Its like my own private drive-in theater. Except I am currently surrounded by a horde of bunnies. Or would that be a gaggle?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
In cased you missed it, please enjoy my hilarious 'camping' adventure...http://ping.fm/xCgLM (stuck on a rock)
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Day 1.5 (Friends, family, & head clearing in 30 days or less)
In my previous travelogue (Day 1 & 2 of Friends, family, & head clearing in 30 days or less) I relayed what started out as a fairly mundane first day of travel across the desert and ended in a harrowing "I'm stuck in the desert and I can't get up" near tragedy. This post is an overly melodramatic and only mildly fictionalized accounting of those hours in Lordsburg, New Mexico.
NOTE: You can also read this post with pictures at CoTradeCo.
I chuckled to myself. The thought of getting stuck had repeatedly crossed my mind over the previous dark mile, but I kept telling myself that only happened in the movies. I was not going to get stuck. And there I sat, stuck, and laughing. Unable to move my car, I still refused to believe I was actually in any serious predicament, and casually took a swig of water and ate some potato chips I had picked up at the gas station at that first exit just inside Lordsburg.
In retrospect, I should have thought better of staying in Lordsburg because of that gas station stop. As I entered Lordsburg I needed to use the restroom and wanted to take a moment to review the directions to my "free" campsite. The attendant at the station couldn't have been anymore displeased to see me. When I asked where the restroom was he just grunted and scowled. Welcome to Lordsburg. I try to not to be judgmental (well not really, but I try not to hold my judgments very long ;) but in this case I came to realize he might have been an accurate ambassador for the town.
I would have asked him for directions and advice on finding my campsite but he was so unpleasant I just paid for my chips and ignored him, looking forward to sitting down in front of my tent with my Smirnoff Ice and having a snack before getting some much needed sleep. While I sat in my car he drug wet floor signs in front of the entrance, locked the doors, and wedged a hand scrawled closed sign into the door that fell down as he turned his back to go run an illegal dog fight in the back room or something. Determined in my clouded haze of sleepiness to find my temporary home, I reread the directions, plotted my course on Google maps, and headed off into the wilds north of Lordsburg.
And a half hour later I found myself stuck 20+ miles out of town.
I stepped out of the car to assess the situation. At worst, I thought, I had scraped a rock, gotten stuck in the loose sand at the bottom of the valley, and would simply need to do a little digging, stick a couple of rocks behind my tire and continue turning around thus freeing myself from the valley.
Walking around the car I could see nothing apparently wrong in the moonlight. I cursed my friend who failed to return my flashlight, but simply pulled out the Pelican 9430 remote area lighting unit (another shameless plug) from my car. I fired up the LED powerhouse and laughed again. I continued to refuse that the situation was severe despite the fact that my car was grounded atop a boulder sticking out of the ground. No fluids were leaking out, the car appeared to be resting undamaged on the frame, and I had nearly three gallons of water and a carful of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
So in true pioneer spirit I determined to free myself. I quickly planned to jack the car up far enough that I could rock the car and tip the jack over landing my car just free of the rock. At this point I was still finding the whole situation quite humorous talking out loud to myself as if the whole thing were some sort of amusing narrative being shared on my reality show.
I would raise the car a few inches, hunt the surrounding area for largish flat rocks to place under the front and behind the driver side tire, occasionally telling myself with confidence that 'I could do this', and repeated the process until I managed to get the car nearly to the extent of the cheap OEM jack's maximum height some 45 minutes or so later. I was awash in blue light as dawn appeared over the horizon. I concluded that I could probably get a few more inches out of the jack, but before I made even a couple more cranks, I could see the jack starting to move slightly, and not in the direction I wanted it to go. That was it, now or never.
Scrambling quickly to the front of the car, glancing quickly to ensure the car was out of gear and parking break off, I got as good a footing I could achieve in the loose sand, took yet another deep breath, gave the car one small nudge forward to start the car rocking, and then PUSHED with all my might.
The car lurched backwards with two unpleasant resulting sounds. One was a shorter KKGRK sound not unlike the one I heard in the first place, and the second a strange metallic sound. Stepping back to the driver side it was immediately evident that I had bent the jack into an unusable twisted hunk of metal. Damn.
I stared dumbfounded at my car. Despite the unpleasant appearance of the jack I held out hope. Kneeling down and readjusting the light, I discovered that the car had indeed moved a decent distance but had not entirely cleared the rock. However, it looked as though the car was no longer entirely resting on the rock but just touching it. Save the jack breaking one more attempt of the same maneuver would have likely set me free and been a great ego boost.
Now I banked on the rock runway I had built behind my tires where my car now rested to give me enough traction to back out. Though I feared that just my weight getting back in the car would be too much. Before I could do anything though I had to remove the broken jack now firmly wedged in place, which fortunately still turned enough for me to loose it. Now I guessed that the best thing I could do was start the car, put it in reverse, and gun it.
Deep breath, and VVVRROOM...nothing but the sound of spinning tires, flying sand, and the feeling of my car lowering itself back onto the rock.
The car hadn't moved at all and my rock runway was now tossed out in front the car. At this point I began to finally consider that my situation might be slightly more than a casual inconvenience.
Considering my exertions thus far I took a break for water and a relaxing cigarette while calculating my next move. Perhaps now it was loose enough that I could rock it off. No luck. Checked my cell phone. No service. I couldn't remember exactly when I had lost service on the way out, but I guessed that it couldn't have been more than a mile. So now with the early morning light fully upon me I decided gearing up and heading out on my mountain bike to find cell service and locate help was the only realistic solution.
I packed a backpack with a couple of sandwiches, a notebook and pen for notes while calling for help, my wallet, and cellphone. I refilled my water bottles and headed out. On the drive to my current situation between asking myself if this was such a smart idea, I had fantasized about sleeping under the stars, waking up, having brisk ride, and then moving on. Little did I know that was all going to happen excepting the sleeping part.
So I headed out on my ride, marveling at the view, but mostly the condition of the roads. As I began, I felt strong and oblivious to my lack of sleep. With each hill I climbed, I would pull out my cell phone and check...no service. Next hill, no service, and more tired. Next bend, no service, more tired. My checks became fewer and less frequent and concern for my stamina increasing. Finally I made it to the first turn at the county road intersection convinced that this was it, I would call 411, get the number for the police, get a phone number for the local guy who is always pulling visitors out of the desert, and return to my car to sit in air conditioning and relax while help arrived.
No service.
It became evident I was going all the way back to the main road. The only saving grace being that the next road was much more level and consisted of fully solid ground if a little wind rutted. Four and a half miles later I arrived back at route 264, about 18 miles from where I started hours before, but now in a far more delirious state.
I pulled out the phone. No Service.
Here I found myself frustrated and exhausted. After a short break, and not feeling quite right, I decided to walk for a bit before getting back on the bike. Less than a mile and who knows how long later I heard a car coming up behind me. This was it. Help had arrived. I turned and began waving. The car didn't even slow down. I wondered if I hadn't waved seriously enough, frenetically enough, concerned enough. I was so tired I wondered if I just didn't want to find help enough.
Now what? I was really beginning to hate Lordsburg. Committed to my cause I climbed back onto the bike with renewed determination imagining the Hallmark Channel true story made-for-tv movie that would be made describing my bravery in the face of death. I passed another mile marker. Check...no service. Another...check...and another...check...another...no service. Frustration at my stupidity growing with every mile marker. Why didn't I just camp with the cattle on that nice flat spot? Why didn't I just find a pay campground earlier? Why did I wait till the last minute to try and find hosts on CouchSurfing? Why did I leave on this entire trip with such haste?
A house. There it was, a house, some kind of ranch I hadn't seen in the dark the night before. Six miles later, exhausted, and really not thinking clearly I sheepishly made my way to the driveway. What time is it? Would they be awake? Would they have a phone? Were they a crazed family of murderers from a Rob Zombie film?
I stopped to rest for a moment while I pondered somehow getting past their locked gate. They clearly weren't expecting random visitors. I pulled out my phone.
SERVICE! Woohoo! I was saved.
Then I noticed for the first time I was down to one bar of battery, with memories of not charging the phone for the last couple hours of driving, and the painful realization that I must have left Google maps running on the phone constantly attempting to reconnect for data and had completely drained my batteries. It was a pleasant irony that I did not fully appreciate at the time, reaching cell coverage, running out battery, but right in front of a house.
Attempting to maximize whatever use my cell phone might offer before bothering the folks at the ranch I immediately dialed 411, wondering how much that would cost, beating myself up for not adding Google 411 to my contact list, unwilling to dial several guesses before I got it right. I asked for the non-emergency number to the Lordsburg police, wondering if my situation could be considered an emergency to speed things up. I dialed the police station to no avail, endless ringing. They were probably enjoying the dog fights at the gas station.
Yet I stood there dumbfounded and paranoid staring at the locked gate that stood between me and escaping the desert. By then the heat was rising, the sun more direct, and me aware that I wasn't going to die out there, but beginning to get a sense of what it might feel like had I been a little less prepared.
Then a car appeared on the horizon. This time I wasn't about to let them pass. I stood in the road waving both arms madly. A little old lady pulled up in a slightly rusted Oldsmobile from a previous decade. The woman nervously stopped a few yards before my position, clearly nervous, cracking her window open.
"Excuse me ma'am, I am a little embarrassed to say this, but I've gotten my car stuck over on the BLM land," with a gesture back where I had come. As I spoke I realized I was far less coherent than I would have liked to deal with this situation, unsure if the words were coming out in complete sentences.
She wringed her hand s on the steering wheel, occasionally throwing them in the air. She spoke slow and nervous, "Well, I don't know what...I’m late to get this car into the shop. I'm on my way there now. We've got to be there fifteen minutes ago. I don't know what you want me to do."
"I apologize ma'am but my car is stuck, I don't know who to call. I tried the police and there was no answer."
"I don't know, I mean I'm on my way to the mechanic, and I'm late and I don't know what I could do.
Seriously? Was she serious? Not exactly the small town helpful attitude I was hoping for. Where were Andy Griffen and Aunt Bea? Exhausted, it took an awkward moment for me to make sense of what was happening. "Mechanic...you are going to a garage? Can I give you my phone number and you can give it to the mechanic. Just tell him my car is stuck and I need him to call me."
"I don't know...I guess..." I couldn’t believe it, she was honestly hemming and hawing over something as basic as accepting a piece of paper and handing it to someone, "I'm late and I don't know what I could do," despite the fact that I just told her what she could do, "...well alright, but you better hurry up I'm late."
