HORRIBLE MONSTERS!!!”<br /><br /><br />I’m so worried about monster attacks that I decide to explore the abandoned church and the old cemetery.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXNKzVaz2Rjd-M6MYwsTjFpH114s-QZ6Fw2O4VS-MKSARdzTJGkKt-yc8aBoNWoKEiKsV2WOsBB93BN-xPHLM6QgC7zCk4_nI8P6a1zdbT-gAKydJdtB7udwvttb9urX9EIRKV6l0YvFK/s1600-h/AUT_0286.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075969913982786930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXNKzVaz2Rjd-M6MYwsTjFpH114s-QZ6Fw2O4VS-MKSARdzTJGkKt-yc8aBoNWoKEiKsV2WOsBB93BN-xPHLM6QgC7zCk4_nI8P6a1zdbT-gAKydJdtB7udwvttb9urX9EIRKV6l0YvFK/s400/AUT_0286.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8rXuTDncNmIBK9SrXKfP_t2X9zOwgXDa5yFMySAAJTPpQswb3Bm_cqbt7oRvHABNoyEM-xCBt_KF_VajGBuXtWInQSWPYcMzN4UyVzYwbm8gG98Edk4yvYDpQOlSVycSA2-F1oZ-auUE/s1600-h/AUT_0288.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075969853853244770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8rXuTDncNmIBK9SrXKfP_t2X9zOwgXDa5yFMySAAJTPpQswb3Bm_cqbt7oRvHABNoyEM-xCBt_KF_VajGBuXtWInQSWPYcMzN4UyVzYwbm8gG98Edk4yvYDpQOlSVycSA2-F1oZ-auUE/s400/AUT_0288.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtZNMtjM3FcOXjtR377TLtweAr69d2ynd7UYcfhod_6cUosgQq-YqGNY4Duw52Zc0d6Ca8UPgN_Kr6c8rpdRNKbIPchyPhnpFmdHFT-Xdjfliq6dMe6zOkM4vUVHWmgaA029HEMnTc80x/s1600-h/AUT_0289.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075969789428735314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtZNMtjM3FcOXjtR377TLtweAr69d2ynd7UYcfhod_6cUosgQq-YqGNY4Duw52Zc0d6Ca8UPgN_Kr6c8rpdRNKbIPchyPhnpFmdHFT-Xdjfliq6dMe6zOkM4vUVHWmgaA029HEMnTc80x/s400/AUT_0289.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div>Here’s some broken thing, if you need it.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHMwwTWkRyX13v6Okcqiv4UP77zTnYPUfcuQO5B8P577kXlMcg7ebioj_yPVw-Twi8_6zHu8G4NUbADyCw-NWRCjyffAr5IE0azOMnQ3jEl_d0ut9NwxBeXQTPsD58aIlbEv_YaagynjB/s1600-h/AUT_0285.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075969716414291266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHMwwTWkRyX13v6Okcqiv4UP77zTnYPUfcuQO5B8P577kXlMcg7ebioj_yPVw-Twi8_6zHu8G4NUbADyCw-NWRCjyffAr5IE0azOMnQ3jEl_d0ut9NwxBeXQTPsD58aIlbEv_YaagynjB/s400/AUT_0285.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I decide to put my childish fears aside and visit the Echo Café.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMT_U_MCMqgVIb4R3LW_xZyMxqmgiFqjrtNiclufywCX2WnwtRCPZJKp61kb_XELxFh0XgprqsaMetAEMuS_ddUTVyKmyyk48MFgaoSiB-8eGFpXPaJbprJvUZ7bgrA9O389Q4cG2aU78/s1600-h/AUT_0277.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075969639104879922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMT_U_MCMqgVIb4R3LW_xZyMxqmgiFqjrtNiclufywCX2WnwtRCPZJKp61kb_XELxFh0XgprqsaMetAEMuS_ddUTVyKmyyk48MFgaoSiB-8eGFpXPaJbprJvUZ7bgrA9O389Q4cG2aU78/s400/AUT_0277.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />As soon as I enter my fears are re-established. The place is dusty, dark, and abandoned. The only noise comes from a single ceiling fan, spinning too slowly to do any good. A magazine rack holds the wrinkled pages of a random selection of decade-old magazines. Finally an old guy emerges from the back. I order a Coke.<br /><br />“Forty-two degrees in Coalville last night,” he says in an out-of-place New England accent. I nod politely.<br /><br />“Supposed to be even colder tonight.”<br /><br />I say, "Shut up old man" and leave with my Coke.