All good things must come to pass and since Obama hasn’t seen fit to bail me out personally, I’ll be closing it down. I’ll be calling the phone company to have my land line turned off and with it, the website.
I’ll be posting all my work on Myspace and I’m on facebook too. Everything I’ve posted on this site will have been printed up and put into my personal Tome. We all have to cut back somewhere and it’s too cold here in the winter to have my gas turned off.
During one of the last sessions, I was asked what I wanted to do. I could no longer be a Radioman, but I could return to the fleet as something. Or, I could be discharged with or without further treatments. I told them I definetly wanted out, but I wanted out, fixed. He told me I’d be transfered to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital where I’d be counciled more and then discharged.
The day of the big event started out as a bunch of us nutjobs stood along the curb waiting for the bus in our pj’s. There were 20 or so of us going, with some on stretchers. The ones on the stretchers were loaded up with some “Good fuckin’ times”, which I later learned was Thorazene. The boys on those stretchers were so far gone, they couldn’t handle being concious. The rest of us pretty much had our shit together and we were playing it to the hilt. Picking invisible insects off each other, smelling other peoples armpits, and smiling nice to the civilians.One guy could drool on command and droop one eye. There were corpsmen everywhere with us and they enjoyed fucking with the civies as much as the rest of us.We were eventually transported using a Navy bus, so unless we were dragging our tongues across the windows, we rode in quiet.
We were all loaded on a MAC flight, (Military Airlift Command) with those on stretchers first, and then the rest of us in seats facing aft. It was one of those fancy passenger jets with the engine in the back. We even had some nice looking Wave corpsman too, which helped a lot. One might think that a few women among a shitload of horndogs would raise all kinds of hell, but the effect is the opposite. We all went out of our way to keep it civil and weren’t any more trouble than the poor dudes on the stretchers. We were rewarded by having a pilot that got busted for something that took him out of fighters. While we were taxiing across the tarmac, he said “as long as most of his riders were unconcious, and the rest crazy, he might as well have a fun ride”. The Corpsmen gave it away when they ran to their seats and straped themselves in. Once the front tires came off the runway, this dude nailed it and pointed it straight up. When we came to about 30,000′, he rolled it over and came to level flight. From there he flew around as many thunderheads as he could bank around and landed at Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. There, they offloaded a couple stretchers and the drooler. From there we flew to Kennedy International and I got to see what humanity can do to good clean air. It was a deep blue sky until we got near New York, and as we flew closer we could see the yellow get deeper and I had no problem at all not getting off. From there we flew to an airport in Maine where I got to see something that wasn’t there. As we taxied down towards the terminal, where we’d eat lunch, we rolled by a U2 in it’s hanger. The Captain came on the PA and said that plane wasn’t there, and you didn’t see it. No one would have believed us anyway, we were all crazy. Lunch came in a box and tasted like it and we were soon on our way to Fort Dix, New Jersey.
Near as I can tell, Dix is sevearal square miles of concrete with a few buildings in the middle of it.The plane almost pulled up to the door of the hospital we spent the night at. Ft Dix I think is/was the military’s primary airport for international flights because we spent the night with some seriously fucked up people, and they weren’t sailors. We were told we’d be spending the night there and bused to Philadelphia the next day. The chow hall was open 24 hours and the food was terrific. Other than us sailors, the rest were coming back from Korea, and a some of them were shell shocked. I asked one of the more normal ones how that could come about and he said anyone who believes the shooting war in Korea is over, is a fool.
On the ride from Dix to Phily, I watched a trailer tire decentagrate and I noted that there wasn’t any open land between Fort Dix and Phily. It was constant houses for what seemed like a long ride and most of the riding around here is country. The lot of us were admitted into the hospital, and shown to our ward, where me met some of the staff. The corpsman were numbered at a lower ratio of 1 for 2 patients, but we were all well along the way of being humans again. We were getting to the point where we were making up stories to keep the shrinks happy because the living was so good.
If we didn’t make the doctors happy, we could end up in the rubber room. Our’s wasn’t rubber per se, but totally mattress lined, including the ceiling. Any type of civil misbehavoir could land you in there, but those that were, deserved it. There were several there that had fits of agression and we’d listen to them yell and scream all night long. Eventually they’d settle down, or pass out and we’d all go to sleep. There were a couple guys there who’d spend a week being concious enough to get a shot of something and then sleep until the next one. I never asked what they’re problem was, I had my own.
We had a Nurse, a Ltjg, who appreared to be dipping into the pillbox because we’d watch her beautiful ass dip back and forth as she’d bounce off one wall, and then the other, all the way down the hall. She had a glazed happy smile on her face all the time and she was as sweet as maple syrup. She never did anyone harm, but everytime she walked by we’d smile and say Thorazene.
We didn’t have to stay in the ward to get fed; we were given wristbands that acted as a meal ticket and you could get free drinks in the local bars. If we weren’t scheduled for a therapy, we were free to roam the hospital and it’s grounds, and a week later, we could go on liberty.
One afternoon as I was walking down a hallway, I could hear laughing going on with a lot of “Hoooah!” along with it. I went down the other hallway and watched as a bunch of amputee’s racing down the hallways on their wheelchairs, and giving each other all kinds of shit. Semper Fi.
Not long after I was given libery rights, I went with a buddy to a neighborhood bar somewhere in Phily. The entire neighborhood was residentual with a bar or two on the corner. I wish I could remember the bar name..damn…. Anyway, word had it, if you wore your uniform and the wrist band, a Phily steak sandwich and a beer were on the house. This guy was good for his word and everyone who frequented the place was just as nice to us as any I’ve ever met. If we played three Frank Sinatra songs in a row on the juke box, he’d give us an extra beer. I got to talk to all the people there about the war, fishing, kids, being a kid, not being a kid anymore, all kinds of shit, and it did me a world of good.
From there I was transfered to the Naval Base proper and 10 days later was issued my DD-214 and thrown into the unmilitary world of civilianship. I was awarded at 30% disability status and drew a check for three years. On the day of it’s arrival I’d act especially crazy, but now I do it for free.
The ride to the hospital held many firsts for me: First time in an ambulance, first time I got to hear the siren from the inside, and the first time I’d try to kill myself. I’d been thinking about doing myself in for over a year and would spend hours figuring the best way to do it. Spending months at sea, one might figure to jump over the side, but that’s abandoning ship and something that I’d never do unless ordered. I thought a lot of using a weapon but I’d seen too much carnage to wish the clean up on someone else. I’d read somewhere that the heart couldn’t pump air and that a bubble in the vein would travel to the heart and it would quit working. Along that line, I optained a large hypodermic needle that was used in the antenna cleaning process. That I kept with me close, in case things got real bad. I opted to use drugs that I hiested from my dad while I was home on the last leave. It turned out those drugs wouldn’t have accomplished what I’d planned, but it got me in front of a shrink. He and I spoke for a while and I told him of my lifestyle over the last two crusies and he asked me if I had feelings of killing someone else besides my thoughts on suicide and I told him Hell No. I had, but not to the point where I’d paid off the fantail overboard watch, but that was a group effort, not just mine. He told me to take the rest of the day off and sent me back to the barracks.
