Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The Last Leg
Besides free wireless Internet, I always judge the quality of a hostelry by the height of the showerhead and the healthfulness of its breakfasts. The higher the showerhead, the better quality hotel; it's axiomatic. Some places boast of hot breakfasts, which often turn out to be total heart attack food such as make-your-own waffles or bisquits and sausage gravy, but not a slice of fresh fruit in sight.
With my travel mug full of steaming coffee and some bananas and apples for the road, we got a fairly early start, which means around 9 AM no matter how hard we try.
Gas was $2.89 in Twin Falls, and most everywhere else except for a couple of gougers along the road that went a high as $3.19. Moscow was $2.99, which is at least under $3.00, but as usual, way more than in Lewiston 30 miles south, which I'll never understand.
I thought I would give the Pharos 143 GPS navigator a chance to redeem itself as it had been misbehaving badly, and I didn't want to have to write too terrible a review. So, I asked it to take us home, which is a simple maneuver with only a couple possibilities, I thought.
Ho hum, I expected it to tell me to take a left turn on I-84 and head west past Boise to Highway 95 north and take a right and go until you arrive in Moscow, 400 some miles later. To my utter surprise, it announced that I was to take a right and head east on I-84. The little rascal, I mused, it probably wants me to go up Highway 93 to Montana and turn left on Highway 12 over the Lolo Pass to Lewiston and north to Moscow, which is one of my favorite drives, but it adds 300 miles to the trip, and that wasn't an option. We were eager to get home after three weeks on the road.
You'll never guess what it had in mind. It wanted me to take I-84 to the I-15 into Montana and then head over I-90 west. You'd think it would then invite you to hang a left at Coeur d'Alene and go down Highway 95 to Moscow. Instead, it went all the way to Spokane and the down 195 to Pullman and over Highway 8 to Moscow. Talk about roundabout. That was a 760 mile itinerary.
The moral of the story is that GPS will always get you where you want to go--eventually. But, it might be a good idea to check a real map once in a while to verify the route, especially in strange territory. By the way, I'm not even going to waste the time to review that GPS unit, and I certainly won't be recommending it.
We got home, and most of our plants were still alive thanks to Jimmy Deringer, but there was a leak in the lower pond and it was completely dry. I guess the raccoons got the fish.
It was a great trip, but it's always good to get back home and put your head on your own pillow. Man, we got out of the hill country of Texas just in time. The place has been experiencing torrential rains and is now awash in floods with cars floating down the rivers and people dying. On top of that I have to worry about a hurricane headed that way. My family there seem to take it all in stride without much concern, so I guess I shouldn't worry. They think we are crazy for living in a place with black ice on the roads in the winter.
Oh well, we're headed to California before long, if it hasn't burned up from forest fires or fallen into the sea from earthquakes. Or, maybe it will declare bankruptcy and China will foreclose on it.
OK, end of moblog for now. I guess I'll pick it up again when we're headed to California. Meanwhile I may post a few of my favorite pix when I get time and if the spirit moves me.
With my travel mug full of steaming coffee and some bananas and apples for the road, we got a fairly early start, which means around 9 AM no matter how hard we try.
Gas was $2.89 in Twin Falls, and most everywhere else except for a couple of gougers along the road that went a high as $3.19. Moscow was $2.99, which is at least under $3.00, but as usual, way more than in Lewiston 30 miles south, which I'll never understand.
I thought I would give the Pharos 143 GPS navigator a chance to redeem itself as it had been misbehaving badly, and I didn't want to have to write too terrible a review. So, I asked it to take us home, which is a simple maneuver with only a couple possibilities, I thought.
Ho hum, I expected it to tell me to take a left turn on I-84 and head west past Boise to Highway 95 north and take a right and go until you arrive in Moscow, 400 some miles later. To my utter surprise, it announced that I was to take a right and head east on I-84. The little rascal, I mused, it probably wants me to go up Highway 93 to Montana and turn left on Highway 12 over the Lolo Pass to Lewiston and north to Moscow, which is one of my favorite drives, but it adds 300 miles to the trip, and that wasn't an option. We were eager to get home after three weeks on the road.
You'll never guess what it had in mind. It wanted me to take I-84 to the I-15 into Montana and then head over I-90 west. You'd think it would then invite you to hang a left at Coeur d'Alene and go down Highway 95 to Moscow. Instead, it went all the way to Spokane and the down 195 to Pullman and over Highway 8 to Moscow. Talk about roundabout. That was a 760 mile itinerary.