</div><div><br />The end. </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/04095187188894807317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-84378509660035184542007-05-29T13:59:00.000-07:002007-06-12T11:31:11.397-07:00SunnysideMy friend, Ellie Bug, works for the government. What she does who she really is isn't top secret, but I'm not going to tell you because her privacy is top secret.<br /><br />Not so long ago the government sent her to do some work in Central Utah, coal country. Our destination, Sunnyside.<br /><br />My friend was still fast asleep while I was at the store buying my digital camera. I'm actually very afraid of cameras, but this one seems pretty gentle.<br /><br />Ellie Bug took the first photo:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z5nbCXULvLxUoBYR2oYiA2WvgO3hUM3xLyRDzACE933CH8CIVhxn91M3QVlukDlWbefj52-U9vhy55XdEGC7mZWXmLa1UFUxWguGkzl2rIy-WW2uI5m54FrtLX7QcC5z20t3xClcdo8g/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z5nbCXULvLxUoBYR2oYiA2WvgO3hUM3xLyRDzACE933CH8CIVhxn91M3QVlukDlWbefj52-U9vhy55XdEGC7mZWXmLa1UFUxWguGkzl2rIy-WW2uI5m54FrtLX7QcC5z20t3xClcdo8g/s200/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070096962853716162" border="0" /></a><br /><br />That's me driving. This is Ellie Bug sitting in the passenger seat taking pictures:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-xxVRrRnQgUfNsZze4PnLP27rFCUJufP5qscWN30OxxMZ4Dk8oGPDn_8QulbBDyi-kcfLFLOlZ1uvoN9HQWMBtX7LDu2gEtvZ_x09kjtwjNEez_T1xiUGIruU5piqME8iSTSRTiI_67M/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-xxVRrRnQgUfNsZze4PnLP27rFCUJufP5qscWN30OxxMZ4Dk8oGPDn_8QulbBDyi-kcfLFLOlZ1uvoN9HQWMBtX7LDu2gEtvZ_x09kjtwjNEez_T1xiUGIruU5piqME8iSTSRTiI_67M/s200/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070097735947829458" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She good at what she does, and she does everything. I'm fond of her.<br /><br />Before we get to Sunnyside, Ellie has some business to take care of in Wellington. Before you say anything stupid that you might later regret, let me assure you that Wellington isn't your grandmother's town. This place is insane. Maybe more insane than Sparta or Ikea. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIi72XZ3RA4f4CrgU5AXLdigRT99I9HMXXgKJhzs0X0MZ9_ir-ejVY6hOn4197cZ-dj9yMSaLnQFEmByudg2L5VqO_sPMYoqoHEUttcHB7_oK8k1dm69wD5GIzDiTRB_LCs7TfygFpnl4/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIi72XZ3RA4f4CrgU5AXLdigRT99I9HMXXgKJhzs0X0MZ9_ir-ejVY6hOn4197cZ-dj9yMSaLnQFEmByudg2L5VqO_sPMYoqoHEUttcHB7_oK8k1dm69wD5GIzDiTRB_LCs7TfygFpnl4/s320/3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070099462524682466" /></a><br /><br />Before you try to casually cross the street, be very aware that they have traffic coming from all kinds of directions. <br /><br />Ellie Bug doesn't have a lot of business to get done in Wellington. On our way out of town we stop for lunch. You know what lunch is like, so I won't bore you with all the details. Photographically, these are the highlights:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCF9-4TXzc31wqOdDste_SrywRMVeXPPCAldL4fYG3BihSkSgCX36jT70S0_-16v4zdq7-SbaKc-WP2plyvVuxkXoArPyxWgrhCOvLiP8EiD9lBiPeAUrzLwHPaooeHto1RquIt7R747j/s1600-h/4.