When I reported on the ship the next day, I was told that my security clearance had been withdrawn and I was to report to the PAO (Public Affairs Office) for duty. The office was next to the post office and as far off the beaten path as they could find.
That night a few of the guys stopped by and we talked of having a Mental Health Night that evening. One of the guys had been attending AA meetings all during the week, but they don’t serve alcohol at those things. So, we decided in helping our stressed-out shipmate, we’d gather together occasionaly and get ripped to the gills. The guys figured I could use one and it’d been days since we’d gotten together. I was given orders that I was not to communicate with any Radioman onboard, but they didn’t say anything about while ashore. With a bottle of Wild Turkey and one of Haig & Haig Pinch, we spoke of the merits of life, and the bennies of death. As you can imagine, I didn’t make any converts and it turned out to be my last Mental Health Night with my shipmates.
The next day I was transported back to the Portsmouth Naval Hospital and admitted into the psyc ward. The hospital was constructed before the civil war and I had the honor of living in the same building. The ceilings were 12′ high with open wards taking up entire wings. I’d seen pictures of this place from a history text I’d had a couple years before, but these guys didn’t have missing limbs or dying from the flu.And it didn’t have barred windows lining both sides of the wards, or the hallways. At the end of one of these hallways was a large steel door with a small barred window, and a keyboard on the wall. This type of entrance I was quite familiar with and even the sign: “Authorized Personell Only” didn’t bother me. When they opened the door and I saw a room full of nut job’s, that got my attention.
There were 20 or so of us, and during regular hours, half that many corpsmen. None of us were there because of dangerous behavoir to others, so it was very safe. Had I spoken to the doctor of what I was going to do with Cheif Hawkins body, my buddies might have been quite different. All ages were represented as well as the Marine Corps. The Marines were the ones I ended up feeling the sorriest for, but I’ll get back to that later. When I walked in, they all looked over and nodded and went back to doing whatever it was they were doing, and I was led to a desk. One of the corpsman was seating me when I heard the door mechanism lock, and watched me as all the demons exited with it. I immediatly asked him “if that meant that those outside couldn’t get in?” “Is there anyone on that ship that could come get me and take me back?” The corpsman said “he heard that a lot and that I was absolutly safe”. The feeling was unbelievable and it wasn’t until I momentarialy died years later that I felt it again.
After some more questions I was given my pj’s and shown which bunk was mine. He said I was required to clean under it each morning and could sleep in the bed, only at night. During the day I could sleep on it, and he said I should give it a try. I slept except to clean under my bunk once a day, stand at attention once for a meeting with the Admiral, ate twice a day, and used the facilities, for four days straight. On the first morning after swabbing under my bunk, we were told there was going to be a “Grand Tour” or some such crap with an Admiral leading.
Evidently, my mom didn’t take my attempted suicide very well, and she immediatly wanted to know what the fuck was going on. Mom decided the President was busy I guess, because she called the Secretary of the Navy and had a very vocal, one sided conversation with a series of of people and ended up with the Chief of Naval Operations. Admiral Zumwalt can be considered the boon or bane of Naval History, but personally, I got to meet the Commanding Officer of the hospital. Everyone looked pretty nervous before, during and after this encounter so I’m figuring he don’t do it often. I’d dealt with high ranking officers for two years and a room full of Captains and Commanders didn’t impress me a whole lot. The group started on the other side of the ward and he shook their hand and smiled and moved on quickly until they got to me. He asked me to tell him about my life onboard so I gave him the short story of what I went through. He asked me if there was anything he could do for me and I said “I’d like to sleep for a couple more days and then get some beer”. He said to go back to bed and look forward to the beer. With that, they continued around down the line and back out the door and everyone watched as I went back to bed.
A couple days later I felt well enough that I wanted to get up and around, and went to one of the group therapies. One of the great things about group therapy is you find out how crazy you ain’t. I lived with a bunch of crazy motherfuckers, but I wasn’t one of them. Well, they were crazier than me. There was one American Indian that had a real problem with staying alive. He was sure he’d crossed the line somewhere and the only honorable way out was to do himself in. We had a Jesus Christ and I guess every group in there has at least one. He was a very peacefull kid who spent a lot of time staring out the window looking for his DAD.
Several of them were manic depressent and a few of us were Obsessive Cumpulsive, plus mine was with Self Deprecating Behavoir. A couple times a day we’d all break into groups and have conversations about what we’d been through and talk about the problems we were having.
Inbetween these meetings, we’d play chess, or ping pong, read or assemble puzzles with each other or with the corpsmen. If the corpsmen weren’t interacting with the patients, they were setting at a desk writing down observations, and they were always observing. I was having a chess match with another patient when I got blindsided by a lunch truck and those that weren’t making sure I wouldn’t go ballistic, were writing about it on the sidelines. Me being somewhat of a fast reader, and knew how to get around security issues, read my own chart once. I learned alot doing that.
The other meetings I had where with the psychiatrists and I never met a quack in the bunch. One of them told me that most cases can be diagnosed within the first ten minutes and everything after that is profit. Those guys weren’t there for the profit, they knew they’d be making that soon enough and in the meantime, they were going to help as many people as they could. Once I found out they couldn’t speak of the security issues that had prevented me from talking to anyone else about it, were were able to, and their help was immense.
The Marines where there for the usual gamut of behavoirs but they weren’t immune to “Out there”. Some of these guys were messes, but the SP’s would show up at the door and the Marines would have to go stand in inspection. They had a line of mental nutcases standing amongst them but they were all there. Had they carried out what they’d spoke of during therapy
After a week or so, I was given the opportunity to move to the “open ward” but to do so would require work and responsibility. They never held it against anyone that was willing to stay but I’d had enough of that place. “Too many crazy people in there” for me.
The ward was the same size, with the same amount of patients, but we could come and go as we pleased. Pleased being able to work all day and have visitors in the evenings. My first assignment was with the ambulance service and I’d help people go from the main hospital to the various outbuildings the hospital had. The Oncology department wasn’t attached to the living portion, so we’d transport them. On the second or third day, I was on the back end of a gurney and released the locks on the legs before I had hold of the gurney sides. This poor old lady dropped like a rock, right on her noggin that was about to get zapped. Right after that I was transported to the Services Department and ran a Masher in the Laundromat. This device is large enough to accecept a Kind sized sheet and press it, or any clothes that needed pressing. That was one hot assed job, but I loved it. I got to carry on conversations with the ladies that worked there and it helped moving back into humanity.