I scrambled for my backback and notebook like a cast away who discovered fresh water on a deserted island. She accepted the note through her cracked window as if it were a dead animal. "I don't know what he's going to do with this, but alright," now she was having doubts about whether other people would want or care to help me, and as I thought we were done she started up again as if she weren't going to deliver it, "I don't know. Aren't these people home," pointing at the ranch behind the locked gate that I was beginning to have serious doubts about approaching after this unpleasant experience. But as she made that statement I turned to look at the ranch, and as if on cue an all terrain multi-wheeled vehicle crept down the long driveway with several people in the open cab. Well I'll be damned.
As the driver unlocked the gate and pulled toward us the woman in the car thrust the piece of paper back at me through the window, "Here give this to them. They might know what to do with it. Them's the Miller's and they are good people, you tell 'em Kate Cooperson says to help you. I don't know what I'd do with this," and she drove off obviously grateful to be free of the dirty stranger on the side of the road.
With no other choice I timidly approached the dune buggy like vehicle. In the bench seat sat a man in his mid-forties cowboy hat and casual ranch attire topped off with mirrored sunglasses, next to him a young boy dressed the same but with a bolo tie instead of the sunglasses and a slightly more formal western outfit, and a younger girl who sat in her mother's lap. The family stared straight ahead avoiding eye contact except for the father.
I explained the situation just as I had to Kate who was pulling away and returning a curt nod and wave from the man with a pleasant smile I wouldn't have guessed her capable. The man listened, saying nothing, his family staring forward deadpan, taking in every word with a grim seriousness.
He nodded his head slightly as his face contorted in a subtle grimace. "What were you doing out there?" Accusing and matter of fact.
"I was looking for a campsite in a book my sister gave me," why did I say that? You were just looking for a campsite, regardless of how or why.
"When was that?" As if it somehow made a difference.
"Around 4 in the morning. A real dumb maneuver," again with too much information, but I noticed I had begun speaking slowly with an accent on top of all else.
The man nodded again this time with a slight smile that could have meant anything. "Well...," oh no, not again, "I've got some stuff to take care of right now," seriously about to blow me off, "but I guess if you are around when I get back I could maybe help you out."
"I don't mean to put you all out. I just need an idea of who to call and my cellphone is dying and I haven't slept in 24 hours," rambling and aware of it I had begun to feel like the dirty hippy and possible pedophile the blank stares on the family face in front of me seemed to accuse.
"Well, I guess you could call Mark down at the Chevy place," in a slow metered pace like there was a metronome clicking off at 60 beats per second in his head, "At least I think it's still a Chevy dealer, things what they are who knows these days."
He gave me the number that he knew off the top of his head and then offered his cell number just in case. I thanked them and they pulled away heading down the road in the direction of Kate, the town, and hopefully a tow truck.
As I began to dial the maybe Chevy dealer, I saw that my battery was flashing red and I began to panic. The phone rang several times, "Yep, Mark speaking," extremely professional in the same slow drawl of Mr. Miller. I began spitting out the entirety of my story for the third time desperation in every broken phrase and description. "I am at mile marker ten...my car is stuck...between two hills out CRA0124 I think...battery running low...unsure of water supply...might be dinosaurs hunting me..."
"Woah, woah, slow down sir. So you say you are where?"
"Out route 264 I believe," I honestly couldn't remember exactly and my patience was wearing thin from the anxiety rising in me as fast as my batteries power was falling.
"So you were on your way to Duncan and your car broke down."
"I don't know where Dugan is, and no my car is fine, just stuck on a rock out CRA0127 and down CRA014 I think it is, the turnoff from 264 said Fuller road."
"Woah, I'm trying to figure out exactly where you are so we can find you," which I thought I was describing fairly accurately, "So you say you are on your way to Deacon?"
I was unsure what was happening, what the man was saying, or how knowing my proximity to Dover mattered, but with every passing second and every woah he said I became more and more stressed out.
"Alright, I've got to talk to the boss. I'll call you back when we've figured something out."
"Sir my phone is dying and I'm not sure how much longer the battery is going to last, I am at mile marker 10 on the 264..."
"Woah, alright, turn your phone off and I'll call you back in ten minutes exactly."
So I did. I then realized I had no other time keeping device besides the phone, so I lit a cigarette to time out 5 to 7 minutes before powering the phone back up, hoping beyond hope that it would last. Instead of going back to the main screen the phone came up to an alert for a new voice message. Damnit, the guy had called back way before 10 minutes had elapsed.
His message indicated that it would cost $85 to pull me out and to call him to let him know I wanted to do it. As I dialed the number the phone went blank and I felt defeated. Great. That was it. I was going to die out there. Somewhere around mile marker 12 or 13 I had seen a complete cow skeleton bleached perfect white in the sun almost cartoonish in it's dimensions and arrangement. I imagined my fate would be similar. The Miller's driving by bare bones everyday for years to come as they headed out down the road to do whatever it was they did as a family in their 12 wheeled dune buggy tank thing.
I stared into space and then noticed a small stray herd of cattle had appeared across and down the road a hundred yards or so. I recall talking to them a bit, probably about dying or where the nearest wifi spot was when I spotted a vehicle returning up the road from where the Miller's and Kate had vanished leaving me to die.
It was the Miller's returned probably from checking up on the other stranded drivers they had found and keep in a shed somewhere. They cruised slowly into view, the boy now standing in the back of the vehicle hanging onto the roll bar and all I could think was how there was no way you could do that in California without getting a ticket. They pulled off the road before they reached me to visit the cattle I had just been talking with. I could hear them in friendly overjoyed voiced, "Hey Bessie. Hey Frankie. How are you? What are you doing," with lilted tones like you would use with the family pet. Then they headed back towards their ranch. I met them in the road in case they decided to drive by without saying hello.
The family now stared forward, zombie cowboys that wanted to eat my brain, while the father looked at me only slightly less suspicious than before. "Well, did you get a hold of Mark?"
"Yes sir, I sure did, but unfortunately my phone died before we could make arrangements. He said it would be $85 and I should call him back," attempting to keep the unintentionally affected drawl from my voice.
"$85," incredulous. "You sure that's what you want to do?"
What I wanted to do? What I wanted? None of this was what I wanted. What I wanted was to stumble upon the Miller ranch where they would invite me in, offer me a shower and I would step out to discover my very own cowboy outfit with cowboy boots and 10 gallon cowboy hat and they would invite me down to a massive cowboy breakfast and take me horseback riding and maybe do some shooting out on the far side of the ranch where the deer were plentiful and beautiful natives threw themselves at you begging for you to take them away to your steel teepee in the city.
What I wanted to do? What hell kind of question was that? As if Mr. Miller's weak half offer to help me sounded like a serious one. If you want to help me, say so, and help me.
"Well sir, I’m sure you all have better things to do than worry someone like me. I don't mind paying, but my phone died and I sure would appreciate it if you all could let me use your phone or if you could just call Mark and let him know that I would like to accept his offer."
Stoic, Mr. Miller pulled a cellphone from his breast pocket and dialed. "Hey Mark, it's Larry...Larry...out...yeah Larry. I've got that fella here that called you and he wants you to send a guy out. He's right at the entrance where you turn in...to my place..."
I looked on helpless, the mom broke form and looked directly at me without smiling for at least half a second before Mr. Miller broke in, "They're gonna send a man out. They're good people and they will treat you right, well apart from charging you $85."
Well thank you for making me feel like an idiot and making your offer to help me for me so clear and inviting. Not to mention based on the half of the conversation I could hear I wondered if anybody at the Chevy dealer even knew who this guy was.
"Thank you all very much. I much appreciate your help and hope you find your day well." And with that they were off in the direction of CRA0127 and my car.
The sun was getting high now and it finally occurred to me that I hadn't put sunscreen on since Yuma what seemed like a week before. I looked around for shade and headed for my best choice, a spindly bush 3 feet tall, and I plunked myself down like a refugee in the meager approximation of shade. I ate a sandwich and made sure to stay hydrated, wishing I had worn my hat.
Less than a half hour later I watched as a pickup truck zoomed by and then turned around a few hundred yards away. A Mexican fellow pulled up and said, "My boss said you had a dirt bike," making revving gestures with his hands.
"If I had a dirt bike I would have rode all the way into town," trying not to sound like a jerk mimicking the revving hand gesture as if that would prove that I was welcome in the local tribe. I threw my bike in the back of the truck and we were off.
Within no time we were down the first dirt road coming up on the storage tank acting as landmark to the crossroad onto CRA0124. The storage tank was actually part of the directions in the free camping book my sister had given me. An hour earlier when I had rolled by on my back I saw that someone had spray painted, 'you will be missed,' on the side of the tank. I relayed my thoughts of feeling as though I was in a horror movie when I saw that the first time on my bike. I'm not sure if he was amused or not.
The driver was friendly enough however, he kept telling me how beautiful it was out there, that there was a lake and I would have loved it. Making our way farther and farther out, riding in the pickup truck somehow made the road seem even more ridiculous and treacherous, every clang, crash, bang, and bumping jolt over rocks, divots, deep ruts, wash banks, and small canyons reinforcing how absurd my attempt to drive out there was. But the driver kept saying how I almost made it, you were probably almost there, if you hadn't stopped there you would have made it, I've never seen a car come out this far, you would have loved the lake, we usually park the cars there by the cattle guard and everybody gets into the back of a pickup.
And as my car came into sight, even the massive pickup truck struggled and I wondered if it would even be able to pull me out. But the driver, though casual and mellow, hooked me up with a spanset and chain in no time flat like a real pro. He told me to get in the car start it up and have it in reverse ready to help him as soon it came off the rock.
Seconds and one last awful scraping noise later my car was free and part way up the opposite hill to give some runway before attempting the return trip. He unhooked and drove up to turn around. I gunned it and slipped and slid with my traction system blinking "no traction" off and on.
But I made it past the worst of it, to the top of the biggest hill I would have to contend with. From here it was just a question of whether my suspension could withstand the beating of the remainder of the road. I did my best to choose the best line down the road, better than I did on the way in, plants occasionally scraping down the side of my car as I avoided large ruts and rocks.
And ultimately we made it out and I followed the guy back to the Chevy dealer in town to pay and say thank you. I walked into the lobby of the dealership that appeared somewhat abandoned and pulled myself a glass of water from the dispenser into one of those nifty cone shaped cups when I saw a man smoking behind a parts counter farther back. No one greeted me or even looked at me as best I could tell.
I made my way to the counter and the smoking man, who still didn't look at me, but mumbled out of the corner of his mouth not holding the dangling cigarette, "This the guy?"
He pushed a piece of paper across the counter toward me. I said hello with no response. I looked down at the paper. As I did so the man started mumbling something that was presumably directed at me.
"It was 11 miles. Yeah. Thought it was 10. Grunt grunt..."
