Hittin' the Jackpot with the slots

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Rising and shining today, we looked around at our unfamiliar surroundings.

Having arrived late the previous evening the whole area was brand new to us as we realized that we had camped about 100 yards from the Colorado River. Packing our gear (well Kim was really on that part since I was recovering from a small 5am random puke fest) we took a quick dip in the River--okay it was a shower--and we headed out to find our precious Slot Canyons of Escalante.

Watching our gas needle sadly dwindle, we measured our options in the one horse town of Hanksville, UT and decided that at 4.49, gas was just a steal so we stopped at the world famous Hollow Mountain Gas station. Quite gimmicky. Quite Wonderful.

Leaving Hanksville, we wandered the sparsely populated roads until we hit the town of Boulder, UT. Much...muuch smaller than its Colorado sibling, this town was the site of Kim's Boulder Outdoor survival school she was part of back in the day. The school curriculum was pretty basic, get kids to have their parents give you a nice check, take the kids out in the wilderness, and let them stay there with no other human contact for a month. Wow. Not my cup of tea, but hey, Kim is pretty bad to the bone. Stopping for a much less strenuous visit to Boulder, we dined at a small cafe with delicious food.

Shortly thereafter we just had to stop again.
This time it was the Kiva Koffeehouse. Now as you may know, we've stopped at a few starbucks for the occasional quadruple shot of black tar espresso but this...this was an entirely different beast. Built out of Ponderosa Pines from Utah, Kiva was about 50 miles from nowhere but had some great java and even better views.

Finally, however, we reached the huge Utah town (population 818) of Escalante. After setting up shop at Escalante Outfitters,

we headed down Hole-in-the-rock Road 26 miles on what appeared to be dirt road unmaintained since the Civilian Conservation Corps. Finally, however, we arrived. Hiking down the really steep 1/2 mile of the Dry Fork,

we found our first Slot Canyon.
The walls, deep colors of rich red, orange, yellow and even purple, have been shaped by fast moving waters leaving them looking almost perfectly fake like some interior of a Busch Gardens ride. Although there were some steep parts, Kim helped poor Stella make the leaps.
After our first canyon we decided that the sand was too hot for the dog, tied her in a shady spot, and headed down the Dry Fork in search of Peekaboo Canyon. First we traveled about a half mile or so until we found something resembling a canyon. Its narrow walls made us feel extremely large,

and ultimately we left that one. On the way back, however, we found the REAL Peekaboo canyon which was accessible only by scaling a 12 foot wall first.

The payoff was huge.
Running low on water and energy, we snapped up the dog and headed up the hottest, most lung-burningest trek to the car and back to the Outfitters. Here we were greeted by hot showers, delicious homemade pizza on the porch, and the free wifi that is making all this possible, folks.

Settling in to another beautiful night under a swath of stars, our thoughts are on tomorrow as we trek deep into the heart of glitz, glamor, beaches, and reality shows: LA. One journey is winding down, but there is another waiting to take its place.

Green Table AKA Anasazi suburbs

The third, and very important wheel: Stella

Waking up at the crack-of-dune (ha..ha?) this morning, we packed our gear up and were prepared to leave the Dunes, when friendly ranger Klack came by in his big Suburban (running on corn, I'm sure) and with his fighter-pilot eyes, spotted Stella off-leash sitting in the sagebrush. He then informed us that our dog "crapping all over the campsite makes for a crappy campground and that makes him look bad." To give the guy a break he was very nice about it, so nice in fact that Stella left him a little present.
Our mission today was: leave Colorado, get to Utah, get close to Escalante. As we drove down the road, listening to the escapades of Lyra and her clan on the audiobook of "The Golden Compass," we meandered through state and national forests, winding along mountainsides and
in valleys

until we approached Mesa Verde.
Ahh yes, The Green Table. Springing for the 15 dollar ticket, we drove from the entrance...20 MILES, to the actual Mesa Verde. Along the entranceway, we passed by field after field of dead trees.

These, we were later informed, had burned as a result of lighting back a few years ago, yet they still looked as freshly dead as ever.
Arriving at the main hub, we hoofed it down to the Spruce tree house.

This house (as all those in Mesa Verde) was built into a cliff sometime in the early 1000s by the Anasazi people who are now politically correctly referred to as the Ancestors O' Puebloans. Some of these houses were only accessible by climbing down a cliff and into them I was informed. This I decided would make a most treacherous walk home from the local pipe circle or bar. It is due to the location, however, that these structures, some of which are over a thousand years old and are made essentially of mud and stone, have held up even better than the best Ryan or Toll Brothers homes--hard to believe I know, but true.
From there we did a short hike in the Mesa Verde wilderness in search of this "green table" which gives Mesa Verde its name.

In the end Kim and I decided that maybe the green table was more of an idea, or maybe some sort of green table philosophy, and we headed back to the car with the comforting thought that the "go green" idea of today found its roots with the Ancestors O' Puebloans.
On our way out, we stopped at an overlook area and saw (photo below) what we assumed could only be, the Siegfried & Roy tour bus. Hilarious.