Butch came over as well as a lot of the guys from the ship and talked about life there and what was going on with the families. We talked a lot about different cruises and liberty ports but nothing about the ships operations. I was no longer someone who had the need to know so there was little we could discuss. One of my shipmates was married to a nice lady who’d come and visit a couple times a week, but besides Butch that was my extent of excitement. I did spend one afternoon in the hospitals cemetary where I saw some very old and historical headstones. There was a sailor who fell from atop the mainmast to the deck on the USS Constitution, many Civil War stones, and a LOT of deaths from the flu epidemic in 1918. It was a quiet and peaceful piece of property surrounded by future patrons.
A couple weeks later, I was given orders to report to the Philadelphia Naval Hospital for further treatment and honorable discharge, which I’ll write about next…
Everyone has a point they may come to where a decision is made if they still want to live beyond this day. For me it happened on a mid-watch while routing messages in Maincomm.
I looked down at the message and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where it went or if I even cared. I left the ship, walked to the barracks and downed a buttload of pills. When I was sure they were all swollowed, I called the Operations Office on the ship and told Lt. Commander Brandon what I’d done. I thought it fitting at the time, that the man who’d helped create my situation would be the dude I told.
I come from a Catholic/Lutheran upbringing and geneticly, a German with Scot and French/Odawa Indian as a buffer. I have the work ethic of a Krupp employee who’s looking forward to busting his ass on a Monday morning. The Kamradts are full of these people and I’m sure all their employees benifited from it.
The Navy certainly did. Our deployments were 6 months long and during those cruises, I worked 16 hours of every day at sea. That leaves 8 hours for sleeping, eating, and poker, unless your relief doesn’t show up. Then you spend those 8 hours in Radio Central because there’s only one other person on the ship that can do it. There were two or three instances where I spent 96 hours on watch without releif. I’d plead sometimes to get an officer in there so I could leave long enough to take a shit. During General Quarters Drills, I was the ships High Speed Code Operator, so I manned the CW circuit. Then there were the activities that were going on around us. For a couple month period we were in the Eastern Med, watching the Palistinians and the Hebrews go at it with Soviet bombers flying overhead all day. There was a lot more going on then than I can ever talk about, but at the time, I was reading as much as I could get my eyes on. The problem with that was once I went off watch, the information stopped. The ship had two watch sections, or shifts, and you couldn’t divulge what you’d read or heard on that watch (or time period) to the other watch section. So what I’d do, is to join the other watch section and work their shift too. Radio Central was covered so I could spend my time working in broadcast/ship-shore circuits. I’d help out finding clear frequencies and read broadcast all shift. During the period when Cairo almost disapeared from the face of the Earth, I was there reading it.
Sleeping became such an issue that I’d fall asleep standing in line for a meal. There were many times I’d wake up to the sound of “Secure the Chow Line”, and walk back up to Central.
Then of all things, I was sent to “Ditto Repair School” so there would be an onboard repairman for all the duplicators. Of the four of us who went to school, I was the only one who passed, and I aced the exam. Those fuckers knew what they were doing because I ended up getting screwed real good. During the periods when I would get to bed, I’d get woke up to go fix one of the duplicating machines. Often times, the plug would have been pulled, or the “ON/OFF” switch was placed in the “OFF” position.
I guess it was no suprise that I was burned out, but my work ethic admonished me for being so incompetitant. I was a firm believer in culling out the weak and I was a prime example of what to get rid of. I had myself in a real funk by the time I started on that mid-watch, and it ended when I heard the Psyc ward door lock.
Next edition: Rubber Room Ramada
During a conversation that was held the night before, the ladies chose to stay with Owen and Henry at the Lodge. Miria has been to the Canyon a few times and Hoa had some motion sickness problems coming through the Zion. The Parthenon looked exactly the same on the second cruise as it did on the first, and on the first I spent the first 36 hours puking my guts out, so I certainly understood their views. Instead of spending the entire day there, we would just check out the view from two or three vantage points along the canyon. We’d all have lunch at the lodge and then go swimming in Lake Powell at a beach near Page, Az.
Something I didn’t mention about the “austere” accomidations at Marble Canyon Lodge was the coffee makers and the t.v. set; it doesn’t have any of either. There is a t.v. set, but they had the same program on each channel and I live that show up here, so I turned it off. The coffee can be had at the gas station which doesn’t open until 7, but it’s worth the wait.
After parousing the planter box for rattlesnakes and lizards, I sipped on the coffee and watched the sun gain strength against the red wall behind the place. It was really nice to watch my kids get their kids ready for the day and for some, the trip too. Many times I remember herding kids around and getting the vehicle ready for the onslaught of the next generation. This time I sat, (well out of the way) drank my coffee and watched for wayward children and rattlesnakes.
We followed Hwy 89 with the vermilion cliffs on one side and the ‘res’ as they call it, on the other. The ‘res’ is the Navajo Reservation and along there, it seemed to be divvied up into multi-acre plots for the homes. The homes varied from 21st Century Ranch’s, to 10th Century Kiva’s, and everything in between. I’m assuming they were kiva’s anyway. They were either multi-sided ( All of the buildings are well off the road, and doing 70mph didn’t help) or round and all built of either adobe or natural stone. They had one small entrance and no window’s that I could detect, but they looked to be dark and cool inside. Some of them had power lines leading in but more often they didn’t and some even had solar panels to gather electricity. Often as not, there would be one to two bovines of various breeds, walking through sage brush trying to find something to eat.
There was always fences lining the roads and I didn’t see any carcass’ alongside until the next day when we were almost to the Zion again. Every 20 miles or so, there would be road side stands of various contruction methods ranging from dead limbs for walls to sun bleached planking. We stopped at one and they make the most beautiful jewelry from Silver and a variety of locally mined stones. This is where it comes in handy to dress as an everyday local dude who’s out for the day, rather than a model for Gentlemens’ Quarterly. There aren’t any prices on a lot of the items and it seemed only one person of the group knew what they were. If you’re up for bargining, this would probably be the place to do it, and you can do that regardless of what you’re wearing.
I remember thinking at the time of Frank Herbert and his Dune series; of the Museum Freemen eeking out an exsistance under the oppressive regime of the God Emperor. I subconciously opened the window to catch a wiff of burned flint, or maybe some cinnamon, but all I smelled was Owen’s vomit. Poor Owen, he’s geneticaly doomed to motion sickness, just as his dad and his granddad were. It did provide us with the opportunity to get out and take some pictures.