The moral of the story is that GPS will always get you where you want to go--eventually. But, it might be a good idea to check a real map once in a while to verify the route, especially in strange territory. By the way, I'm not even going to waste the time to review that GPS unit, and I certainly won't be recommending it.
We got home, and most of our plants were still alive thanks to Jimmy Deringer, but there was a leak in the lower pond and it was completely dry. I guess the raccoons got the fish.
It was a great trip, but it's always good to get back home and put your head on your own pillow. Man, we got out of the hill country of Texas just in time. The place has been experiencing torrential rains and is now awash in floods with cars floating down the rivers and people dying. On top of that I have to worry about a hurricane headed that way. My family there seem to take it all in stride without much concern, so I guess I shouldn't worry. They think we are crazy for living in a place with black ice on the roads in the winter.
Oh well, we're headed to California before long, if it hasn't burned up from forest fires or fallen into the sea from earthquakes. Or, maybe it will declare bankruptcy and China will foreclose on it.
OK, end of moblog for now. I guess I'll pick it up again when we're headed to California. Meanwhile I may post a few of my favorite pix when I get time and if the spirit moves me.
Friday, August 17, 2007
ABCDE
I call this picture ABCDE because it's of my five grandkids: Ariana, Brendon, Cameron, Daniela, and Ethan. Isn't it a great shot? My son took it and just emailed it to me.
Homeward Bound
There are basically three practical ways to get home to Moscow, Idaho from Las Vegas, Nevada. I checked them all out on my Tablet PC with Microsoft Streets and Trips, which, in my opinion, is the best mapping and laptop navigating software available. It even hooks up to GPS so that you can navigate live with it, but it's a bit awkward with a laptop. And they get hot, which is the last thing you need crossing the desert.
Perhaps the most direct route is straight north on Highway 95 through Nevada and nipping across a corner of Oregon before entering Idaho. It's a distance of 1054 miles. This can be a treacherous route in the winter. An appealing alternative employs mostly high speed Interstates starting on I-15 through Nevada, into Arizona, up Utah, and across Idaho on I-84 to 95 North to Moscow, which is surprisingly only ten miles longer. The third alternative with a variation is to take I-15 to Highway 93 North.
We opted for the Highway 93 route because it was only 928 miles, and it offers some interesting sites along the way, some of which we had not seen yet such as Cathedral Rock and the Great Basin National Park. There were some historic little towns along the way such as Caliente with its amazing and majestic mission style Union Pacific train station, which now houses city hall, the library, and an art gallery. We had lunch in Pioche, an old mining town still bearing the scars on the countryside nearby but currently a thriving little town with a lot of community spirit.
At the end of the day, we dragged our tails into Twin Falls glad to be back in Idaho knowing we would be home in our own bed the next night.
Perhaps the most direct route is straight north on Highway 95 through Nevada and nipping across a corner of Oregon before entering Idaho. It's a distance of 1054 miles. This can be a treacherous route in the winter. An appealing alternative employs mostly high speed Interstates starting on I-15 through Nevada, into Arizona, up Utah, and across Idaho on I-84 to 95 North to Moscow, which is surprisingly only ten miles longer. The third alternative with a variation is to take I-15 to Highway 93 North.
We opted for the Highway 93 route because it was only 928 miles, and it offers some interesting sites along the way, some of which we had not seen yet such as Cathedral Rock and the Great Basin National Park. There were some historic little towns along the way such as Caliente with its amazing and majestic mission style Union Pacific train station, which now houses city hall, the library, and an art gallery. We had lunch in Pioche, an old mining town still bearing the scars on the countryside nearby but currently a thriving little town with a lot of community spirit.
At the end of the day, we dragged our tails into Twin Falls glad to be back in Idaho knowing we would be home in our own bed the next night.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Hello Lost Wages
The drive from Lake Havasu, Arizona to Las Vegas, Nevada is an easy one--only 150 miles or so. However, you soon leave behind the relatively lush Arizona desert and exchange it for a more bleak landscape--mostly creosote--as soon as you cross the Colorado River where there is not a saguaro nor an ocotillo to be had anywhere. North of Havasu there is a ten mile stretch with signs warning you to be on the lookout for wild burros crossing the road--naturally, we didn't see any.
What I had sort of forgotten was that when you cross the Colorado River on I-40, you are in California, and then you turn north at Needles and head into Nevada on Highway 95. Yes, it's the same 95 that runs from the Mexican border to Canada and goes right through Moscow, Idaho.