The paper on the counter, the invoice, my bill, had a total of $141. "I'm sorry but you said it would be $85."
"11 miles, both ways. You said 10."
Like this guy doesn't live around here and doesn’t know where route 264 is, that if I am at mile marker 10 I am over 10 miles out of town, that my car wasn't where I was, that it was farther.
"It's just that we agreed to $85," though I began to remember that I never actually agreed to anything, Mr. Miller did it for me, but they could have been in collusion, speaking in code, conspiring to split the money. And he said these were good people. We hadn't agreed to anything.
"Yeah well, the boss said I had to do this," still mumbling indirectly and smoking a cigarette he never removed from his mouth. "You want to talk to the boss?"
I reviewed the invoice. Hookup fee $77. Mileage fee $99. Gas surcharge fee $999. Screw the local fee $1999. Plus tax. $5. The bill didn't make any sense. I mean the numbers that were there added up, but I just saw very odd numbers that didn't seem to apply to anything.
"I'm sorry but I don't even see with a different mileage how this could have ever come to a total of $85." The man pulled the paper back across the counter continuing to mumble while scribbling in tiny print more random numbers @ 11 with equal signs pointing at the stuff he had already written.
I was becoming more and more furious exacerbating my already exhausted frustrated frame of mind. I made some more incoherent and steadily more aggressive arguments that this bill made no sense, but never really connected that the number 11 was what made no sense. I know he said 11 miles both ways. But that is absurd. My car was more than 20 miles out. Just getting to me at mile marker 10 was probably 12 miles from the shop. There was no number 11 at any point in my entire escapade, and yet he kept mumbling it and did obscure math in Cuneiform on my invoice to back it up.
Reaching final exhaustion and fearful of what might happen to me in this town if I fully expressed what I thought about the situation I just handed over my credit card, scribbled my signature in violent swirls onto dotted lines the man indicated with shrugs of his cigarette and stormed angrily out the door. I didn't say thank you. That would show him.
I got into my car furious, now resolved to get out of that town as quickly as possible. As I located a gas station to use the restroom and wash-up a bit, I came across many cheap motels, in fact every motel regardless of how nice or shabby appeared to be in the same $20 to $30 a night price range, but there was no way in hell I was spending another day in this town even if it were free. Finally just before the freeway entrance I found a gas station.
I washed up as best I could for quite some time and sort of stumbled out of the bathroom back through the store back to my car. The rational part of my brain warned me that I shouldn't be driving. But I responded to myself, "I just need to brush my teeth and I will be fine." So I pulled out my Sonicare, a water bottle and my toothpaste and proceeded to brush right there in the parking lot like a madman. While brushing I saw the broken jack sitting in my back seat sticking its broken foot out at me and laughing so I yanked it from the front seat and stumbled to the trash can at the entrance to the store and threw it away with a flourish, families staring on wide-eyed as I stumble back to my car spitting and rinsing as I made my back to the car.
All freshened up and unburdened from bad breath, a broken jack, or any new-found healthy relationships I might regret leaving behind, I pulled onto the interstate, turned on cruise control and spent the next two hours loathing everything about Lordsburg.
NOTE: You can also read this post with pictures at CoTradeCo.
As I neared the bottom of the valley I saw my opportunity, and none too soon, the sand on the last 20 yards or so had left my car with “no traction warnings” as I slid helplessly in the sand, but at the bottom there was my chance, a fairly wide open spot on what looked like decently packed stone in the wash next to where the road headed sharply back up the other side. I came to a stop. The ground was mostly solid. So far so good. But I was going to have to do a three point turn as quick as possible through that insanely thick sand. I got out plotted my course of action, got back in, breathed heavily and gunned it. I managed to get mostly turned around on the first move. Now all that remained was another 90 degrees as I pulled forward and headed as fast I could into the same 20 yards of loose sand.
I took another deep breath and hit it. Vrroooom, KRKKGGGKKK. I was stopped with a loud dragging scraping noise. I hadn’t moved two feet. I slowly attempted to back up hoping to not dig myself into the sand. Nothing. Forward. Nothing. What the $*x%x?
I chuckled to myself. The thought of getting stuck had repeatedly crossed my mind over the previous dark mile, but I kept telling myself that only happened in the movies. I was not going to get stuck. And there I sat, stuck, and laughing. Unable to move my car, I still refused to believe I was actually in any serious predicament, and casually took a swig of water and ate some potato chips I had picked up at the gas station at that first exit just inside Lordsburg.
In retrospect, I should have thought better of staying in Lordsburg because of that gas station stop. As I entered Lordsburg I needed to use the restroom and wanted to take a moment to review the directions to my "free" campsite. The attendant at the station couldn't have been anymore displeased to see me. When I asked where the restroom was he just grunted and scowled. Welcome to Lordsburg. I try to not to be judgmental (well not really, but I try not to hold my judgments very long ;) but in this case I came to realize he might have been an accurate ambassador for the town.
I would have asked him for directions and advice on finding my campsite but he was so unpleasant I just paid for my chips and ignored him, looking forward to sitting down in front of my tent with my Smirnoff Ice and having a snack before getting some much needed sleep. While I sat in my car he drug wet floor signs in front of the entrance, locked the doors, and wedged a hand scrawled closed sign into the door that fell down as he turned his back to go run an illegal dog fight in the back room or something. Determined in my clouded haze of sleepiness to find my temporary home, I reread the directions, plotted my course on Google maps, and headed off into the wilds north of Lordsburg.
And a half hour later I found myself stuck 20+ miles out of town.
I stepped out of the car to assess the situation. At worst, I thought, I had scraped a rock, gotten stuck in the loose sand at the bottom of the valley, and would simply need to do a little digging, stick a couple of rocks behind my tire and continue turning around thus freeing myself from the valley.
Walking around the car I could see nothing apparently wrong in the moonlight. I cursed my friend who failed to return my flashlight, but simply pulled out the Pelican 9430 remote area lighting unit (another shameless plug) from my car. I fired up the LED powerhouse and laughed again. I continued to refuse that the situation was severe despite the fact that my car was grounded atop a boulder sticking out of the ground. No fluids were leaking out, the car appeared to be resting undamaged on the frame, and I had nearly three gallons of water and a carful of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
So in true pioneer spirit I determined to free myself. I quickly planned to jack the car up far enough that I could rock the car and tip the jack over landing my car just free of the rock. At this point I was still finding the whole situation quite humorous talking out loud to myself as if the whole thing were some sort of amusing narrative being shared on my reality show.
I would raise the car a few inches, hunt the surrounding area for largish flat rocks to place under the front and behind the driver side tire, occasionally telling myself with confidence that 'I could do this', and repeated the process until I managed to get the car nearly to the extent of the cheap OEM jack's maximum height some 45 minutes or so later. I was awash in blue light as dawn appeared over the horizon. I concluded that I could probably get a few more inches out of the jack, but before I made even a couple more cranks, I could see the jack starting to move slightly, and not in the direction I wanted it to go. That was it, now or never.
Scrambling quickly to the front of the car, glancing quickly to ensure the car was out of gear and parking break off, I got as good a footing I could achieve in the loose sand, took yet another deep breath, gave the car one small nudge forward to start the car rocking, and then PUSHED with all my might.
The car lurched backwards with two unpleasant resulting sounds. One was a shorter KKGRK sound not unlike the one I heard in the first place, and the second a strange metallic sound. Stepping back to the driver side it was immediately evident that I had bent the jack into an unusable twisted hunk of metal. Damn.
I stared dumbfounded at my car. Despite the unpleasant appearance of the jack I held out hope. Kneeling down and readjusting the light, I discovered that the car had indeed moved a decent distance but had not entirely cleared the rock. However, it looked as though the car was no longer entirely resting on the rock but just touching it. Save the jack breaking one more attempt of the same maneuver would have likely set me free and been a great ego boost.
Now I banked on the rock runway I had built behind my tires where my car now rested to give me enough traction to back out. Though I feared that just my weight getting back in the car would be too much. Before I could do anything though I had to remove the broken jack now firmly wedged in place, which fortunately still turned enough for me to loose it. Now I guessed that the best thing I could do was start the car, put it in reverse, and gun it.
Deep breath, and VVVRROOM...nothing but the sound of spinning tires, flying sand, and the feeling of my car lowering itself back onto the rock.
The car hadn't moved at all and my rock runway was now tossed out in front the car. At this point I began to finally consider that my situation might be slightly more than a casual inconvenience.
Considering my exertions thus far I took a break for water and a relaxing cigarette while calculating my next move. Perhaps now it was loose enough that I could rock it off. No luck. Checked my cell phone. No service. I couldn't remember exactly when I had lost service on the way out, but I guessed that it couldn't have been more than a mile. So now with the early morning light fully upon me I decided gearing up and heading out on my mountain bike to find cell service and locate help was the only realistic solution.
I packed a backpack with a couple of sandwiches, a notebook and pen for notes while calling for help, my wallet, and cellphone. I refilled my water bottles and headed out. On the drive to my current situation between asking myself if this was such a smart idea, I had fantasized about sleeping under the stars, waking up, having brisk ride, and then moving on. Little did I know that was all going to happen excepting the sleeping part.
So I headed out on my ride, marveling at the view, but mostly the condition of the roads. As I began, I felt strong and oblivious to my lack of sleep. With each hill I climbed, I would pull out my cell phone and check...no service. Next hill, no service, and more tired. Next bend, no service, more tired. My checks became fewer and less frequent and concern for my stamina increasing. Finally I made it to the first turn at the county road intersection convinced that this was it, I would call 411, get the number for the police, get a phone number for the local guy who is always pulling visitors out of the desert, and return to my car to sit in air conditioning and relax while help arrived.
No service.
It became evident I was going all the way back to the main road. The only saving grace being that the next road was much more level and consisted of fully solid ground if a little wind rutted. Four and a half miles later I arrived back at route 264, about 18 miles from where I started hours before, but now in a far more delirious state.
I pulled out the phone. No Service.
Here I found myself frustrated and exhausted. After a short break, and not feeling quite right, I decided to walk for a bit before getting back on the bike. Less than a mile and who knows how long later I heard a car coming up behind me. This was it. Help had arrived. I turned and began waving. The car didn't even slow down. I wondered if I hadn't waved seriously enough, frenetically enough, concerned enough. I was so tired I wondered if I just didn't want to find help enough.
Now what? I was really beginning to hate Lordsburg. Committed to my cause I climbed back onto the bike with renewed determination imagining the Hallmark Channel true story made-for-tv movie that would be made describing my bravery in the face of death. I passed another mile marker. Check...no service. Another...check...and another...check...another...no service. Frustration at my stupidity growing with every mile marker. Why didn't I just camp with the cattle on that nice flat spot? Why didn't I just find a pay campground earlier? Why did I wait till the last minute to try and find hosts on CouchSurfing? Why did I leave on this entire trip with such haste?