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCF9-4TXzc31wqOdDste_SrywRMVeXPPCAldL4fYG3BihSkSgCX36jT70S0_-16v4zdq7-SbaKc-WP2plyvVuxkXoArPyxWgrhCOvLiP8EiD9lBiPeAUrzLwHPaooeHto1RquIt7R747j/s320/4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070102069569831170" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY78r03yszYaBqN5pA6DPvN-9X97KQzmKzeFOJu6kpdPuEfCRKFHrH4m9bj6fnzcX9UBuR5swcT1U-V_FKeg66Y7NJRCVhY75CLwP6Km7e0NXsat-HqM0nVowv4y24xJcbA1WnEv3duoI8/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY78r03yszYaBqN5pA6DPvN-9X97KQzmKzeFOJu6kpdPuEfCRKFHrH4m9bj6fnzcX9UBuR5swcT1U-V_FKeg66Y7NJRCVhY75CLwP6Km7e0NXsat-HqM0nVowv4y24xJcbA1WnEv3duoI8/s320/5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070102567786037522" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sunnyside is a place with an impending identity crisis. It's a mining town without a mine. Her only natural enemies are globalization, the rise of America's service economy, and the ever menacing East Carbon. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYC_F6TEYCEk_XlQ6EZ-7knLow6ZQT58xOOlMtUmoVk885xiS9T0cRVpzW2dX8lj2314Db6XxrZCKakzYrBzUBU7fk1_AtUYNvKdOiauYwIwvHWiXHQc2mQrKiOkDPr0_Meu7EcO5Vq-O/s1600-h/6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYC_F6TEYCEk_XlQ6EZ-7knLow6ZQT58xOOlMtUmoVk885xiS9T0cRVpzW2dX8lj2314Db6XxrZCKakzYrBzUBU7fk1_AtUYNvKdOiauYwIwvHWiXHQc2mQrKiOkDPr0_Meu7EcO5Vq-O/s400/6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070104659435110690" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HpbDZ1nKxY-cOhXmNvimnOOautIVKi0mdwWGspULakw5NLm9JHv_fhFOFEizd8aZZYeMXRAnKRN6bUnVXsn3kYgh0VH_eKif-hE2HMV7OFfzjnt1y2mg-5TaXZa26E49DqTF_kJFrM4P/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HpbDZ1nKxY-cOhXmNvimnOOautIVKi0mdwWGspULakw5NLm9JHv_fhFOFEizd8aZZYeMXRAnKRN6bUnVXsn3kYgh0VH_eKif-hE2HMV7OFfzjnt1y2mg-5TaXZa26E49DqTF_kJFrM4P/s320/7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070105179126153522" /></a><br /><br />While Ellie Bug is busy doing work for the man, I explore. I mostly find small houses, brittle, yellow grass, and multiple stray dogs (pictures taken but not presented for lack of interest). <br /><br />When Bug is done, we decide to get out of the bustle of downtown and move up into the hills. We stop to trade some pelts for grains and cured meats, and head to the edge of the wilderness. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVU2sGbm3Ekbcc8xL243z9s0z1wg0Vh07Bcd9C0y9ndukbd9E212GX8s5SDYVmLsUTjUV5dbLSahyvMyO3TRJB73sqNOUU_Jm4REVq-f9WjVW5UjPtVb62Iq-PRNzQMes9xpFX6eft9ZG/s1600-h/10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVU2sGbm3Ekbcc8xL243z9s0z1wg0Vh07Bcd9C0y9ndukbd9E212GX8s5SDYVmLsUTjUV5dbLSahyvMyO3TRJB73sqNOUU_Jm4REVq-f9WjVW5UjPtVb62Iq-PRNzQMes9xpFX6eft9ZG/s400/10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070107915020321122" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqJzdeiQW6AY-mBMXLsKzBfVzO9TMYvpQL1zY3Ba04wUguR0BwsI4DeT4tLVOsqfhV7LnrayHAa5NXcVsajQQViM-ZKgMkmeZ9lCAA3c9Nm34xxi_OW8g246pf9pyGyg1wAMfZ_jo_beC/s1600-h/9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqJzdeiQW6AY-mBMXLsKzBfVzO9TMYvpQL1zY3Ba04wUguR0BwsI4DeT4tLVOsqfhV7LnrayHAa5NXcVsajQQViM-ZKgMkmeZ9lCAA3c9Nm34xxi_OW8g246pf9pyGyg1wAMfZ_jo_beC/s400/9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070107829120975186" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPXxHzgHQs7nAiCYSkrWvG_S3n-ajpjhH8ITSLBK_7tPrc7ehlYI1ikVqNXwg8jVz6N1XGMjxhL9rhfd_Qxy5tiuyFrBB5KN73Cs5Ohifn9YVuCgXHD-R5VdJ62-98m94ZEPoA_EG_xWn/s1600-h/8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPXxHzgHQs7nAiCYSkrWvG_S3n-ajpjhH8ITSLBK_7tPrc7ehlYI1ikVqNXwg8jVz6N1XGMjxhL9rhfd_Qxy5tiuyFrBB5KN73Cs5Ohifn9YVuCgXHD-R5VdJ62-98m94ZEPoA_EG_xWn/s400/8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070107726041760066" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOMnHp_CfLnIJp7ipzdaFLXv2-uNI4hnYZ4KSwJdOWtIG5kRPcxjSFMMKiU9Ut-qEyS8IjWGn5caYxPR6oaQSipdetuVTQqSC_L5511rODeWDfoTQBFENlGgav-VHAhF0K1lE8T5_TIAc/s1600-h/11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOMnHp_CfLnIJp7ipzdaFLXv2-uNI4hnYZ4KSwJdOWtIG5kRPcxjSFMMKiU9Ut-qEyS8IjWGn5caYxPR6oaQSipdetuVTQqSC_L5511rODeWDfoTQBFENlGgav-VHAhF0K1lE8T5_TIAc/s400/11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070108563560382834" /></a><br /><br />There is no mine, but several mining implements remain. I climb while Ellie takes pictures with her real camera (she is a much better picture taker than I). <br /><br />We drive and climb and take pictures in the hills until our supplies run low. We head back into the city taking more pictures on our way out. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSEAyroNU0tUmcGvaQCLH6OButnhcnYGmeiKopaiUeaf0QoZoHpYX2bxNXVtpPerIj7OoyH7OIJMG3UJKVhMFGg5-LRrQLi07Kf_1hYXT-edspryPlHJ_u5fdo-ysX7UuMTzJP-cnjw7L/s1600-h/15.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSEAyroNU0tUmcGvaQCLH6OButnhcnYGmeiKopaiUeaf0QoZoHpYX2bxNXVtpPerIj7OoyH7OIJMG3UJKVhMFGg5-LRrQLi07Kf_1hYXT-edspryPlHJ_u5fdo-ysX7UuMTzJP-cnjw7L/s400/15.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070111990944285122" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLQATFt8QNiXRAvr4sQnF-HVsx1aWmkxR6nRYYV6UEGWHkZGlWHWsVghuHOZzuQ52_SFKq4eSIVYeRKbj3ZZfPVzDAW7vydtA5MIMtOlosdgOLO6oDnusI9_T0DlfWOA9OcAo-x97PqBU/s1600-h/14.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQLQATFt8QNiXRAvr4sQnF-HVsx1aWmkxR6nRYYV6UEGWHkZGlWHWsVghuHOZzuQ52_SFKq4eSIVYeRKbj3ZZfPVzDAW7vydtA5MIMtOlosdgOLO6oDnusI9_T0DlfWOA9OcAo-x97PqBU/s400/14.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070111917929841074" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHCLlzh3SFIpZudhwh6fzeGf3P40a5JHk-hYMAqmIiGzY2I2z-undZb2pwTZ-77ud6069NwJbAJyMJ0PS9Zg-h-psa38XeFXuPhUH8veEEXR5XZLg1hlzmelnwjASIP__kJ-kg1LoBHOE/s1600-h/12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHCLlzh3SFIpZudhwh6fzeGf3P40a5JHk-hYMAqmIiGzY2I2z-undZb2pwTZ-77ud6069NwJbAJyMJ0PS9Zg-h-psa38XeFXuPhUH8veEEXR5XZLg1hlzmelnwjASIP__kJ-kg1LoBHOE/s400/12.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070111806260691362" /></a><br /><br />All in all, a great time was had by all. Sunnyside was fantastic. Ellie Bug is a superlative traveling companion. And life is good. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hmVxESH8p6z2JS_f9XR9Xate10fC6NCGY60mY0g6WaSSKFA9vtv-ynBnmDeoYEP4p1SruaCZCQdw0dWvwa5bHghd-4nu-hGiAMmJTXLHJFCHlpzqNhvtE_kBEF3hn-384wXQKwBhPxzD/s1600-h/16.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4hmVxESH8p6z2JS_f9XR9Xate10fC6NCGY60mY0g6WaSSKFA9vtv-ynBnmDeoYEP4p1SruaCZCQdw0dWvwa5bHghd-4nu-hGiAMmJTXLHJFCHlpzqNhvtE_kBEF3hn-384wXQKwBhPxzD/s400/16.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070113528542577106" /></a>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608974840901256964.post-45295126339374551422007-05-29T11:51:00.000-07:002007-05-29T13:51:38.847-07:00Genesis<span style="font-size:85%;">Life is pretty good. <br /><br />Maybe not your life today, or for the last month, and maybe not tomorrow, but life in the abstract is pretty good. If you can see beyond the piles of laundry, the stacks of dishes in the sink, the annoying way your boss starts sentences, and how no one truly realizes how great and brilliant you are, then you will probably notice a context, and