There was one stretch of road where the landscape seemed to have melted. Before and after this area, the rock formations looked as though water had never touched them, but here it rained like hell?
At Cameron, Az, we turned right onto 64 which took us to the entrance of the Grand Canyon National Park. On our right, it was as flat as a pancake and our left a thousand foot cliff that we would eventually have to climb.
We kept getting glimps of a gorge on our right and we eventually stopped at a “scenic overlook”. The first thing I did when I opened the door was look at the ground. If there was ever a great place for a rattle snake to inhabit, this joint was it.
Cactus and boulders strewn everywhere but a wide and clear path down around a mound leading us to the point. Once we saw where we were going, we grabbed up the kids and carried them the rest of the way.
The river at the bottom of this canyon is the Little Colorado which eventually runs into the Colorado.
The entrance fee to the Park is the same as Zion: $25.00 per passenger vehicle. Not very far from the entry port, we came to Desert View to have our first look. I had sent Mark ahead when we first got there because I wasn’t all that impressed with the name. After all, I’d been looking at the desert ever since we left the Lodge, but I was quite pleased with what we saw.
If this little guy only knew how tastey he was he wouldn’t be sitting at my feet.
We’d moved down to the next observation point (Navajo point) to take a couple more pictures. You can see the observation tower at the Desert View on the right.
I’d show you more pictures of the trip back, but except for this one they hadn’t changed any.
Seeing my kids and their families was the primary reason I’d come. Everything else was merely a want; a little iceing on the cake as it were. A Father is what I wanted to be when I grew up. I’d wanted 7 and was thankful for the 4 I got. I hear of many parents who bitch and complain and “can’t wait for the day when that kid turns 18″. I dreaded that day 4 times. I was correct only three thank God, as I still have Mark living with me now.
Technologically speaking, Jon didn’t leave, he was left behind. Don’t let him tell you he was abandoned, he was concious and fluid the last time I saw the dude. It wasn’t long before he met up with Maria, so that pretty much got him gone for good. I was going to put up a defense but after meeting her, I saw the futility and started enjoying her and the eventual grandkids. Olivia was a couple years old and Ava was a newborn when they came up for the last time before moving. They moved to Tucson, Az and then again to Prescott Valley and had a son, Owen, born in the process.
Matthew bailed, pure and simple. I think Matt’s had a vision of what he’s wanted to do from about the same age I did. Not long after graduation he signed up with a hiring company and worked for an auto supplier, painting parts. It wasn’t long before this company paid off his pimp and hired him on full time. He’s still doing the same type of work but on a much larger scale and for a lot of people who pay attention. He moved to Grand Rapids where he met Hoa (which is flower in Vietnamese). She truely is too. There, they had Mia, and I’d get to see them every couple months or so. Last Fall, they moved to S. Ogden, Ut., and born their son, Henry.
Katrina gets her own series this fall, so I’ll let her lurk in the family shadows till then.
We arrived at the Marble Canyon Lodge, at 4:15, exactly 10 hours from Salt Lake City. I didn’t think about how long we’d spent on the ride until I figured it up. When we’d left that morning at 6:15, it was 45º and now it’s 90º. I was the only one who wore long pants, but until we got to La Verkin, I was glad I had them.
Around here, the closer you get to the lake, the cooler it gets, out there that comes with altitude. Traveling down I-15 from SLC, it stayed in the 60’s with a North wind. That air was coming from Canada via the snow covered Rocky Mountains, and it channeled right down through the Great Basin. When we turned left, we left the cool temperatures behind and into the domain of Old Mexico. The wind from La Verkin to eventually, the Grand Canyon, originated in Mexico and heated up the entire way.
That damned wind blew, at speed, from the time I walked off the airplane in Salt Lake City, until two days after I got home. From what I understand, it’s blown like that since Jesus was a boy and will continue to do so, until he show’s up again. In the next segment where I’ll have pictures of the Grand Canyon, you’ll notice a haze. I asked Jon about it thinking it was from moisture, but it’s blowing sand.
Between La Verkin and Marble Canyon Lodge, there are two ridges we had to travel over; their tops were around 7,000′ and the bottoms 3,000′ and we’d open and close the windows as we traveled along. The last stretch along the Vermilion Cliffs were traveled with the air conditioner on, so I wasn’t prepared when I opened the door. “Dry heat, like an oven”, doesn’t do it justice. Geneticaly, I should be hiding in a cave in Northern Germany this time of year, rather than on the threshold to hell, and it felt like it. The sunlight actually has weight, I could feel it pushing down on me as I walked from the van to the nearest shade. As soon as I got to Matt’s I went over to a drug store and bought some SPF 70, because they didn’t have 80, or better yet 10,000. If I had had this stuff when I was a kid, I’d still have two tear ducts working, and a couple square centimeters of skin. For all you Mom’s and Dad’s of the Arian/Celtic/Nordic genre, please use this stuff on your kids.
Marble Canyon Lodge is a community and a lodge. It has it’s own gas station, trading post, metalworks/jewelry, post office, a very nice restaurant, lodgings on both sides of the road, and a friggin’ AIRPORT. It’s all in one nice compact little unit using maybe 10 acres out of a zillion acres of “Holy Crap”. Sorry, but that’s what kept going through my head every time I looked out the window or walked around. It was EVERYWHERE. The compound sits at the extreme East end of the Grand Canyon, and is surrounded on three sides by vermilion colored cliffs, hundreds of feet high. Time and distance become confusing when trying to judge their sizes. What looks to be 10′ tall and 100′ away becomes 100’s of feet high and thousands of feet away.
I walked under the canopy that surrounds the building and took one rotation to see what the place looked like. The grounds were well kept with evidence of irrigation used to keep some of that stuff alive. Lots of shade trees for the central court, and I didn’t find the kids. As I came back to the van, Matt walked up and gave me the keys to our room. It turned out, Jon’s room was right in front of where we parked and they were coming out as we knocked on the door.
This is what was waiting for me. There have been a few times when reality came up and smacked me in the face: Returning to my grade school and finding the water fountains are knee high, not chest. Telling someone who worked for you to “Turn that crap down” because it was loud, and it was crap! Then to look down at your granddaughter who was theigh high and now is giving me a hug around the waist. An infant who’s now latching onto my leg like she’s never going to let go, and a little boy who’s wondering who the hell I am.
Mark and my room was still being cleaned so we all went into Jon’s, took some pictures and talked about our trips.
First off, the rooms. “Austere” and “Spartan” were the words used to describe the Lodges berthing by past patrons. I didn’t see it that way at all. The room is well insulated, nice thick curtains covering the spacious windows, and an air conditioner that would allow you to hang meat. There is nothing austere or spartan when there is a working air conditioner in the room. The rooms were impeccably clean, the sheets crisp, and the shower, functional. Jon told me that when it gets real hot down there, it’s impossible to get cold water out of the cold water tap. We keep our water lines buried to 42″ here in Michigan, to protect it from freezing. There they bury it deep enough to prevent tripping over it.