So, we actually got to California on this trip unintentionally. As soon as we got over the bridge, I called my son and daughter who both live in San Diego. Of course they wanted to know what why we didn't just keep heading in their direction. We had just seen son Matthew in Houston, and we are planning to visit Erika next month in her new house in San Diego, but we need to get home first to take care of some things. We've been away long enough on this jaunt.
Before we knew it, the road began to widen and the traffic starting getting more dense. We were on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I was amazed to see more developments sprouting up out of the desert even though the real estate market has crashed big time as is has in Phoenix as well. It is certainly a buyers' market if you are inclined to live in Las Vegas, but you can expect increased property taxes until the tax payers revolt as they did in California.
For some reason, we were still hungry for Chinese food and pulled into the first Chinese restaurant we saw. I guess we were eager to compensate for the terrible Chinese food we had in El Paso. I had a wonderful curry chicken and was completely satisfied.
When we got to Frank and Jerri's we had a short visit and then decided to go exploring. Our chosen destination was the Valley of Fire north of Las Vegas maybe 40 miles. It's amazing what can happen within 50 miles of that sizzling sin hole. You can be up in the cool mountains with lakes, steams, meadows, and wild horses to the West. You can visit archaeological sites and wildlife refuges, or be on a humungous lake.
The Valley of Fire is a breath-taking red sandstone anomaly in the midst of a bleak, brown desert that just emerges out of nowhere like a fantasy landscape on an alien planet. Flaming-red, sculpted formations spring up to welcome you and treat you an incredible landscape beauty that lasts for miles.
There are also some spectacular petroglyphs or Indian carvings in the stone. One of the sites we visited was Atlatl Rock where there are some carvings on a flat panel maybe 150 feet above the ground. In case you are not aware of the term atlatl, it is a Nahuatl or Aztec word that means throwing stick. The atlatl is an invention that preceded the bow and arrow by perhaps 20,000 years in the Old World. This ingenious artifact is a stick usually about 18 inches long with a handle on one end and two finger loops. At the other exteme is a hook against which the end of a spear shaft rests. With this spear chucker you get a fulcrum that gives extra leverage enabling you to get about three times the distance and thrust you would by simply throwing a spear by hand.
I've done a little experimenting with them and have been able to launch a spear over a hundred yards, but I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. That takes practice and skill. Son Matthew once put a nice hole in the side of our car with an atlatl-launched spear that we never got fixed because it was more fun to tell people that it was a bullet hole.
When we got back to Las Vegas that night we went to one of the casinos for a scrumptuous, actually an incredible buffet of international cuisines, but I"m happy to report that I didn't lose any money gambling. We shared the elevator with a pretty blackjack dealer who told us that in her opinion there were only losers in Las Vegas, and that's why it's called "Lost Wages,"--but you probably knew that already.
Hey, we're headed toward home tomorrow and expect to cross the border into Idaho, but we haven't decided on the route yet.
What I had sort of forgotten was that when you cross the Colorado River on I-40, you are in California, and then you turn north at Needles and head into Nevada on Highway 95. Yes, it's the same 95 that runs from the Mexican border to Canada and goes right through Moscow, Idaho.
So, we actually got to California on this trip unintentionally. As soon as we got over the bridge, I called my son and daughter who both live in San Diego. Of course they wanted to know what why we didn't just keep heading in their direction. We had just seen son Matthew in Houston, and we are planning to visit Erika next month in her new house in San Diego, but we need to get home first to take care of some things. We've been away long enough on this jaunt.
Before we knew it, the road began to widen and the traffic starting getting more dense. We were on the outskirts of Las Vegas. I was amazed to see more developments sprouting up out of the desert even though the real estate market has crashed big time as is has in Phoenix as well. It is certainly a buyers' market if you are inclined to live in Las Vegas, but you can expect increased property taxes until the tax payers revolt as they did in California.
For some reason, we were still hungry for Chinese food and pulled into the first Chinese restaurant we saw. I guess we were eager to compensate for the terrible Chinese food we had in El Paso. I had a wonderful curry chicken and was completely satisfied.
When we got to Frank and Jerri's we had a short visit and then decided to go exploring. Our chosen destination was the Valley of Fire north of Las Vegas maybe 40 miles. It's amazing what can happen within 50 miles of that sizzling sin hole. You can be up in the cool mountains with lakes, steams, meadows, and wild horses to the West. You can visit archaeological sites and wildlife refuges, or be on a humungous lake.
The Valley of Fire is a breath-taking red sandstone anomaly in the midst of a bleak, brown desert that just emerges out of nowhere like a fantasy landscape on an alien planet. Flaming-red, sculpted formations spring up to welcome you and treat you an incredible landscape beauty that lasts for miles.