A house. There it was, a house, some kind of ranch I hadn't seen in the dark the night before. Six miles later, exhausted, and really not thinking clearly I sheepishly made my way to the driveway. What time is it? Would they be awake? Would they have a phone? Were they a crazed family of murderers from a Rob Zombie film?
I stopped to rest for a moment while I pondered somehow getting past their locked gate. They clearly weren't expecting random visitors. I pulled out my phone.
SERVICE! Woohoo! I was saved.
Then I noticed for the first time I was down to one bar of battery, with memories of not charging the phone for the last couple hours of driving, and the painful realization that I must have left Google maps running on the phone constantly attempting to reconnect for data and had completely drained my batteries. It was a pleasant irony that I did not fully appreciate at the time, reaching cell coverage, running out battery, but right in front of a house.
Attempting to maximize whatever use my cell phone might offer before bothering the folks at the ranch I immediately dialed 411, wondering how much that would cost, beating myself up for not adding Google 411 to my contact list, unwilling to dial several guesses before I got it right. I asked for the non-emergency number to the Lordsburg police, wondering if my situation could be considered an emergency to speed things up. I dialed the police station to no avail, endless ringing. They were probably enjoying the dog fights at the gas station.
Yet I stood there dumbfounded and paranoid staring at the locked gate that stood between me and escaping the desert. By then the heat was rising, the sun more direct, and me aware that I wasn't going to die out there, but beginning to get a sense of what it might feel like had I been a little less prepared.
Then a car appeared on the horizon. This time I wasn't about to let them pass. I stood in the road waving both arms madly. A little old lady pulled up in a slightly rusted Oldsmobile from a previous decade. The woman nervously stopped a few yards before my position, clearly nervous, cracking her window open.
"Excuse me ma'am, I am a little embarrassed to say this, but I've gotten my car stuck over on the BLM land," with a gesture back where I had come. As I spoke I realized I was far less coherent than I would have liked to deal with this situation, unsure if the words were coming out in complete sentences.
She wringed her hand s on the steering wheel, occasionally throwing them in the air. She spoke slow and nervous, "Well, I don't know what...I’m late to get this car into the shop. I'm on my way there now. We've got to be there fifteen minutes ago. I don't know what you want me to do."
"I apologize ma'am but my car is stuck, I don't know who to call. I tried the police and there was no answer."
"I don't know, I mean I'm on my way to the mechanic, and I'm late and I don't know what I could do.
Seriously? Was she serious? Not exactly the small town helpful attitude I was hoping for. Where were Andy Griffen and Aunt Bea? Exhausted, it took an awkward moment for me to make sense of what was happening. "Mechanic...you are going to a garage? Can I give you my phone number and you can give it to the mechanic. Just tell him my car is stuck and I need him to call me."
"I don't know...I guess..." I couldn’t believe it, she was honestly hemming and hawing over something as basic as accepting a piece of paper and handing it to someone, "I'm late and I don't know what I could do," despite the fact that I just told her what she could do, "...well alright, but you better hurry up I'm late."
I scrambled for my backback and notebook like a cast away who discovered fresh water on a deserted island. She accepted the note through her cracked window as if it were a dead animal. "I don't know what he's going to do with this, but alright," now she was having doubts about whether other people would want or care to help me, and as I thought we were done she started up again as if she weren't going to deliver it, "I don't know. Aren't these people home," pointing at the ranch behind the locked gate that I was beginning to have serious doubts about approaching after this unpleasant experience. But as she made that statement I turned to look at the ranch, and as if on cue an all terrain multi-wheeled vehicle crept down the long driveway with several people in the open cab. Well I'll be damned.
As the driver unlocked the gate and pulled toward us the woman in the car thrust the piece of paper back at me through the window, "Here give this to them. They might know what to do with it. Them's the Miller's and they are good people, you tell 'em Kate Cooperson says to help you. I don't know what I'd do with this," and she drove off obviously grateful to be free of the dirty stranger on the side of the road.
With no other choice I timidly approached the dune buggy like vehicle. In the bench seat sat a man in his mid-forties cowboy hat and casual ranch attire topped off with mirrored sunglasses, next to him a young boy dressed the same but with a bolo tie instead of the sunglasses and a slightly more formal western outfit, and a younger girl who sat in her mother's lap. The family stared straight ahead avoiding eye contact except for the father.
I explained the situation just as I had to Kate who was pulling away and returning a curt nod and wave from the man with a pleasant smile I wouldn't have guessed her capable. The man listened, saying nothing, his family staring forward deadpan, taking in every word with a grim seriousness.
He nodded his head slightly as his face contorted in a subtle grimace. "What were you doing out there?" Accusing and matter of fact.
"I was looking for a campsite in a book my sister gave me," why did I say that? You were just looking for a campsite, regardless of how or why.
"When was that?" As if it somehow made a difference.
"Around 4 in the morning. A real dumb maneuver," again with too much information, but I noticed I had begun speaking slowly with an accent on top of all else.
The man nodded again this time with a slight smile that could have meant anything. "Well...," oh no, not again, "I've got some stuff to take care of right now," seriously about to blow me off, "but I guess if you are around when I get back I could maybe help you out."
"I don't mean to put you all out. I just need an idea of who to call and my cellphone is dying and I haven't slept in 24 hours," rambling and aware of it I had begun to feel like the dirty hippy and possible pedophile the blank stares on the family face in front of me seemed to accuse.
"Well, I guess you could call Mark down at the Chevy place," in a slow metered pace like there was a metronome clicking off at 60 beats per second in his head, "At least I think it's still a Chevy dealer, things what they are who knows these days."
He gave me the number that he knew off the top of his head and then offered his cell number just in case. I thanked them and they pulled away heading down the road in the direction of Kate, the town, and hopefully a tow truck.
As I began to dial the maybe Chevy dealer, I saw that my battery was flashing red and I began to panic. The phone rang several times, "Yep, Mark speaking," extremely professional in the same slow drawl of Mr. Miller. I began spitting out the entirety of my story for the third time desperation in every broken phrase and description. "I am at mile marker ten...my car is stuck...between two hills out CRA0124 I think...battery running low...unsure of water supply...might be dinosaurs hunting me..."
"Woah, woah, slow down sir. So you say you are where?"
"Out route 264 I believe," I honestly couldn't remember exactly and my patience was wearing thin from the anxiety rising in me as fast as my batteries power was falling.
"So you were on your way to Duncan and your car broke down."
"I don't know where Dugan is, and no my car is fine, just stuck on a rock out CRA0127 and down CRA014 I think it is, the turnoff from 264 said Fuller road."
"Woah, I'm trying to figure out exactly where you are so we can find you," which I thought I was describing fairly accurately, "So you say you are on your way to Deacon?"
I was unsure what was happening, what the man was saying, or how knowing my proximity to Dover mattered, but with every passing second and every woah he said I became more and more stressed out.
"Alright, I've got to talk to the boss. I'll call you back when we've figured something out."
"Sir my phone is dying and I'm not sure how much longer the battery is going to last, I am at mile marker 10 on the 264..."
"Woah, alright, turn your phone off and I'll call you back in ten minutes exactly."
So I did. I then realized I had no other time keeping device besides the phone, so I lit a cigarette to time out 5 to 7 minutes before powering the phone back up, hoping beyond hope that it would last. Instead of going back to the main screen the phone came up to an alert for a new voice message. Damnit, the guy had called back way before 10 minutes had elapsed.
His message indicated that it would cost $85 to pull me out and to call him to let him know I wanted to do it. As I dialed the number the phone went blank and I felt defeated. Great. That was it. I was going to die out there. Somewhere around mile marker 12 or 13 I had seen a complete cow skeleton bleached perfect white in the sun almost cartoonish in it's dimensions and arrangement. I imagined my fate would be similar. The Miller's driving by bare bones everyday for years to come as they headed out down the road to do whatever it was they did as a family in their 12 wheeled dune buggy tank thing.
I stared into space and then noticed a small stray herd of cattle had appeared across and down the road a hundred yards or so. I recall talking to them a bit, probably about dying or where the nearest wifi spot was when I spotted a vehicle returning up the road from where the Miller's and Kate had vanished leaving me to die.
It was the Miller's returned probably from checking up on the other stranded drivers they had found and keep in a shed somewhere. They cruised slowly into view, the boy now standing in the back of the vehicle hanging onto the roll bar and all I could think was how there was no way you could do that in California without getting a ticket. They pulled off the road before they reached me to visit the cattle I had just been talking with. I could hear them in friendly overjoyed voiced, "Hey Bessie. Hey Frankie. How are you? What are you doing," with lilted tones like you would use with the family pet. Then they headed back towards their ranch. I met them in the road in case they decided to drive by without saying hello.
The family now stared forward, zombie cowboys that wanted to eat my brain, while the father looked at me only slightly less suspicious than before. "Well, did you get a hold of Mark?"
"Yes sir, I sure did, but unfortunately my phone died before we could make arrangements. He said it would be $85 and I should call him back," attempting to keep the unintentionally affected drawl from my voice.
"$85," incredulous. "You sure that's what you want to do?"
What I wanted to do? What I wanted? None of this was what I wanted. What I wanted was to stumble upon the Miller ranch where they would invite me in, offer me a shower and I would step out to discover my very own cowboy outfit with cowboy boots and 10 gallon cowboy hat and they would invite me down to a massive cowboy breakfast and take me horseback riding and maybe do some shooting out on the far side of the ranch where the deer were plentiful and beautiful natives threw themselves at you begging for you to take them away to your steel teepee in the city.
What I wanted to do? What hell kind of question was that? As if Mr. Miller's weak half offer to help me sounded like a serious one. If you want to help me, say so, and help me.
"Well sir, I’m sure you all have better things to do than worry someone like me. I don't mind paying, but my phone died and I sure would appreciate it if you all could let me use your phone or if you could just call Mark and let him know that I would like to accept his offer."
Stoic, Mr. Miller pulled a cellphone from his breast pocket and dialed. "Hey Mark, it's Larry...Larry...out...yeah Larry. I've got that fella here that called you and he wants you to send a guy out. He's right at the entrance where you turn in...to my place..."
I looked on helpless, the mom broke form and looked directly at me without smiling for at least half a second before Mr. Miller broke in, "They're gonna send a man out. They're good people and they will treat you right, well apart from charging you $85."
Well thank you for making me feel like an idiot and making your offer to help me for me so clear and inviting. Not to mention based on the half of the conversation I could hear I wondered if anybody at the Chevy dealer even knew who this guy was.