The two ladies that cleaned the room were very friendly and extremely helpfull as they were the first to warn us of the rattlesnakes.
Except for Miria, who was raised near Bisby, Arizona, none of us were familiar with the foilage and fauna of the area. Michigan has a couple native cactus’ and we see Yucca plants in much of the landscape, but there aren’t lizards and rattlesnakes hiding in them. When these two ladies saw how liberal we were with the youngin’s movements, they came over and warned us. They also warned us to look at the ground whenever opening the door in case there’s a reptile hoping to get in. All of the employees are Navajo, and I’m sad to say, I had them stereotyped into what Hollywood leads us to think. I was expecting personalities along the lines of Geronimo, and got the Inuit from “Northern Exposure”.
Being the father of four, I’ve traveled with various ages of various amounts, over various distances, and they can make or break a long trip like this. We had two with us, but Hoa has a nice van whereas Jon drives a mid-sized car, and a third kid. Even if just one of these five kids were having a bad time of it, we all would be. It didn’t turn out that way at all. All of them were quite cheerful and acted as though they grew up next door all their lives. I would very much like to take credit for this, but it has to go to Mark. Last Christmas, Mark gave Matt and Hoa a portable DVD player. Mia wasn’t much of a traveler and Matt had some serious misgivings about the trip to Utah. Matt hooked it up behind his seat so Mia could watch it, and the only time she became upset, was when they were getting out of the car. Matt foresaw the problems that might be facing Jon, so he mailed it down so they could use it on the trip. Hoa’s van already had one included, and it entertained our two for 10 hours and Jon’s for 4.
Being a fair and balanced observer, I must bring up the downside of those things. Mia and Henry love Dora the Explorer. There is nothing wrong with Dora the Explorer, she teach’s some good behavioral practices, but she hangs with this friggin’ monkey who drive me absolutly fucking crazy. She talks, he chatters, and then they break out into a song. “We did it! We did it! We did it all together” If I live to be two hundred and seventeen, I hope I can do it without listening to that again.
By then it was dinner time. Jon and Miria had brought along a lot of lunch meats, but I took the opportunity to buy them all dinner.
The Lodge is used primarily, for groups of people about to take rafts down the Colorado River. It is also used by a wide range of outdoors people, from fly fishing to bird watching, and outdoors people, by nature, are good folk. Mixed in were the usual “wanna bee’s”; the ones that spend several thousand dollars to do the same thing I do, in torn bluejeans and a tee shirt. I live in a “Vacation Destination” myself so we deal with some of the high end/high maintenance visitors too, but I don’t bother with those dudes anymore. And I very rarely dress like a vacationer, the people who live there won’t recognize ya.
It looked strange to see bass boats in such a location, but there were several of those there also. Some were going to fish the river no less, and I’ll bet that’s one hellava ride! The bass boats I think, were going to Lake Powell which we went to the next day for some swimming.
There was a lesbian couple down at the end that were really nice. They came over Saturday morning saying that they had to call the manager to come get the rattler at their front door, so they could leave. Just my luck, I’d been wanting to take a picture of a rattler, and the lady down the way gets one delivered.
The seating is spacious but the chairs weren’t designed to promote a leasurely meal with an interesting conversation about snakes getting into your room. Mark didn’t think the pattymelt was up to par, but the salad I had was good, and everyone finished what they had. They served a beer there that was of note. They offer Oak Creek Amber, which is a fine full bodied Ale, and acts as a fire extinguisher for the deep fryed Janapino’s. I’m only allowed one beer a day and I sure as hell ain’t going to waste it on anything out of Saint Louis, Mo. Given the amount of competition this place had, and the quality of food provided, it was priced quite favorably. A similar meal served on Mackinac Island would have busted me flat, and the prices for the jewelry next door were compairably low. There is a metalworks gallery next to that, that’s owned and operated by a lady who’d came out on vacation and never went back. As you step out of the front door, you’re shown why with the late afternoon sun blazing across vermilion cliffs.
During dinner, one of the attendants mentioned that there was a swimming beach not far from there. The Lodge doesn’t have a pool and everybody, me included, wanted to go swimming. The season hasn’t started here yet and with the temperature in the 90’s, I was ready. The road led off the highway 50′ from the lodge which we took to the Colorado River. The site is called Lee’s Crossing because Lee thought of it first and made a living off of it. There is also a public launch site where you can board one of those huge rubber rafts and spend a couple days in wonderland. There are some rock formations along that road that are worth the ride themselves. Years ago, boulders the size of an apartment fell to the ground and did a pretty good job of compacting the soil beneath. Over the eons, the wind continued to blow and removed upwards of 9′ of terra ferma.
We drove to where the sign said a beach was, and us not knowing what these people considered a ‘beach’ continued on to the launch site. It really didn’t matter which spot we were going to swim at, be it rock strewn gravel or a concrete slab leading into the river, it was too fucking cold. I’ve swam in the Straits of Mackinac, and dipped my wick into Lake Superior a few times, but that water was beyond that. That river didn’t want me in there and I agreed and got my feet out. Once you’re down in there though, with the red rock cliffs narrowing the vision of the sky, and the water rushing against the boulders, you don’t mind the cold feet.
There were a couple rafts there with one man each aboard and I think they were waiting for a party to arrive. They were both packed to the gunnels with gear and tarps. By then, it was starting to get dark and I was wondering if they have rides that start after dark? Anyone know?
The moon was one day shy of full as it rose over the cliffs to our East and lit up the cliff’s to the West. They were all just as red, but with a different temperment. My three boys and I walked down to the Navajo Bridge, which spans the Colorado at the Eastern most point of the Grand Canyon. At 11:30 it was damned dark except for the moon and it was doing a fine job. Even up close to some of the rocks I’d seen in the daylight, looked totally different. There are two bridges there, one for pedestrains and one for vehicles. It’s a great place to observe how the two bridges were constructed and enjoy the beauty of the canyon you’re standing in. It’s also a great place to piss into the Colorado River. Once that thought crossed my mind I was on my way with Matt a half dozen steps behind. I think he saw the determination I had in my eye, or the way I danced around and pinched my crotch, I’m not sure but he knew. I was content with getting over open water but Matt went for the gold and headed for the middle. To this day he contends I was still over a boulder and I’m positive I was looking into green water when I let’er go. I wasn’t doing it because I wanted to leave my mark, or pollute the river, I was thinking of Patrick Roy.
The rock in question can be seen to the left and in the picture below is another perspective on the boulder I was under.