Entering Utah, the landscape drastically changed. Tall mesas, glowing hues of red and orange and yellow began to dot the horizon.

As the sun dipped we realized we needed to stop soon, so I kicked it into high gear, and Kim navigated us under cover of darkness into the Glen Canyon National Recreation area where we pitched camp amidst huge bugs and bats along the might Colorado River and dreamed of our earthquake-free lives in California.

Full Dune

Rise and shine today was a bit slow on the Jack end of things. After having been up half of the day already, Kim was able to rouse me sometime around—egad!—9:00. Delving today into the make-your-own-waffle section of our hot breakfast, we loaded the hump before heading out, bound for Colorado and the Great Sand Dunes National Park.

Arriving a few hundred miles and hours later, we hit up the park HQ, got some info and headed out quickly to find a spot to grub, and some libations for ‘round the fire later that night. Finding both at a very discombobulated gas station/restaurant (cause aren’t they just the greatest) we ate some Northern New Mexican/Southern Coloradoan food, snagged some wood and marshmallows and what would later be discovered to be some sort of wimpy Utah-like 3.2% beer.

Finally we were bound for the dunes and to set up camp. As we approached the camping area we settled on, the heavens opened up and we sought brief respite in our tent.

After a half hour or so it passed and we headed to the dunes (some of which are over 700 feet high!). With Stella on a leash (at least until under cover of dune) we hiked up and across ridge after ridge of dunes heading upward until we reached a large dunewall (that word does not exist, but it must). Here we made an accent that felt to be 90 degrees.

After finally making it to the top, we surveyed the unique land that is this park. The gigantic dunes that nestle themselves right up to the base of monstrous green mountains on one side, and a large expansive plain on another.

Heading down at breakneck speed (see images of me running like a madman below)

the three of us made our way back to our tent site. Sitting around the campfire, eating velveeta shells and cheese, I couldn’t help but imagine my mac and cheese to be hard tack, and I part of a train of merchants travelling on the trail that cut right through these dunes running from Santa Fe to California. This trade provided useful exchange of blankets and goods. Although a far cry from those days, we are indeed headed out West. With no blankets to exchange, I can only hope my acting skills and Kim’s nursing knowledge will cut it in the Concrete Jungle.

All Who Yonder are not lost (unless looking for the Plaza)

Apparently the "s" in S Yonder Mountain String Band is a silent S

Today--Sunday--marked our second day here in beautiful Santa Fe, NM. After perusing the few “hot” options which defined the “hot continental breakfast” here at the park inn, and deciding that cold cereal and hot coffee was about as hot as we were getting, we headed out to the plaza of downtown Santa Fe. After parking where we figured the Plaza should be, we spent about the next hour and a half looking unsuccessfully for what should be a huge, square-like area

…and finally after hoofing up and down the same streets, we found the plaza, and a wonderful outdoor festival and market. It was here that we were able to solve our hunger and thirst problems. Diving into frito pies and fresh fruit drinks we walked around what was an amazing, endless area of cool shops and interesting vendors.

Ending up back at the hotel for some R&R, we recharged before heading off to the Santa Fe Brewing Company to see Yonder Mountain String Band.

Arriving at the Brewery, we sampled various and sundry ales, chowing down on great grub before the band arrived.

Finally a little after 6, Yonder took the stage, and played their “ass off” as they claimed they would at the beginning of the show.

The music ended—not without a fight—after heavy rain and lighting put the fear of God into the band that they might be struck. Trudging back through the mud to our car, we couldn’t help but think how lucky we were for yet another great day on our journey out west.

Rain, Sun, and New Mexico's Best

Waking up this morning on Conchas lake was simply amazing. After taking an early morning swim in the lake we hit the road. Traveling 104 N to Las Vegas, NM where we turn start north to the town of Taos. The road to Taos travels through the Carson National Forest which is packed with high mountains, winding roads, and loads of pine trees.

Taos was amazing. We had the most delicious meal at Rellenos Café before browsing in gift shops and upscale boutiques.

Next stop was Wild Rivers Recreation Area north of Taos on the Rio Grande. This area shows views of the Rio Grande, the Red river, and the 800 foot canyon walls that surround them. We hiked down one trail about half way to the river and the mud was caking up our sandles so much we could barely walk.

Our plan was to camp here for the night but with rain and forecasts for more rain and flash floods we made a tough decision to abandon that plan and head to our Santa Fe hotel early. The disappointment didn’t last long as on the ride to Santa Fe we got a call saying that we got the apartment we wanted in LA. Yeah. We finished off the night with New York style pizza, a viewing of Dark Knight, and a bed to sleep in.

But Piggy, I've got the Conchas Lake!