"Thank you all very much. I much appreciate your help and hope you find your day well." And with that they were off in the direction of CRA0127 and my car.
The sun was getting high now and it finally occurred to me that I hadn't put sunscreen on since Yuma what seemed like a week before. I looked around for shade and headed for my best choice, a spindly bush 3 feet tall, and I plunked myself down like a refugee in the meager approximation of shade. I ate a sandwich and made sure to stay hydrated, wishing I had worn my hat.
Less than a half hour later I watched as a pickup truck zoomed by and then turned around a few hundred yards away. A Mexican fellow pulled up and said, "My boss said you had a dirt bike," making revving gestures with his hands.
"If I had a dirt bike I would have rode all the way into town," trying not to sound like a jerk mimicking the revving hand gesture as if that would prove that I was welcome in the local tribe. I threw my bike in the back of the truck and we were off.
Within no time we were down the first dirt road coming up on the storage tank acting as landmark to the crossroad onto CRA0124. The storage tank was actually part of the directions in the free camping book my sister had given me. An hour earlier when I had rolled by on my back I saw that someone had spray painted, 'you will be missed,' on the side of the tank. I relayed my thoughts of feeling as though I was in a horror movie when I saw that the first time on my bike. I'm not sure if he was amused or not.
The driver was friendly enough however, he kept telling me how beautiful it was out there, that there was a lake and I would have loved it. Making our way farther and farther out, riding in the pickup truck somehow made the road seem even more ridiculous and treacherous, every clang, crash, bang, and bumping jolt over rocks, divots, deep ruts, wash banks, and small canyons reinforcing how absurd my attempt to drive out there was. But the driver kept saying how I almost made it, you were probably almost there, if you hadn't stopped there you would have made it, I've never seen a car come out this far, you would have loved the lake, we usually park the cars there by the cattle guard and everybody gets into the back of a pickup.
And as my car came into sight, even the massive pickup truck struggled and I wondered if it would even be able to pull me out. But the driver, though casual and mellow, hooked me up with a spanset and chain in no time flat like a real pro. He told me to get in the car start it up and have it in reverse ready to help him as soon it came off the rock.
Seconds and one last awful scraping noise later my car was free and part way up the opposite hill to give some runway before attempting the return trip. He unhooked and drove up to turn around. I gunned it and slipped and slid with my traction system blinking "no traction" off and on.
But I made it past the worst of it, to the top of the biggest hill I would have to contend with. From here it was just a question of whether my suspension could withstand the beating of the remainder of the road. I did my best to choose the best line down the road, better than I did on the way in, plants occasionally scraping down the side of my car as I avoided large ruts and rocks.
And ultimately we made it out and I followed the guy back to the Chevy dealer in town to pay and say thank you. I walked into the lobby of the dealership that appeared somewhat abandoned and pulled myself a glass of water from the dispenser into one of those nifty cone shaped cups when I saw a man smoking behind a parts counter farther back. No one greeted me or even looked at me as best I could tell.
I made my way to the counter and the smoking man, who still didn't look at me, but mumbled out of the corner of his mouth not holding the dangling cigarette, "This the guy?"
He pushed a piece of paper across the counter toward me. I said hello with no response. I looked down at the paper. As I did so the man started mumbling something that was presumably directed at me.
"It was 11 miles. Yeah. Thought it was 10. Grunt grunt..."
The paper on the counter, the invoice, my bill, had a total of $141. "I'm sorry but you said it would be $85."
"11 miles, both ways. You said 10."
Like this guy doesn't live around here and doesn’t know where route 264 is, that if I am at mile marker 10 I am over 10 miles out of town, that my car wasn't where I was, that it was farther.
"It's just that we agreed to $85," though I began to remember that I never actually agreed to anything, Mr. Miller did it for me, but they could have been in collusion, speaking in code, conspiring to split the money. And he said these were good people. We hadn't agreed to anything.
"Yeah well, the boss said I had to do this," still mumbling indirectly and smoking a cigarette he never removed from his mouth. "You want to talk to the boss?"
I reviewed the invoice. Hookup fee $77. Mileage fee $99. Gas surcharge fee $999. Screw the local fee $1999. Plus tax. $5. The bill didn't make any sense. I mean the numbers that were there added up, but I just saw very odd numbers that didn't seem to apply to anything.
"I'm sorry but I don't even see with a different mileage how this could have ever come to a total of $85." The man pulled the paper back across the counter continuing to mumble while scribbling in tiny print more random numbers @ 11 with equal signs pointing at the stuff he had already written.
I was becoming more and more furious exacerbating my already exhausted frustrated frame of mind. I made some more incoherent and steadily more aggressive arguments that this bill made no sense, but never really connected that the number 11 was what made no sense. I know he said 11 miles both ways. But that is absurd. My car was more than 20 miles out. Just getting to me at mile marker 10 was probably 12 miles from the shop. There was no number 11 at any point in my entire escapade, and yet he kept mumbling it and did obscure math in Cuneiform on my invoice to back it up.
Reaching final exhaustion and fearful of what might happen to me in this town if I fully expressed what I thought about the situation I just handed over my credit card, scribbled my signature in violent swirls onto dotted lines the man indicated with shrugs of his cigarette and stormed angrily out the door. I didn't say thank you. That would show him.
I got into my car furious, now resolved to get out of that town as quickly as possible. As I located a gas station to use the restroom and wash-up a bit, I came across many cheap motels, in fact every motel regardless of how nice or shabby appeared to be in the same $20 to $30 a night price range, but there was no way in hell I was spending another day in this town even if it were free. Finally just before the freeway entrance I found a gas station.
I washed up as best I could for quite some time and sort of stumbled out of the bathroom back through the store back to my car. The rational part of my brain warned me that I shouldn't be driving. But I responded to myself, "I just need to brush my teeth and I will be fine." So I pulled out my Sonicare, a water bottle and my toothpaste and proceeded to brush right there in the parking lot like a madman. While brushing I saw the broken jack sitting in my back seat sticking its broken foot out at me and laughing so I yanked it from the front seat and stumbled to the trash can at the entrance to the store and threw it away with a flourish, families staring on wide-eyed as I stumble back to my car spitting and rinsing as I made my back to the car.
All freshened up and unburdened from bad breath, a broken jack, or any new-found healthy relationships I might regret leaving behind, I pulled onto the interstate, turned on cruise control and spent the next two hours loathing everything about Lordsburg.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Day 1 & 2 (Friends, family, & head clearing in 30 days or less)
This is the first of many musings for this journey, affectionately dubbed (by necessity for my registration with CouchSurfing.org), "Friends, family, & head clearing in 30 days or less." Many updates to my trip will be posted to various social networks throughout each day but every so often I will be posting these longer updates. I write this first installment from a dump of motel in Las Cruces, NM. As I am a day behind and in a hurry to get to White Sands this first update will be brief. You can follow the sporadic updates on Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Tumblr, BlogSpot, Bebo, Friendster, and other random socialized networks (need Jason to help get a custom URL setup so I can use ping.fm with CoTradeCo). I am beingzoe on all networks.
Key stops planned for my trip:
* Santa Fe, NM to visit with Smick and Ily
* Omaha, NE to visit with K
* Dubuque, IA to visit with Dad and Step-mom
Planned Inbetween stops:
* Mountain biking anywhere the opportunity strikes
* White Sands, NM
* LIberal, KS (location in my novel I may never finish)
* Newton, KS (location in my novel)
* Lucas, KS Grassroots Arts Center (location in my novel)
DAY 1 & 2
Left with much haste considering this is a vacation, albiet a working vacation. Though I had been "planning" the trip since my visit with Alan in San Francisco n April, I had not actually done any planning as it was unclear when I would realistically be able to get away from the theater long enough. Then the first week of June it became clear that if I didn't simply decide to go it wasn't going to happen. So in a flurry of activity on Tuesday I prepared myself to leave for a month long journey.
I left Wednesday morning heading out the 8, which turns into the 10, listening to the Dirty Three all the way through. The Dirty Three were perfect for the first leg of the journey. Brian had made me a disc with new music just before I left after whimsically complaining that since Alan had left I no longer learned about new music.
I basically drove straight through to Yuma where I was lulled in from the scene of a small river/creek below the freeway. I pulled off and explored a native museum for a bit (which was closed, but I enjoy abandonded buildings as much as thriving ones). Then headed down to the river to cool off walking in the shallow river. Pretty neat little spot actually. A few miles of trails along the river, public "beaches" for the locals to relax on a hot day. It looked like the river got deep enough in spots to almost swim. I bough a couple of cups of lemonade from a young man, maybe six years old, who had his operation setup with his mom near the water.
After the beach I decided I neede a bike rack. Though I don't have that much stuff in my car, it isn't easy to get my bike in and out normally. So I asked Google maps to find me a bike shop, thinking I could pick up a cheap bike rack and get directions to some good trails. Mr. B's bike shop in Yuma didn't have any cheap racks. I'm looking to eventually get a hitch style rack, so for now I just wanted a $40 trunk style which they didn't have. Though I did get directions to some supposedly nice single track just North of town. Following the directions I found a Target and picked up a rack that awkwardly holds my odd shaped Specialized frame. Like a true nomad I repacked my entire car in the parking lot and headed on to the trail. Except the directions didn't quite work and I ended up near Yuma Lakes where it looked like it was BLM land at least. I parked and rolled out, quite easily with new rack. Within minutes I came across a young boy at a make shift wooden table, dirty, shirtless and cutting up what looked like a rabbit. I asked him if this was public land and he responded wide eyed like he didn't see folks very often, "Yeah, down here and over that way, but not over there." I thanked him and headed on. I didn't get much of a ride in though. Instead of exciting single track it was nothing but loose gravel fire roads most likely for hunters. After a maybe a mile of miserable riding I headed back to the car thinking I'd spent too long in Yuma.
Back on the 10 with tentative plans to camp somewhere between Tuscon and the border of Arizona and New Mexico I had apparently played through the entire discography of the Dirty Three, on came some more rock/punk/gypsy something that I will probably enjoy but not after hours of the lulling rock ambient Dirty Three. I restarted the Dirty Three and pondered my next move.
Anyone who knows me, knows I'm not exactly a camper. I am an urban type who enjoys warm showers and espresso every morning. However, this trip is intended as a big routine breaker, a chance to branch out and prepare for a new phase in my life. To that end I came prepared with camping gear I borrowed from my sister, and fully intended to use it. Though for this first leg of my journey I had hoped to try out the CouchSurfing.org service. On Tuesday night I had sent out to CouchSurfing requests in Vail, AZ and Wilcox, AZ both putting me not too far from the New Mexico border and only a few hours from White Sands where I hoped to spend the next day before meeting up with Smick and Ily in Santa Fe.