Anyone interested in staying in the Marble Canyon Lodge can click on this and check it out:
http://www.marblecanyoncompany.com/photo-gallery.html
Thanks for reading and I’ll be back soon with the visit to the Grand Canyon.
Back when this trip was discussed with Matt and Jon, we decided to meet near Monument Valley in Arizona. It was equidistant for all involved and I, being the riding, not driving, member of this excursion went along with it. I’ve wanted to see the Canyon for many years, but remembering full well, the years I traveled with multiple children in the back seat, didn’t say anything about it. When Matt and Miriah both began to check for accomidations in the Four Corners Region of the Southwest, they discovered that lodging wasn’t what they’d hoped for, and there really wasn’t any place to get out and see. Not to say there isn’t a shitload of stuff to look at, it’s just that there isn’t many places where Grandpa could get out with his grandchildren. When the kids told me of the problem, they also suggested going to the Grand Canyon. “Holy Crap” thought I, as I was about to do something I’ve wanted for a long time. Then they decided to go to the North Rim but when Miriah checked for lodging, most of them were closed because the park wasn’t opening until May 16th. During this same period, as Matt would track out the route we were going to take, he’d email it to me and it’d show up on Google Earth. Google Earth is a wonderful tool when planning a trip like this. Not only does it show a continous picture of the planet, it includes the elevations and also includes photo’s taken from various points through out. (more on this later) As we began checking points of interest, Matt noticed that the North Rim is 8200′ and the South, 7200′. It made it easier going to the South Rim where the altitude was somewhat lower, giving me a better chance of moving around when I’d get there.
Some years back, I’d flown with my parents and my wife to South Lake Tahoe where my younger brother was to marry his now wife, Deborah. The air in Denver was sparce, but in Tahoe, it was nonexsistant. Denver is a mile high, 5,280′ and the house we stayed at in Tahoe was at 7700′. I was there for a three day period and I had one hellava headache the entire time. Dad was suffering from undiagnosed COPD at the time and I from an undiagnosed blocked artery in my heart. The thing is, both were undiagnosed and I assumed (yeah, I know) that life was a bitch in both places. It turns out that I’m in much better health than I was at the time. I noticed when I got to Denver, that the air didn’t get used up by the people who got off before me. I could breathe and move around just fine, which I was very greatful for. Salt Lake City is a thousand feet lower than Denver and I had an easier time breathing in Salt Lake, than I do here in Northern Michigan. The place we would meet on Friday night, and stay until Sunday, was the Marble Canyon Lodge, situated on the extreme Northeast end of the National Park.
Leaving at 6:15am we drove down I-15 South to State Rd 17, to La Verkin on Hwy 9. Through the Zion National Park to US-89 to Kanab and then to Marble Canyon, Arizona, arriving exactly 10 hours later.
Mark and I started taking pictures right away. My wife had an Aunt who took a cruise to Alaska, and then to New Zealand and never took one picture. When asked if she had any, she replied there were two reasons: One was that it wasn’t her responsibility to show others what she had seen and the other was it cost too much for development of the film. I thought at the time I’d never heard such lame excuses for not taking photos, and when given the opportunity that wouldn’t happen to me, or you. She could afford the plane and boat tickets but not to develop the film? WTF??? She doesn’t feel the need to help the rest of the planet learn, or spark the interest of it’s youth? Again, WTF!?!? Something else I noticed when using Google Earth, was that there were many photos of the destination, but very few of the journey to get there. Isn’t the journey the reason for the trip, or just it’s destination?
With the sun breaking over the Wasatch Mountains, we traveled down I-15. Just over the Piano Gallery’s sign you can see where there’s some excavating going on in a major way. From the looks of it, an entire mountain is being hollowed out and spread into the Basin.
This line of refriderator cars sits alongside the expressway for over two miles. The grafitti on these cars were remarkable but at 75 miles per hour, hard to photograph.
This is my artsy attempt to prove we stopped in Nephi, Utah, with our first stop of the day. Henry’s on a two hour feeding schedule and there’s a Burger King for the rest of us.
Now here’s something you’ll never see in Michigan. Most of the road is a mere 75mph, but in some of the more open areas, it gets to 80. And unlike Michigan, truckers do the same speed as passenger vehicles.
This mountain range ran beside us the entire length of I-15, but the land between it and us changed the further South we traveled. At times it would be much further West,
and sometimes it got up close.
From time to time I’d look behind and besides me to see if everyone was still awake and on the job. Matt always was, so were Mark and Mia, but Hoa, not so much.
As we traveled further south the terrain became hillier and the vegitation became mostly cedar with a lot of sagebrush added.
Then we came to a town which exemplifies what all guys are looking for.
This is me lookin’ fer sum beavers.
This was the first example of what we were heading into.
For all you homesick Toquerville residents, these are for you.
Between Toquerville and La Verkin, the landscape really started to brighten up.
It was getting to be about feeding time for Henry, so we stopped in La Verkin and I stood next to something I hadn’t seen since Rota, Spain, in 1970.
La Verkin is just outside Zion National Park and the geological formations amazed us at every corner.
It was about here when we entered Zion National Park. There is a $25.00 entrance fee that’s good for one weeks use, but there are a couple ways to waive the fee. If the driver or any passenger is over 62, or if the driver or any passenger is drawing a disability from the Government, it’s free. We didn’t find this out until later ($50.00 later) but not because they didn’t publish it. It’s posted at the entryway and if it wasn’t for Hoa’s eagle eyes, we would never have known. I carry a card now that’ll let me into any National Park anywhere in the country for free, for the rest of my life. So, if ya’ll go, either take an old geezer or a crip, like myself, along. Just show’s to go ya, that us crippled old geezers are worth having along.
After entering the park all the conversations either started with “Holy crap” or “Good God, look at that!” and it remained that way for the entire ride through.
This is two examples of Gods glorious accomplishments. I’m the accomplishment on the left. The one in the back is called the Sentenal.
Below is the Cathederal
Matthew and Hoa
This is the last photo I took before we entered the first of two tunnels. As you’ll see the topography chances considerably but yet remains very similar to the preceeding side.
The second tunnel is considerably shorter than the first and doesn’t have the clearance problems the first one did. The first one by the way, has three or four “windows” carved into it giving you some panoramic views of the park. On the way back, we stopped because there wasn’t any traffic and took a couple pictures which I’ll show on the return ride. This was the view going in.
This one I took while inside. Please notice how I captured the clarity and ambiance of the ride through.
And this on the other side.
As we came out the other side, the country side once again opened up and continued until we arrived in Kanab, Utah, where we took a break.
Just before Kanab, I flipped the camera around to see how things were going in the back seat and this is what I saw.