There are also some spectacular petroglyphs or Indian carvings in the stone. One of the sites we visited was Atlatl Rock where there are some carvings on a flat panel maybe 150 feet above the ground. In case you are not aware of the term atlatl, it is a Nahuatl or Aztec word that means throwing stick. The atlatl is an invention that preceded the bow and arrow by perhaps 20,000 years in the Old World. This ingenious artifact is a stick usually about 18 inches long with a handle on one end and two finger loops. At the other exteme is a hook against which the end of a spear shaft rests. With this spear chucker you get a fulcrum that gives extra leverage enabling you to get about three times the distance and thrust you would by simply throwing a spear by hand.
I've done a little experimenting with them and have been able to launch a spear over a hundred yards, but I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. That takes practice and skill. Son Matthew once put a nice hole in the side of our car with an atlatl-launched spear that we never got fixed because it was more fun to tell people that it was a bullet hole.
When we got back to Las Vegas that night we went to one of the casinos for a scrumptuous, actually an incredible buffet of international cuisines, but I"m happy to report that I didn't lose any money gambling. We shared the elevator with a pretty blackjack dealer who told us that in her opinion there were only losers in Las Vegas, and that's why it's called "Lost Wages,"--but you probably knew that already.
Hey, we're headed toward home tomorrow and expect to cross the border into Idaho, but we haven't decided on the route yet.
LONDON BRIDGE
On our way north from Green Valley, I had hoped to catch two of my young nephews, Gerrit and Fletcher, in Phoenix, but it didn't happen. Instead, we visited Casa Grande a Hohokam archaeological complex with a three-story structure still standing in ruins and an unexcavated ball court influenced by Mesoamerican civilizations to the south. Starting in 500 BC, the whole development came to a sudden halt around 1400 AD for reasons not completely understood. Maybe it was the heat the got them--it was 120 degrees there.
Moving north to Lake Havasu, we were relieved that it was only 110 degrees. Do you know the difference between 110 and 120? In 110 degrees you can breath without it burning you. At 120, every breath hurts to breathe.
It's kinda spooky for my wife and me to have walked over London Bridge together in London and then many years later in Lake Havasu, Arizona where it was shipped and put back together stone by stone. Lake Havasu on the Colorado River is an artificial resort town built by a developer. It is amazing how it has flourished over the years. I've heard that there are over 35,000 inhabitants in the winter, but it boils in the summer. It was only 110 during our visit to my father-in-law whom we visit every year regardless of the temperature. He's a fabulous cook at 89. I just hope I'm doing half as well as he at his age. He's a real inspiration.
I can't say that I enjoyed our walk along the river and across the bridge in 110 degree heat, but we tried it again the next morning early, and it was much more pleasant.
This little town is bustling with every store, restuarant, and hotel you can imagine with a boat or two in every driveway in the homes that have popped up everywhere like wildflowers after a desert rain. Frankly, it's not my kind of place. The throb of the powerful boat engines resonantes in your chest and that coupled with the noise of the music (?) everyone seems obligated to blair is a major turn-off. But, there are people who obviously enjoy it.
We had a pleasant visit, but we are eager to be moving toward home. Our next stop will be Las Vegas to visit my wife's brother Frank and his wife Jerri. It's kinda nice to have a hospitable relative in Las Vegas as there is just no way I would go there and pay those outrageous hotel rates otherwise. I don't even like to gamble. I sort of do enjoy strolling along the strip at night when it's cooler and doing some people watching and taking it the sites. I even get a kick out of strolling through the casinos with their extravagant settings, but I can't take it for too long.
Moving north to Lake Havasu, we were relieved that it was only 110 degrees. Do you know the difference between 110 and 120? In 110 degrees you can breath without it burning you. At 120, every breath hurts to breathe.
It's kinda spooky for my wife and me to have walked over London Bridge together in London and then many years later in Lake Havasu, Arizona where it was shipped and put back together stone by stone. Lake Havasu on the Colorado River is an artificial resort town built by a developer. It is amazing how it has flourished over the years. I've heard that there are over 35,000 inhabitants in the winter, but it boils in the summer. It was only 110 during our visit to my father-in-law whom we visit every year regardless of the temperature. He's a fabulous cook at 89. I just hope I'm doing half as well as he at his age. He's a real inspiration.
I can't say that I enjoyed our walk along the river and across the bridge in 110 degree heat, but we tried it again the next morning early, and it was much more pleasant.