Because of the short notice and the fact that even driving straight through (which I never do) I wouldn't make Tuscon until later evening, I mentioned in my requests that I might camp near my CouchSurfing contacts and even just meeting for a conversation and some coffee as well as a chance to washup the following day would be nice.
However, as I made my way across Arizona I became a bit depressed that my CouchSurfing requests found no response. That is my fault for waiting until the last minute I am sure. Considering my situation I should have contacted people in Tuscon as well just to be sure, but this was my first time using CouchSurfing and wasn't sure the protocols. In retrospect I really wish I had.
Somewhere past Tuscon I needed a break just to stand up and maybe grab some warm food. I had eaten only 1 1/2 PBJ's that I had made that morning. Actually I had made about 10 PBJ's thinking I could doubly hand out sandwiches to weary travelers or people down on their luck I might come across as part of the "Give A Sandwich" movement. Much later into the next day I would be glad I didn't find anyone to hand them out to.
I stopped at a TA travel center and had a cheeseburger and salad. My server Della was a wonderful older lady who made me feel right at home, calling me Hon a lot. When I hemmed over whether to get a salad or fries she offered both, saying she was in charge right now. I ended up staying there for a while trying to login to CouchSurfing.org and/or find a campground online, but unfortunately I had to use my Storm since the TA only offers paid wifi. The CouchSurfing.org site was unusable due to limited javascript functionality (note to ask CS to look into some unobtrusive JS). I found a great website that lists many free camping areas, or at least I think it is great, as you can only search the database by latitude and longitude. This led to discovering other ridiculous limitations of the Storm and Google maps. I could find no way to simply look up my current coordinates. So the ideal campsite may have slipped through my tired fingers. In the end I decided to go old school and use the "Free Campgrounds" book my sister lent me. I mainly refrained from using it originally because it was published in 2002 and I wasn't sure how accurate it would be.
I located a spot in Bowie, AZ which just felt right and headed back out on the road. Arriving in Bowie though, my fears of outdated information proved real. The Texaco I was to find for the first turn didn't seem to exist and the town was long shut down for the night. I made one more pass down the main street just to be sure, and sure enough found an abandoned service station what looked like it may have once been a Texaco sometime in the 50's. I am not sure which is more sad, the fact that I recognized the shape of the painted over sign as a Texaco or that I actually turned up the road unsure if this was even the right place. I attempted to follow the directions, but where I should have found a simple graded dirt county road I found houses and many graded dirt roads, none of which had any signs. I made my most intelligent guess using intuition and Google maps as my guide. From what I could see on Google maps the route being described to the free campsite was obfuscated by what must have been newer development and roads. That or the directions were just terrible. At any rate, after driving for a bit on what seemed like might be the right way, getting stuck in a mini cattle herd, and ultimately hittng a dead end, I stopped to evaluate my situation.
By now it was getting pretty late, but my spirits were still high. I was truly on an adventure now. Instead of just finding a pay campground (much discussion later on how absurd it is that is illegal to camp any old place in a place with as much open land as New Mexico or anywhere else for that matter) I decided to find the next logical stop in the book for a free campsite. I was determined to break my routine. I decided on Lordsburg, NM and moved on.
Arriving in Lordsburg and checking with Google maps I could actually see my route to the campsite on the map. I felt good. It was really late now, getting close to 4am but I felt alive, tired, but alive. The only part that concerned me was that the campsite was more than 20 miles N of Lordsburg and it was unclear the state of the roads. I could already see the next day hinting over the horizon and really wanted to be setup before daylight so I could get enough sleep before the heat of the day.
Heading out of town the road was fine and I made decent speed the first 16 miles of country roads. Then came the last two turns. First onto CRAO27. This was a classic graded dirt road with serious rutting from the weather which cut my speed in half. This went on for nearly 5 miles. Somewhere along here I lost data connection and had to follow the directions blindly. As I neared the next turn at the "storage tank" onto CRAO124 the road became practically one lane and hardly a road at all for the first mile or so. Then it became much worse.
I now found myself on what seemed like little more than a car wide stone and sand/gravel path, pushing my poor Saturn Ion's suspension to the limit. There were brief spots, where it became smoother more firmly packed dirt again that I used to convince myself that this wasn't crazy. But honestly at this point I was so excited about setting up a tent and watching the last of the stars before dawn, drinking the Smirnoff Ice I had purchased at my last gas stop, and then enjoying some coffee and a bike ride in the morning, that my judgment was probably a little off.
Despite the occasional reprieve in the ridiculous road conditions, overall the state of the road continued to decline as anything you would even call a road. Getting windier, hillier, and criss-crossing deeply rutted and sandy washes I began to seriously consider how wise this was. I asked myself if despite camping legality if I should just find a flat spot to park and setup camp. I did find a spot and was about to setup but I when I got up I realized there was a herd of cattle right there hiding in the darkness, so decided to move on. Continuing at my snails pace over the ever enlarging rocks and poor traction I only had another couple of miles to go to the "official" camp site, but I was seriously wondering if I was going to make it.
Then I came around a sharp bend which then begain a sharp switchbacking descent between two hills, winding like a helix in opposite directions back and forth across a deep wash. The rocks became looser, and the traction worse and worse. By now I was repeated scraping bottom over and over on mounds of earth and the occasional small boulder. I knew I needed to turn around, but now that was impossible I determined that I would turn around and refigure my plans at the next opportunity.
As I neared the bottom of the valley I saw my opportunity, and none too soon, the sand on the last 20 yards or so had left my car with "no taction warnings" as I slid helplessly in the sand, but at the bottom there was my chance, a fairly wide open spot on what looked like decently packed stone in the wash next to where the road headed sharply back up the other side. I came to a stop. The ground was mostly solid. So far so good. But I was going to have to do a three point turn as quick as possible through that insanely thick sand. I got out plotted my course of action, got back in, breathed heavily and gunned it. I managed to get mostly turned around on the first move. Now all that remained was another 90 degrees as I pulled forward and headed as fast I could into the same 20 yards of loose sand.
I took another deep breath and hit it. Vrroooom, KRKKGGGKKK. I was stopped with a loud dragging scraping noise. I hadn't moved two feet. I slowly attempted to back up hoping to not dig myself into the sand. Nothing. Forward. Nothing. What the $%*&?
I got out and couldn't see anything. My good flashlight (the Pelican 7060) was back with a friend I had lent it to who had failed to return it to me before I left (I hope he see's this and feels guilty ;)
Luckily I came prepared with various CoTradeCo products to demo if the chance arose. I got the 9430 out of the trunk, necessitating removing my bike. However with the Pelican 9430 (shameless plug: which can be found on my website at http://cotradeco.com/products/648-9430-remote-area-lighting) it was like daylight and it was painfully clear that my car was teeter-tottering on large boulder long buried in the sand with just an iceberg tip sticking out far enough to grab my car and laugh at me.
I did attempt to free myself to no avail and will be posting an entire separate post about how I saved myself after I arrive in Santa Fe. For now suffice it to say after a broken jack and an 11 mile bike ride back to cell phone coverage I did manage to escape Lordsburg around 1pm the next day.
By the time I was free I was so exhausted all I could think about was sleep. But I was so frustrated with Lordsburg I was determined to head farther down the road and find a motel to stay in. While not outrageously hot, something with air conditioning seemed necessary and a campground just wasn't going to cut it. In the end I manged to make it as far as Las Cruces, putting me about an hour from White Sands. I considered posting to let everyone know I was alright, but I was so tired and poopy I just went straight to sleep.
I took a five or six hour nap, then woke up, biked around Las Cruces for a bit, got a sandwich and headed back to my room where I took a shower, channel surfed all 12 stations, drank my Smirnoff Ice, ate half my sandwich, and smoke lot's of cigarettes in my underwear feeling a bit like Tom Waits in that song, "Going out West":
Well I kno karate, voodoo too
Im gonna make myself available to you
I dont need no make up
I got real scars
I got hair on my chest
I look good without a shirt
Though I really just felt like a bloated slightly overweight dork.
Morning came, I showered again, just cause it seemed refreshing, and prudent considering the adventures I had so far. I walked down to the lobby for my requisite continental breakfast which consisted exclusively of coffee (with caffeine only thank you very much), chocolate chip cookies, and some kind of breakfast bar/cake like thing obviously baked by someone who worked there. As I fingered the cellophane wrapped breakfast cakes wondering if should, a large man, obviously part of the Coachlight Inn indigident population, bellowed out, "Those are good. One of those and you are set. You'll love it." Perhaps he was reading my mind, or he was more savvy than he appeared, and interpretted my poking at the stack of irregularly sized "bars" correctly. I replied, "What kind are they?" He responded less confidently, "Oh, carrot, and, uh, cocunut...well all sorts of good stuff." Just then the matronly clerk who had checked me in the night before, poked her head out and said, "Those are breakfast bars. Oatmeal." I said my thanks, grabbed a large one and headed back to my room with coffee and possibly breakfast.
I started this post, but quickly had to leave when I received a phone call asking if I was staying another night.
"I thought checkout was at 11."
"It is. It's about 5 after."
"I'm sorry I didn't realized I was in another time zone."
"Oh that's right, you are from California. Yup, you are definitely in another time zone. I'm originally from Minneapolis and I had to go through different time zones too."
"Well I apologize for the inconvenience. I will be out in about 15 minutes."
"Take your time."
So I packed up and headed out to the closest Starbucks for my usual espresso, where I am finishing this post.
Heading to White Sands now, and then on to Santa Fe. My public apologies to Colleen and Nathan for not letting you know I was alive. I forgot that though you could see where I was on Google maps, it doesn't tell you if I've been murdered and drug off somewhere. I will be more aware next time. I was just so tired.
Okay, you can get the rest of the updates throughout the day via the social networks. Take and find your day well. I sure will.
Key stops planned for my trip:
* Santa Fe, NM to visit with Smick and Ily
* Omaha, NE to visit with K
* Dubuque, IA to visit with Dad and Step-mom
Planned Inbetween stops:
* Mountain biking anywhere the opportunity strikes
* White Sands, NM
* LIberal, KS (location in my novel I may never finish)
* Newton, KS (location in my novel)
* Lucas, KS Grassroots Arts Center (location in my novel)
DAY 1 & 2
Left with much haste considering this is a vacation, albiet a working vacation. Though I had been "planning" the trip since my visit with Alan in San Francisco n April, I had not actually done any planning as it was unclear when I would realistically be able to get away from the theater long enough. Then the first week of June it became clear that if I didn't simply decide to go it wasn't going to happen. So in a flurry of activity on Tuesday I prepared myself to leave for a month long journey.