Her sentiments were being felt by all of us so we stopped in Kanab to feed Henry and give us a stretch. As with all towns, each has it’s own suburbs, this was Kanab’s.
Another shot of the glorious accomplishment in downtown Kanab.
After Kanab, things really started to open up.
We’re on the home stretch now, everybody’s about had enough but to help, we had this running along side us until we reached Marble Canyon, Arizona.
And finally, after 10 hours of the most beautiful country I’d ever seen, we arrived in Marble Canyon, Arizona.
Over my left shoulder is the back of Olivia, and her mom Mariah. Over my right is Mia and her cousing Ava which I’ll introduce in the next installment. It’s late and the Red Wings are playing and I’ve had enough for one day. There are many more pictures involved with this that are posted on myspace picture section. There will be many more before this is over as I’ve yet to get to the Grand Canyon, and a few other sites.
Matt had suggested a couple months earlier that he’d like to take us to Promontory Mount, at the North end of Salt Lake. Near Promontory Mount, two railroad construction crews butted up the rails originating from Sacramento at one end, and Omaha on the other in 1869. Matt and Mark have been train students since Matt was 5 and Mark from the time he become cognizant. I’d been interested in this spot since the time I saw it in a history book in grade school.
Hoa opted to stay home with Henry as we were going to be spending most of the next day in a van to the Grand Canyon. So it was the four of us going for the ride. We would follow I-84 from South Ogden to 1600N Rd, near Corinne, and then follow Promontory Rd to Lampo Junction and a left onto W7200N Rd. From there follow the posted directions to a well maked position, right square in the middle of NOfuckingwhere, Utah.
As we traveled north on I-84, the Wasatch Mountains bordered on the right, and their excuse for a lake, on the left. Luckely, I was a passenger, so I could take advantage of it by admiring the view and taking some pictures.
Some years back, Matt had given me a Sony Cybershot camera, with a magazine capable of holding 800 pictures at a time. I come from a time when taking pictures could cost you a significant amount of money, and so far, I’ve taken over 7 thousand pictures with it. I don’t know what Matt paid for the camera, but so far, it owes him back about 2k. As some of you will notice, there’s a radio antenna involved with some of the pictures I took. It’s a very small camera and I can hold it in the palm of my hand and operate the shutter release with my right, ring finger. What I did with most of the pictures I took, was to hold it out the window and squeeze the trigger, several hundred times.
Until we reached Corinne, the Wasatch mountains dominated the scenery for 1600′ up on my side. After turning left on to Promontory Rd, the landscape took on an older look.
The closer we got to the site, the more the countryside looked like this.
When we got to the corner of Promontory Rd, and W7200N Rd, this was on the corner.
This is one of the entrances to Thiokol where they test rocket engines for NASA and the military. This sign is advertising the test firing of a Delta GEM40 Rocket engine on June 16th and the test firing of an ATLANTIS STS125 Rocket engine on May 12th. The buildings and bunkers took up miles of space and if I were to ever want a spot to test rocket engines, this place was it. We drove for miles of scrub growth on rock outcropings and not a park to be seen anywhere. After some more wide vistas and interesting rock formations, we drove past this sign letting us know all was not lost.
After a couple more miles we came upon the buildings and a length of track that led from the middle of nowhere, to a barn that housed the two train engines. Inbetween those two points lays the spot where: two golden spikes, a silver one, a conglomorant of iron, gold and silver, and one of iron from the Mormons of Salt Lake City was driven connecting the rail line from Omaha to Sacremento. The two gold spikes came from California, the silver from Nevada, the mix from Arizona, and because John Smith was pissed ’cause it didn’t happen in Salt Lake City; the iron one.
There is a small building there containing a book and souveneur store, a theatre that explains the ceremony, a ticket counter and a small museum with artifacts from the era. After getting the tickets, we stepped on the back door and this is what was waiting for us.
As you can see from the picture, there was a strong wind blowing there, that never went away; the entire time I spent at that end of the country. Matt said that at times it would come up from the South, with the sand of the desert and the salt from the lake, that looked very similar to a fog. On that day long excursion, I drank two gallons of water and only pissed once, and that was a ceremonial one into the Last Cut. (More on that in a bit)
On the left side, was the “Jupiter” owned by the Central Pacific, originating in Sacramento, California. On the right is “Number 119″ owned by the Union Pacific and came from Omaha, Nebraska.
These two companies had obtained a contract from Congress, allowing them to build from their starting point towards the other, without ever saying where the two companies would meet. Instead, they paid them by the mile of track laid and discussed with each other for months on where the junction would be held. As you can see, our Government didn’t get stupid lately, it’s been going on a while. These two companies laid track side by each, in opposite directions, for over a hundred miles before they made up thier minds on where to put it. There was all kinds of politicing going on between different cities wanting the site and it was eventually decreed, to put it in the middle of nofuckingwhere. They did a really good job in their final decision.
During the summer months, the NPS (National Park Service) holds two demonstrations each day showing how both engines work. As the engines come in and out of their barn, they make a run alongside the main track on a sideing, giving people the opportunity to take movies as they travel. I’ll try and post the little movie I made with my camera in the video section of this page on myspace. (I think the Eckerman readers are out of luck)
On the way in to this place, Matt had shown us where these two tracks ran, and on the way out, we stopped and looked at an example. When I took this picture, we had turned on to one of the road beds that had been converted to vehicle traffic after the line had been abandoned, not long after it was built. The other line, which was never used can be seen running in a straight line beneath us.
Instead of traveling around the lake, they built a bridge that crossed it. Later that bridge was removed after they built a causeway, which they use today. You can see in this photo of the two cuts made side by each over/through a rock formation.
There is a sign along this road that explains about the “Last Cut” made into this gawdawful material they call rock. It’s all limestone from when it was a lake bottom and it looked to be a real bitch to work with. For any of those readers who’ve worked with nice clean stone, or even good concrete, it breaks up into nice clean edges. There isn’t anything nice or clean about this crap and I’ll bet it was a real MF’er to break out and haul away. Anyway, this proportedly was the last cut to be made through this stuff before Congress fianlly got their heads out of their ass’s and agreed on a location.
That trench right there is where I pissed for the first time that day. (wet spot not shown)
Must be I got a thing about leaving my DNA strewn across this world of ours. (I could do an entire series on the places I’ve pissed, and you’d be absolutly amazed) Anyway, after taking these pictures, we traveled further down this grade and through another one of these cuts.
It was about then when we saw some smoke rising up from the Thiokol testing facility. I remembered back to the days when I watched one of those birds take off the rails toward it’s target. The distance was far too great to hear the thunderous crackle or better yet, get a good whiff of it’s toxic smoke comin’ out it’s ass. But it was nice to remember.