Wanted: Two cheesy Tourists

This morning we awoke, or should I more aptly describe saying we lost the fight to the heat and surrendered to a state of awareness, in a KOA in Oklahoma with the goal of shooting across I-40 through Texas as fast as we possibly could, and ending up somewhere in New Mexico en route to Santa Fe to see Yonder Mountain String Band—which I should add was the point of much discussion and debate in the car as it was determined that Kim and I were under the impression that the concert was on different dates—on Sunday the 27^th as it turned out. Travelling across Oklahoma this morning, we made it our mission to locate (on our handy world domination of Cracker Barrel map) the closest Cracker Barrel to offload what turned out to be a huge bore of a book on tape and to find something new.

After sucking down some grub, we headed out much more full and happily clutching The Golden Compass on CD. Settling in to the story, we plodded along through Oklahoma (where the wind was, surprisingly, not sweeping down the plain), through towns like Clinton, through the hometowns of Carrie Underwood and Garth Brooks, and through Texas stopping only at another Starbucks for some high-test stuff. Only this one looks like it won’t be shutting down since they had a “now hiring” poster in the window.

After getting out of Texas without helping our President clear brush on his Crawford ranch, we entered New Mexico and the first of our many mesas became apparent as the landscape began to transform before our very eyes. Ultimately we decided to cut off of 40 and onto Rout 104 at the small town (“hey we ain’t that small!” I can imagine them saying) of Tucumcari, New Mexico toward the Conchas Lake state park area.

Here we found rocky and sandy beaches and cliffs bordering a wonderful “solid as the New Orleans Levees” Army Corps of Engineering project which involved damming this particular lake. The camping is beautiful,

the wind has picked up and kept us cool as we’ve sat by our fire eating beans and rice on tortillas and ending another day on our venture to our western shores.

Huge Bras and Arkansas

Is this the Luxor? Oh no this is the Memphis pyramid...at 75mph

Today we awoke to a wonderfully more well lit Montgomery Bell. After spending the morning fixing our camp stove, Kim decided to wake her slumbering companion, and at a little after 8, we were off. Heading across I-40 at just a hair above the wonderful speed limit of 70, all was going well. This however was not to be. After passing through Memphis which is just barely holding on to the edge of civilization, and the border of Tennessee and Arkansas coincidentally, we crossed the rather unimpressive breadth of Mighty Mississip' (don't get me wrong I read Huck Finn, I've seen the riverboat casinos, it's just that this particular stretch was...well not that wide). Smooth sailing was all we had on our radar, until about a 5 miles before the town of Brinkley, AK. All of a sudden we noticed the battery light chime on the dash. Next thing we knew (after consulting the manual to see what exactly this indication indicated) all of the lights were lighting the dash, followed by all the dials, speedometer and tachometer moving in synchronization with the power windows, and finally a flat line of all our displays. We exited the highway and coasted in a dead car to O"Reilly auto parts.

JR, so kind to assist us, charged our battery for a half hour and then determined that it was in fact dead and was--not the alternator--the cause of our problem. 65 bucks later we were off...but alas the light comes back on...the dreaded red battery light.

After consulting with JR, who assures us that the alternator is not the problem, we head up to the fine boys at E&J's auto shop who inform us that our alternator is in fact the problem. So back to O'Reillys we head to get a new alternator, then back to E&J to install it, and then...a hundred degrees later and as many dollars, we're back on the highway...stuck in a traffic jam...with--get this--the dreaded red battery light back to haunt us in our dead standstill of an Arkansas auto showdown. Finally traffic and the red light both magically disappear and we beelined for the Oklahoma. Landing about 30 miles inside the border, we made camp at a KOA in Sallisaw and rested preparing for another day on the road out west.

Good-Bye Old Dominion, Hello Agriculture and Commerce

Thank god the rest of the band packed up

The journey to Los Angeles began this morning at about ten. A steady drizzle providing us with a morning soundtrack we stopped quickly at the house of oversized checkers, fireplaces, and good ol’ fashioned corporate home-cookin—Cracker Barrel—to get our hands on some book on tape selection. This turned out to be “Dark Angels,” a story about young Alice a lady in waiting, and 17^th century England. I’d tell you more but after two and a half discs I can’t say I know much more.

After this we hit the road and drove—via 81 and I-40—past Blacksburg, southern Virginia (where gas was $3.69), and into Tennessee. Along the way we drank coffee at a small Starbucks in Tennessee (yes they actually have Starbucks in the South) which was one of the lucky ‘bucks to receive the axe and thus now sits in some form of “lame duck” coffeedom. We also passed an extremely large Martin guitar, drank some more coffee, listened to some Dark Angels, and promptly arrived at Montgomery Bell State Park, 650 miles away from Winchester, nestled outside of Burns, Tennessee. Sitting fireside drinking blue cokes and eating shells & cheese we make plans for tomorrow. Another bazillion miles on I-40, a smattering of Arkansas, and if we’re lucky, some mystery and intrigue and hopefully a bit of Oklahoma.