I left Wednesday morning heading out the 8, which turns into the 10, listening to the Dirty Three all the way through. The Dirty Three were perfect for the first leg of the journey. Brian had made me a disc with new music just before I left after whimsically complaining that since Alan had left I no longer learned about new music.
I basically drove straight through to Yuma where I was lulled in from the scene of a small river/creek below the freeway. I pulled off and explored a native museum for a bit (which was closed, but I enjoy abandonded buildings as much as thriving ones). Then headed down to the river to cool off walking in the shallow river. Pretty neat little spot actually. A few miles of trails along the river, public "beaches" for the locals to relax on a hot day. It looked like the river got deep enough in spots to almost swim. I bough a couple of cups of lemonade from a young man, maybe six years old, who had his operation setup with his mom near the water.
After the beach I decided I neede a bike rack. Though I don't have that much stuff in my car, it isn't easy to get my bike in and out normally. So I asked Google maps to find me a bike shop, thinking I could pick up a cheap bike rack and get directions to some good trails. Mr. B's bike shop in Yuma didn't have any cheap racks. I'm looking to eventually get a hitch style rack, so for now I just wanted a $40 trunk style which they didn't have. Though I did get directions to some supposedly nice single track just North of town. Following the directions I found a Target and picked up a rack that awkwardly holds my odd shaped Specialized frame. Like a true nomad I repacked my entire car in the parking lot and headed on to the trail. Except the directions didn't quite work and I ended up near Yuma Lakes where it looked like it was BLM land at least. I parked and rolled out, quite easily with new rack. Within minutes I came across a young boy at a make shift wooden table, dirty, shirtless and cutting up what looked like a rabbit. I asked him if this was public land and he responded wide eyed like he didn't see folks very often, "Yeah, down here and over that way, but not over there." I thanked him and headed on. I didn't get much of a ride in though. Instead of exciting single track it was nothing but loose gravel fire roads most likely for hunters. After a maybe a mile of miserable riding I headed back to the car thinking I'd spent too long in Yuma.
Back on the 10 with tentative plans to camp somewhere between Tuscon and the border of Arizona and New Mexico I had apparently played through the entire discography of the Dirty Three, on came some more rock/punk/gypsy something that I will probably enjoy but not after hours of the lulling rock ambient Dirty Three. I restarted the Dirty Three and pondered my next move.
Anyone who knows me, knows I'm not exactly a camper. I am an urban type who enjoys warm showers and espresso every morning. However, this trip is intended as a big routine breaker, a chance to branch out and prepare for a new phase in my life. To that end I came prepared with camping gear I borrowed from my sister, and fully intended to use it. Though for this first leg of my journey I had hoped to try out the CouchSurfing.org service. On Tuesday night I had sent out to CouchSurfing requests in Vail, AZ and Wilcox, AZ both putting me not too far from the New Mexico border and only a few hours from White Sands where I hoped to spend the next day before meeting up with Smick and Ily in Santa Fe.
Because of the short notice and the fact that even driving straight through (which I never do) I wouldn't make Tuscon until later evening, I mentioned in my requests that I might camp near my CouchSurfing contacts and even just meeting for a conversation and some coffee as well as a chance to washup the following day would be nice.
However, as I made my way across Arizona I became a bit depressed that my CouchSurfing requests found no response. That is my fault for waiting until the last minute I am sure. Considering my situation I should have contacted people in Tuscon as well just to be sure, but this was my first time using CouchSurfing and wasn't sure the protocols. In retrospect I really wish I had.
Somewhere past Tuscon I needed a break just to stand up and maybe grab some warm food. I had eaten only 1 1/2 PBJ's that I had made that morning. Actually I had made about 10 PBJ's thinking I could doubly hand out sandwiches to weary travelers or people down on their luck I might come across as part of the "Give A Sandwich" movement. Much later into the next day I would be glad I didn't find anyone to hand them out to.
I stopped at a TA travel center and had a cheeseburger and salad. My server Della was a wonderful older lady who made me feel right at home, calling me Hon a lot. When I hemmed over whether to get a salad or fries she offered both, saying she was in charge right now. I ended up staying there for a while trying to login to CouchSurfing.org and/or find a campground online, but unfortunately I had to use my Storm since the TA only offers paid wifi. The CouchSurfing.org site was unusable due to limited javascript functionality (note to ask CS to look into some unobtrusive JS). I found a great website that lists many free camping areas, or at least I think it is great, as you can only search the database by latitude and longitude. This led to discovering other ridiculous limitations of the Storm and Google maps. I could find no way to simply look up my current coordinates. So the ideal campsite may have slipped through my tired fingers. In the end I decided to go old school and use the "Free Campgrounds" book my sister lent me. I mainly refrained from using it originally because it was published in 2002 and I wasn't sure how accurate it would be.
I located a spot in Bowie, AZ which just felt right and headed back out on the road. Arriving in Bowie though, my fears of outdated information proved real. The Texaco I was to find for the first turn didn't seem to exist and the town was long shut down for the night. I made one more pass down the main street just to be sure, and sure enough found an abandoned service station what looked like it may have once been a Texaco sometime in the 50's. I am not sure which is more sad, the fact that I recognized the shape of the painted over sign as a Texaco or that I actually turned up the road unsure if this was even the right place. I attempted to follow the directions, but where I should have found a simple graded dirt county road I found houses and many graded dirt roads, none of which had any signs. I made my most intelligent guess using intuition and Google maps as my guide. From what I could see on Google maps the route being described to the free campsite was obfuscated by what must have been newer development and roads. That or the directions were just terrible. At any rate, after driving for a bit on what seemed like might be the right way, getting stuck in a mini cattle herd, and ultimately hittng a dead end, I stopped to evaluate my situation.
By now it was getting pretty late, but my spirits were still high. I was truly on an adventure now. Instead of just finding a pay campground (much discussion later on how absurd it is that is illegal to camp any old place in a place with as much open land as New Mexico or anywhere else for that matter) I decided to find the next logical stop in the book for a free campsite. I was determined to break my routine. I decided on Lordsburg, NM and moved on.
Arriving in Lordsburg and checking with Google maps I could actually see my route to the campsite on the map. I felt good. It was really late now, getting close to 4am but I felt alive, tired, but alive. The only part that concerned me was that the campsite was more than 20 miles N of Lordsburg and it was unclear the state of the roads. I could already see the next day hinting over the horizon and really wanted to be setup before daylight so I could get enough sleep before the heat of the day.
Heading out of town the road was fine and I made decent speed the first 16 miles of country roads. Then came the last two turns. First onto CRAO27. This was a classic graded dirt road with serious rutting from the weather which cut my speed in half. This went on for nearly 5 miles. Somewhere along here I lost data connection and had to follow the directions blindly. As I neared the next turn at the "storage tank" onto CRAO124 the road became practically one lane and hardly a road at all for the first mile or so. Then it became much worse.
I now found myself on what seemed like little more than a car wide stone and sand/gravel path, pushing my poor Saturn Ion's suspension to the limit. There were brief spots, where it became smoother more firmly packed dirt again that I used to convince myself that this wasn't crazy. But honestly at this point I was so excited about setting up a tent and watching the last of the stars before dawn, drinking the Smirnoff Ice I had purchased at my last gas stop, and then enjoying some coffee and a bike ride in the morning, that my judgment was probably a little off.
Despite the occasional reprieve in the ridiculous road conditions, overall the state of the road continued to decline as anything you would even call a road. Getting windier, hillier, and criss-crossing deeply rutted and sandy washes I began to seriously consider how wise this was. I asked myself if despite camping legality if I should just find a flat spot to park and setup camp. I did find a spot and was about to setup but I when I got up I realized there was a herd of cattle right there hiding in the darkness, so decided to move on. Continuing at my snails pace over the ever enlarging rocks and poor traction I only had another couple of miles to go to the "official" camp site, but I was seriously wondering if I was going to make it.
Then I came around a sharp bend which then begain a sharp switchbacking descent between two hills, winding like a helix in opposite directions back and forth across a deep wash. The rocks became looser, and the traction worse and worse. By now I was repeated scraping bottom over and over on mounds of earth and the occasional small boulder. I knew I needed to turn around, but now that was impossible I determined that I would turn around and refigure my plans at the next opportunity.
As I neared the bottom of the valley I saw my opportunity, and none too soon, the sand on the last 20 yards or so had left my car with "no taction warnings" as I slid helplessly in the sand, but at the bottom there was my chance, a fairly wide open spot on what looked like decently packed stone in the wash next to where the road headed sharply back up the other side. I came to a stop. The ground was mostly solid. So far so good. But I was going to have to do a three point turn as quick as possible through that insanely thick sand. I got out plotted my course of action, got back in, breathed heavily and gunned it. I managed to get mostly turned around on the first move. Now all that remained was another 90 degrees as I pulled forward and headed as fast I could into the same 20 yards of loose sand.
I took another deep breath and hit it. Vrroooom, KRKKGGGKKK. I was stopped with a loud dragging scraping noise. I hadn't moved two feet. I slowly attempted to back up hoping to not dig myself into the sand. Nothing. Forward. Nothing. What the $%*&?
I got out and couldn't see anything. My good flashlight (the Pelican 7060) was back with a friend I had lent it to who had failed to return it to me before I left (I hope he see's this and feels guilty ;)
Luckily I came prepared with various CoTradeCo products to demo if the chance arose. I got the 9430 out of the trunk, necessitating removing my bike. However with the Pelican 9430 (shameless plug: which can be found on my website at http://cotradeco.com/products/648-9430-remote-area-lighting) it was like daylight and it was painfully clear that my car was teeter-tottering on large boulder long buried in the sand with just an iceberg tip sticking out far enough to grab my car and laugh at me.
I did attempt to free myself to no avail and will be posting an entire separate post about how I saved myself after I arrive in Santa Fe. For now suffice it to say after a broken jack and an 11 mile bike ride back to cell phone coverage I did manage to escape Lordsburg around 1pm the next day.
By the time I was free I was so exhausted all I could think about was sleep. But I was so frustrated with Lordsburg I was determined to head farther down the road and find a motel to stay in. While not outrageously hot, something with air conditioning seemed necessary and a campground just wasn't going to cut it. In the end I manged to make it as far as Las Cruces, putting me about an hour from White Sands. I considered posting to let everyone know I was alright, but I was so tired and poopy I just went straight to sleep.
I took a five or six hour nap, then woke up, biked around Las Cruces for a bit, got a sandwich and headed back to my room where I took a shower, channel surfed all 12 stations, drank my Smirnoff Ice, ate half my sandwich, and smoke lot's of cigarettes in my underwear feeling a bit like Tom Waits in that song, "Going out West":
Well I kno karate, voodoo too
Im gonna make myself available to you
I dont need no make up
I got real scars
I got hair on my chest
I look good without a shirt
Though I really just felt like a bloated slightly overweight dork.