This little town is bustling with every store, restuarant, and hotel you can imagine with a boat or two in every driveway in the homes that have popped up everywhere like wildflowers after a desert rain. Frankly, it's not my kind of place. The throb of the powerful boat engines resonantes in your chest and that coupled with the noise of the music (?) everyone seems obligated to blair is a major turn-off. But, there are people who obviously enjoy it.
We had a pleasant visit, but we are eager to be moving toward home. Our next stop will be Las Vegas to visit my wife's brother Frank and his wife Jerri. It's kinda nice to have a hospitable relative in Las Vegas as there is just no way I would go there and pay those outrageous hotel rates otherwise. I don't even like to gamble. I sort of do enjoy strolling along the strip at night when it's cooler and doing some people watching and taking it the sites. I even get a kick out of strolling through the casinos with their extravagant settings, but I can't take it for too long.
Hello Arizona
We had a splendid visit with our friends the Brierleys with whom we have previously explored all the sites for miles around Central, Arizona. Two of their grandkids were there too, and that was fun. They invited us to see their new home in Globe, Arizona, so caravaned over there the next day. Globe is an interesting old mining town with an historic downtown and a Pueblo Indian ruin on the outskirts.
We learned that Hatch chilis that we thought were only grown in New Mexico but flourish here as well and that they will be harvested in abundance at the end of next month. We expect to receive several gunnysacks full.
The drive south from Globe over highway 60/177/77 is a scenic wonder of Arizona landscape with saguaro forests, ocotoillos, mesquite, creosote, cacti galore with handsome, red rock formations, giant copper mining operations and little towns all the way into Tucson.
Tucson has succumbed to ugly urban sprawl. I swear it took us an hour and a half to get from one side of it to the other. All the freeways are torn up, and it's a total mess that I was happy to leave behind as we headed toward the Mexican border and Green Valley where we stayed with our friends Richard and Judy Watson who had just moved into a new house in October. We saw the building site last year and were eager to see the results.
We are not going to get to Mexico on the trip because we forgot to bring our passports, but when we go to California on our next junket we'll be sure to take our passports and dip into Mexico for sure.
The Watson's new house was a masterpiece of Southwest architecture set on a penninsula between two arroyos to assure that no one else will build nearby. Look across the valley to the East are the rugged, gorgeous mountains. I missed my photo opportunity with the light on them from the West and had to settle for a shot the next morning. The spacious interior with huge beams and high ceilings was tastefully decorated and the grounds landscaped with native scrubs for a natural setting, appealing look. They have been busy.
On the way to the Watsons we saw our first road runner of the trip. In fact, we almost ran over it. But, I'm afraid that will be the last road runner we'll see on this journey. The Watsons are dedicated bird watchers and live a wonderful transitional zone with exotic birds from Mexico. We vowed to stay longer next time and take in some of their favorite birding spots such as Patagonia and preserves in the mountains to the east.
We will be heading north tomorrow.
We learned that Hatch chilis that we thought were only grown in New Mexico but flourish here as well and that they will be harvested in abundance at the end of next month. We expect to receive several gunnysacks full.
The drive south from Globe over highway 60/177/77 is a scenic wonder of Arizona landscape with saguaro forests, ocotoillos, mesquite, creosote, cacti galore with handsome, red rock formations, giant copper mining operations and little towns all the way into Tucson.
Tucson has succumbed to ugly urban sprawl. I swear it took us an hour and a half to get from one side of it to the other. All the freeways are torn up, and it's a total mess that I was happy to leave behind as we headed toward the Mexican border and Green Valley where we stayed with our friends Richard and Judy Watson who had just moved into a new house in October. We saw the building site last year and were eager to see the results.
We are not going to get to Mexico on the trip because we forgot to bring our passports, but when we go to California on our next junket we'll be sure to take our passports and dip into Mexico for sure.
The Watson's new house was a masterpiece of Southwest architecture set on a penninsula between two arroyos to assure that no one else will build nearby. Look across the valley to the East are the rugged, gorgeous mountains. I missed my photo opportunity with the light on them from the West and had to settle for a shot the next morning. The spacious interior with huge beams and high ceilings was tastefully decorated and the grounds landscaped with native scrubs for a natural setting, appealing look. They have been busy.
On the way to the Watsons we saw our first road runner of the trip. In fact, we almost ran over it. But, I'm afraid that will be the last road runner we'll see on this journey. The Watsons are dedicated bird watchers and live a wonderful transitional zone with exotic birds from Mexico. We vowed to stay longer next time and take in some of their favorite birding spots such as Patagonia and preserves in the mountains to the east.
We will be heading north tomorrow.
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