it might make you smile and relax. <br /><br />Sociologically, I don't like freeways. You may not realize this because you're young or in a rut, but the freeway is a fairly new arrival---born sometime at the tail end of the baby-boom, after the A-bomb, before the H-bomb, and fairly concurrent with the poodle skirt. The chronology is important. <br /><br />Giving you a 20 minute commute into the city wasn't the freeway's primary purpose. Ike was running the country back then, and, by most accounts, he did a serviceable job. But he wasn't a political scientist like Wilson, a Yale aristocrat like Roosevelt, or even good looking, young, and idealistic like Kennedy. Ike was a general and the Cold War was just beginning to frost around the edges. <br /><br />Ike wanted a way to quickly move nukes and troops from San Francisco to Santa Fe, and to dozens of other cities starting with "San" all across the country. The interstate highway was born, our military responsiveness was greatly increased, and all of the sudden you could live in the suburbs and still sleep until 7:30 before having to leave for work.<br /><br />Not many missiles have used the freeways since, but lots of people in those suburbs have. The city pulls and breaths them into it's vast lungs from about 8:00 to 9:00, and then exhales them from about 5:00 to 6:00. <br /><br />I'm one of those people. I live in a Suburb. I like having a yard and a real house and not having to my neighbors listen to the radio stations offensive to my tastes. It's great. <br /><br />But with the advent of the freeway life can more easily become work and home, black and white, here and there, bland and bland. Get up, brush teeth, pass through a portal at 65 mph, work for a eight hours, rush through the portal the opposite way, and I'm home. Not too bad, but not too great. A Greek Philosopher once contemplated such a life of sensible utility. His response was concise: "But where is the mustard?"<br /><br />I'm not a philosopher, but I will tell you one place you can find some mustard: when you get off the freeway. <br /><br />In a time not long ago, in place ten minutes from where you currently live, towns used to be adorable little self-contained entities. They had main streets, center streets, storefronts, corner stores, boutiques, salons and barber shops, movie theaters, book stores, cemeteries, and mustard. Towns developed around hearts, not freeway exits. <br /><br />It takes longer to get to the city from the suburb if you're meandering through the main and center streets of the five smaller towns that are sandwiched in between. As it turns out, those little towns are not just exits to be passed by on your way to work, or the mall, or wherever it is you go. Those little towns have histories and micro-cultures and old people who sit on their front porch, who wonder why life has been so different since the freeway. <br /><br />Two weeks ago I was off the freeway and I realized that life is pretty good. There was a second hand store, a mom-and-pop-cafe, and dozens of other places that seemed like a good way to spend a Saturday. So why should I have to stay in my house, go to work, end up at the mall and the giant box grocery store, and no points in between? <br /><br />I bought a camera, talked to a friend, and the travelogue begins. First stop, Sunnyside, Utah.<br /></span>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371861983725387169noreply@blogger.com1