Morning came, I showered again, just cause it seemed refreshing, and prudent considering the adventures I had so far. I walked down to the lobby for my requisite continental breakfast which consisted exclusively of coffee (with caffeine only thank you very much), chocolate chip cookies, and some kind of breakfast bar/cake like thing obviously baked by someone who worked there. As I fingered the cellophane wrapped breakfast cakes wondering if should, a large man, obviously part of the Coachlight Inn indigident population, bellowed out, "Those are good. One of those and you are set. You'll love it." Perhaps he was reading my mind, or he was more savvy than he appeared, and interpretted my poking at the stack of irregularly sized "bars" correctly. I replied, "What kind are they?" He responded less confidently, "Oh, carrot, and, uh, cocunut...well all sorts of good stuff." Just then the matronly clerk who had checked me in the night before, poked her head out and said, "Those are breakfast bars. Oatmeal." I said my thanks, grabbed a large one and headed back to my room with coffee and possibly breakfast.
I started this post, but quickly had to leave when I received a phone call asking if I was staying another night.
"I thought checkout was at 11."
"It is. It's about 5 after."
"I'm sorry I didn't realized I was in another time zone."
"Oh that's right, you are from California. Yup, you are definitely in another time zone. I'm originally from Minneapolis and I had to go through different time zones too."
"Well I apologize for the inconvenience. I will be out in about 15 minutes."
"Take your time."
So I packed up and headed out to the closest Starbucks for my usual espresso, where I am finishing this post.
Heading to White Sands now, and then on to Santa Fe. My public apologies to Colleen and Nathan for not letting you know I was alive. I forgot that though you could see where I was on Google maps, it doesn't tell you if I've been murdered and drug off somewhere. I will be more aware next time. I was just so tired.
Okay, you can get the rest of the updates throughout the day via the social networks. Take and find your day well. I sure will.
I'm alive! Read about Day 1 & 2 @CoTradeCo: http://ping.fm/rIeLs
NOTE: The linked article is the same as the next post on my personal blog here. All longer posts about my journey are double-posted here and at CoTradeCo.
NOTE: The linked article is the same as the next post on my personal blog here. All longer posts about my journey are double-posted here and at CoTradeCo.
Is this a blog, take two?
Same deal here in the body of the post.
And how about a second paragraph just to see.
And how about a second paragraph just to see.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Socialized
So I've been trying over the past months to slowly integrate my entire online presence into a relatively cohesive dump of my life. Being socialized and publicly accessible is a sometimes arduous task. I understand why people have personal assistants.
EQ quick reference cheat sheet
Kick Drum EQ
1. Boost 35 - 80 Hz for more power on the bottom end
2. Cut 250 - 450 Hz to eliminate the boxy sound
3. Boost 2.5K - 7k for more of the sharp attack
Beefy Kick (Yamaha)
35HZ boost 10 to 15 db
50HZ boost 10 db
3.5KHZ boost 5 db
8KHZ boost 14 db
Snare EQ
1. Boost 150 - 300 HZ to fatten it up
2. Cut 500 - 1000 HZ eliminate low end boxiness
3. Boost 5 - 7 KHZ to make crisper Cut to give distance
4. Boost 8 -15 KHZ to add snap
Beefy Snare (Yamaha)
150 - 200 HZ boost 10 db
500HZ - 1KHZ cut 10 to 15 db
5KHZ boost 2 db
10KHZ boost 3 db
Tom EQ
1. Cut in 300 - 800HZ
2. Boost around 240HZ For more body on the rack toms
3. Boost 80 - 100 HZ For more body on the low toms
4. Boost 4 - 6KHZ For sharper attack
5. Boost 8 -12.5K For more high end snap
Hi Hat EQ
1. Roll off everything below 300HZ
2. The fundamental freq. Is 400 - 1000 (600 to 800)
3. Boost 8 -12 K for more brightness
Overhead EQ
1. Roll off from around 150 Hz on down
2. Cut in 400 Hz area
3. Cut at 800 Hz for a tighter sound
4. Hi Shelf 10-12.5 KHz for brighter airy sound
Bass EQ
1. Mud generally happens in the 200-300 Hz range, cut just a little if bass lacks definition
2. Roll off from around 80 - 50 HZ on down to tighten up the bottom
3. Boost between 100 and 200 Hz if bass sounds flat or thin
4. Boost between 500 Hz and 800 Hz for more string pluck and high end definition
5. Boost between 2.5 and 5 kHz accentuates the attack, adding a little brightness
Guitar EQ
1. Roll off below 100 Hz to get rid of any bottom end that is not needed
2. Boost between 120-250 Hz adds warmth
3. Cut from 250-500 Hz if it sounds boxy
4. Add mids from 900Hz to 3.5 kHz for clarity
5. A boost at around 4 -7 kHz can add some bite
Acoustic Guitar EQ
1. If the sound is too boomy, cut somewhere in the 80 -200 HZ range. Cutting around 300HZ
may help as well.
2. Boosting a little at 700HZ - 1.2KHZ for more of the resonant sound of the body of the guitar.
3. Boosting from 7-10KHZ will give you a brighter edge.
4. The pluck or sound of the pick on the strings is around 10 K
Acoustic Piano EQ
1. Boost around 3 K gives a piano more cut or edge
2. Boost at 12k for more airy sound.
Vocal EQ
1. Boost 200 HZ to add fullness
2. Boost 3K for more hard-edged stand out vocal cut 3K softer sounding vocal.
3. Boost 5K for more vocal presence.
4. Cut 4 - 7K to reduce S sound of vocal boost to sharpen a dull singer.
5. Cut 10K to reduce S sound boost to brighten vocal.
6. Boost 15K to brighten vocal.
EQ Lexicon
Gain - The amount of boost or cut
Cut off frequency - The frequency at which a high or low EQ takes affect
Pass band - The frequency range that is allowed through
Stop band - The frequency range that is not allowed through
High pass filter - A filter that rolls off the low frequencies
Low pass filter - A filter that rolls off the high frequencies
Band pass filter - A filter that affects a selected high or low range of frequencies
Notch Filter - A filter that affects a very specific or narrow range of frequencies
Q - How broad or narrow a range of frequencies is affected
Parametric EQ - An EQ section with controls for frequency gain and Q
Graphic EQ - An equalizer with a number of thin slider controls on octave or third octave centers. The face of this EQ reflects the graph of the EQ boosts and cuts thus the name.
Shelf - A high or low frequency EQ that starts from a set frequency and extends to the highest or lowest frequency in the audio range
HF - High frequency
LF - Low frequency
Mid - Midrange frequency
Treble - same as HF
1. Boost 35 - 80 Hz for more power on the bottom end
2. Cut 250 - 450 Hz to eliminate the boxy sound
3. Boost 2.5K - 7k for more of the sharp attack
Beefy Kick (Yamaha)
35HZ boost 10 to 15 db
50HZ boost 10 db
3.5KHZ boost 5 db
8KHZ boost 14 db
Snare EQ
1. Boost 150 - 300 HZ to fatten it up
2. Cut 500 - 1000 HZ eliminate low end boxiness
3. Boost 5 - 7 KHZ to make crisper Cut to give distance
4. Boost 8 -15 KHZ to add snap
Beefy Snare (Yamaha)
150 - 200 HZ boost 10 db
500HZ - 1KHZ cut 10 to 15 db
5KHZ boost 2 db
10KHZ boost 3 db
Tom EQ
1. Cut in 300 - 800HZ
2. Boost around 240HZ For more body on the rack toms
3. Boost 80 - 100 HZ For more body on the low toms
4. Boost 4 - 6KHZ For sharper attack
5. Boost 8 -12.5K For more high end snap
Hi Hat EQ
1. Roll off everything below 300HZ
2. The fundamental freq. Is 400 - 1000 (600 to 800)
3. Boost 8 -12 K for more brightness
Overhead EQ
1. Roll off from around 150 Hz on down
2. Cut in 400 Hz area
3. Cut at 800 Hz for a tighter sound
4. Hi Shelf 10-12.5 KHz for brighter airy sound
Bass EQ
1. Mud generally happens in the 200-300 Hz range, cut just a little if bass lacks definition
2. Roll off from around 80 - 50 HZ on down to tighten up the bottom
3. Boost between 100 and 200 Hz if bass sounds flat or thin
4. Boost between 500 Hz and 800 Hz for more string pluck and high end definition
5. Boost between 2.5 and 5 kHz accentuates the attack, adding a little brightness
Guitar EQ
1. Roll off below 100 Hz to get rid of any bottom end that is not needed
2. Boost between 120-250 Hz adds warmth
3. Cut from 250-500 Hz if it sounds boxy
4. Add mids from 900Hz to 3.5 kHz for clarity
5. A boost at around 4 -7 kHz can add some bite
Acoustic Guitar EQ
1. If the sound is too boomy, cut somewhere in the 80 -200 HZ range. Cutting around 300HZ
may help as well.
2. Boosting a little at 700HZ - 1.2KHZ for more of the resonant sound of the body of the guitar.
3. Boosting from 7-10KHZ will give you a brighter edge.
4. The pluck or sound of the pick on the strings is around 10 K
Acoustic Piano EQ
1. Boost around 3 K gives a piano more cut or edge
2. Boost at 12k for more airy sound.
Vocal EQ
1. Boost 200 HZ to add fullness
2. Boost 3K for more hard-edged stand out vocal cut 3K softer sounding vocal.
3. Boost 5K for more vocal presence.
4. Cut 4 - 7K to reduce S sound of vocal boost to sharpen a dull singer.
5. Cut 10K to reduce S sound boost to brighten vocal.
6. Boost 15K to brighten vocal.
EQ Lexicon
Gain - The amount of boost or cut
Cut off frequency - The frequency at which a high or low EQ takes affect
Pass band - The frequency range that is allowed through
Stop band - The frequency range that is not allowed through
High pass filter - A filter that rolls off the low frequencies
Low pass filter - A filter that rolls off the high frequencies
Band pass filter - A filter that affects a selected high or low range of frequencies
Notch Filter - A filter that affects a very specific or narrow range of frequencies
Q - How broad or narrow a range of frequencies is affected
Parametric EQ - An EQ section with controls for frequency gain and Q
Graphic EQ - An equalizer with a number of thin slider controls on octave or third octave centers. The face of this EQ reflects the graph of the EQ boosts and cuts thus the name.
Shelf - A high or low frequency EQ that starts from a set frequency and extends to the highest or lowest frequency in the audio range
HF - High frequency
LF - Low frequency
Mid - Midrange frequency
Treble - same as HF
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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