A little further down this grade was a rock formation that reminded me of some on Mackinac Island and it turned out, they were both formed the same way. The difference being, the water level on the Straits of Mackinac lies 10′ below the rock and here it was 711′. While I took these photo’s I began thinking about huge rattlesnakes.
I seem to have run out of space for this blog so I’ll just post the rest of the pictures in the photo section. You won’t find any rattlesnake pictures ’cause I didn’t see any, but I sure got to thinking about it. Michigan has a few things going against it, but all we have are pigmy rattlers and those only found in the most marshly vegitated areas. I wanted to see one of those and at least one scorpion and maybe a lizard but I’d get more chances the next day when we headed for the Grand Canyon.
Before I got my trip to the Museum, we had to get to Utah first, and that involved airports. Back in the day when I used to travel regular, I’d walk in, get my ticket and go get on the plane. This time I check into a prime example of what the Soviet Union looked like back when I was traveling regular. I believe what happend on the fourth airplane that fatefull day, is what’s going to happen the next time some poor stupid fucking terrorist try’s to take one over. I understand about a heightened sence of security, but I think we can do that pretty good ourselves.
The Security people involved, treated us with utmost respect as I had to pass through with a frisking rather than the machine. I’ve an implanted defib and the machine kinda messes with them. Both ways, the guys who did it “used the backs of their hands in the more sensative areas”, and didn’t gawk when they discovered how far down my leg that area is. Once I got through all that the ride to Denver was overcast all the way.
We flew on Pioneer to save money and there’s a reason they’re the least expensive. I haven’t flown on Northwest or United in a loong time, but my ass didn’t hurt when I’d get somewhere. The people were all very courtious and professional and the shitters didn’t stink. You have to go into a bar and purchace a drink in order to smoke at the Denver Airport. I’d prepared myself for several hours without a cigarette so I didn’t even bother with the bar. I would think though, that airports would supply a space rather than encourage the consumption of alcohol. The cloud cover from Denver to Salt Lake City broke up and I could see the tops of snow covered mountain ranges. Either the plane was at a lower altitude or the planet a higher one, it didn’t look that far from me to there.
I come from a geologic formation which contains vast amounts of clean, blue water and the Great Salt Lake, looks like shit. I’ve seen pleanty of pictures of where it looks good, but once you see it, you know different. There isn’t any of the typical lush vegitation surrounding it, or of the deep blue of deep water to the gradiently altered hues as it grows shallower. The shore line looked dead from the prespective I had flying in and would later learn it wasn’t quite that bad. The airport in Salt Lake City has the best greeting view that I’ve ever seen. No matter which exit you take, your eyes are going to see vast distances and snow covered mountains.
Matt was waiting at baggage claim for us and took us to his apartment to see Hoa, Mia and my new grandson, Henry. Henry looks remarkably like I did at his age, but yet I can see Hoa’s genes involved, and it worked on him pretty good. (This kinda reads like I had a physical involvement in this situation, but you’ll understand more when you see what a swarthy lookin’ guy his dad is. After Hoa feeding us a homemade pot pie, Matt took us for a ride around town and a trip to the Union Pacific Railroad station in Ogden. We took some pictures there but weren’t able to get into the museum due to a wedding. They were going to ask the bride and groom if they’d mind us walking around, but we stopped that before it got started. We decided to come back the following Monday and do it up right.
This is the view Matt and Hoa get every time they come out on their porch.
Matt had to work on Wednesday, so the rest of us went looking for a dinosaur museum. Hoa had checked on the internet and came up with three options and one of which was close by. After punching in the co-ordinates into a GPS unit they have, we followed the arrow through the streets of Ogden until we came to a dead end in the middle of a small industrial park. Hoa then called and got directions from the museum and we found out had we turned right instead of left, the rest of the co-ordinates would have worked.
The George S. Eccles Dino Museum sits on 8 acres at the very bottom edge of the Wasatch Front. The mountain range runs the entire length of the Great Basin that holds Salt Lake and it makes for a great setting for a Paleontology museum. Most of it is taken up with a walk through park and life sized dinasaurs placed throughout.
Mark and Mia at the entrance.
The Stewart Museum holds the actual fossils in several exhibits and a working lab where someone was using a dremmel tool to expose bone that hasn’t seen daylight in several million years. The Museum didn’t have the quanity I’d hope to see, but what they had was well displayed and presented. I’d highly recommend it to someone who wanted to give their kids a great beginning.
On 5 May 09, Mark and I started on a vacation of sorts. Mark and I both draw disibility pay, so in a sence, we’re always on vacation. But for want of a better term, vacation will do just fine.
As with all vacations, it began with a want and my ‘want’ started in December of 1969 when I borrowed a Louis L’Amour book from Butch. Mr. L’Amour wrote Western’s and his ability to describe his surroundings gave much creedance to his stories. His books describe the scenery from the Smokey Mountains to the Pacific, but what got my attention, was the Southwest. Over the years I’ve watched movies (in Technocolor) of the same area which further deepend my ‘want’. Then in 1986 I think, Jan and I went along with my parents to South Lake Tahoe for my brother Jim’s wedding. It was clear and dry the entire flight from Detroit to Denver, and then to Reno where we rented a car. Seeing the West from 32 thousand feet was impressive enough, but the ride to Tahoe really got the juices flowing. Then a couple years ago, my son Jon and his family, moved to Arizona. First to Tucson, Arizona, near where Geronimo kept the calvery busy for a while, and then to Prescott Valley in the North. Mark had gone out last year for a couple weeks and brought back pictures that made my ‘want’ grow stronger. Then this last winter, Matt and his family moved to South Ogden, Utah. On top of all that, I had 5 Grandchildren wanting to see me, three of which had never seen me before.
I ended up taking 8 ‘wants’ off my list:
See two new Grandsons, and three wonderful Granddaughters, along with their moms and dads.
Visit three museums; a Train, Dinosaur, and Air Force.
See the point where the Union Pacific Railroad met the Central Pacific Railroad, spanning the country from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans.
Observe the Geography, Topography, Foilage, Fauna, and Society between the Mountain’s in Utah, to those in Northern Arizona.
Observe the Geography of the Grand Canyon and environs.
Spend a week with brother Butch, in the Upper, Lower Pensinula, and the Eastern Upper Pensinula, fishing and bullshitting.
Learning from my Eckerman series, I thought it might be best if I do this up in segments, probably 8 of them. Matt tells me that Mark and I took about 1700 pictures and I have no intention of putting them all here, but I’ll use enough to get the point across.
I should make a disclaimer here, about the quality of the realism to these images though. To those who’ve seen these images in person, will understand how profound the view, to those who haven’t, my heartfelt sadness.
Below is a couple pictures as an example:
