Breaking Point

August 11th, 2009

  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

Grand Canyon

June 17th, 2009

   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. 

Seein’ my kids again (Marble Canyon Lodge, Az.)

June 12th, 2009

   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.

Salt Lake City, Utah, to Marble Canyon, Arizona.

May 27th, 2009

   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. 

 

 

  

Promontory Mount, Utah

May 24th, 2009

   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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

George S. Eccles Dino Museum

May 22nd, 2009

   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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A two week period in May

May 21st, 2009

   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:

 

Ironic how things work out

May 1st, 2009

36 years ago today, on the biggest day of the Communists’ calandar, my oldest son Jon was born. Jon’s about as far away from being a Communist as Jane Fonda is from being a supporter of America and it’s esteemed warriors.

 To Jon I wish the happiest of Birthdays, and Mark and I are as excited about seeing him again, as I am of watching Jane Fonda die of the Plague. We’ll see ya next weekend Jon!

 

Love,

Dad

Something for my Eckerman buddies

April 29th, 2009

   I heard from Don today as he was on his way to the vets for Maggie. If you’ll remember, it was Maggie and Salley that were with us on Don’s first successfull bear hunt. They were both stolen and taken over near Strongs and let lose along the road. On their way back home, Salley was hit by a truck and eventually Maggie made it back to camp.

   Maggie was suffering from Cancer, and Don decided it was best to let her join her sister rathen than let her suffer.

 I am very sorry Don.

Home field advantage

March 25th, 2009

   I noticed on the calendar this morning that April 1st is a week from today. April 1st marks my 14th year living here and my 14th year, that I haven’t had to prepare a ball diamond for a baseball game. I maintained the play and practice fields for: Football, Soccer, Lacrosse, Field Hockey, Cross Country, Track, Softball, and Hardball, which was the worst.

   When the ball diamond was first installed, it sat close to a large slope that dropped to a creek bed. When I arrived, the field had been expanded leaving another 50′ from the backstop to the edge, and the administration wanted it moved closer to the bus garage. After disassembling the fencing, we moved it over and layed it out so the first base fair line, was parallel to that hill side. After setting the poles, I rented a transit level and placed the plumb bob where the rear point will be on home plate: to lay out the first and third base lines. When I sent the man down the first base line to mark the fair poll, I discovered my first problem. When I sighted down the line to the idiot stick, (On a two man team, one man runs the scope, and the other holds a 9′ pole for sighting on) I couldn’t find it. I looked up over the instrument and could see the dude standing there with the pole, but not through the scope. Then I had him hold the pole up as far as he could and wave it back and forth. Through the bottom of the scope, I could see the top of it passing by. I then taped another 6′ of wood to the stick and discovered that there was a 14′ drop from home plate, to the right field fair pole. To stand there and look at it from either end, it looked almost level.

   Once I set that, I turned the scope 90º and checked the third base line. This side wasn’t nearly as bad, but it added into the problem due to it’s elivation. Not drop, but elivation, as it rose from home plate to the fair poll by 5′. I was just beginning to get my head wraped around that when I layed out the pitchers mound.

   Regulations state that there has to be a 10″ drop from the pitchers mound to the batters plate. That’s all fine and good if the field is level, but we had to add 2′ of soil to make it so. Add to that another 10″, and you’ve got every swingin’ dick in the school wondering what in hell was I thinking!?! There in the middle of the infield, 50′ from home plate, starts Mt. Suribatchi glistening in the morning sun.

   Frank Orlando, who was, and probably still is, the varsity baseball coach had been helping us with the construction. Every morning Frank would walk from his vehicle to the school by way of the ball field to see how it was coming. He’d started teaching the fall after I started working and had helped us from the time we set the backstop. Frank is a great teacher and an even better coach, but had/has no idea how the world works. Like most teachers there they can’t see anything that’s not currently there, and a lot of things that are. All he saw was one huge fucking pile of dirt in the middle of his beautiful ball diamond, and by God he was going to fix it. I showed him the transit, and even the idiot stick but that didn’t slow him down none. Within two hours I had every administrator in the building coming out and telling me how it was supposed to be done. Each time I’d show them the transit, and the idiot stick, but it wasn’t until a parent came by and backed me up, did they relent. There were many times when I wondered which were smarter; the teachers or the stick.

   The basepaths material as well as the pitchers mound were purchased from the same supplier that Tiger Stadium used. It is a very heavy clay with a sand mixed in, to give it a smooth and durable surface that can be groomed easily. It is also the reason Tiger Stadium purchased a tarp to cover it all, which we didn’t. Around this time of year, the team spent it’s spring break near Lakeland Fla, getting ready for another grueling season of baseball, and we, spent it trying to get the field playable.

   As soon as the snow melted we began watching the soil begin to change color from a wet, dark brown, to a workable tan. Until then, even walking in the crap would cause a hamstring pull and it wouldn’t do any good anyways. If we had to, which was often, we’d add Turface which is calcinated clay (Kitty Litter) to soak up the moisture and give it some stability. Then we hooked up a set of disc’s to a three point hitch and tear the livin’ hell out of everything not grass. We’d let that sit for a day or two, to dry it out, and then grade it to specifications. We used an adjustable hydrolic blade to level it out, where another problem showed up. With the differentiations in height, it was a real bitch to balance out level and flat….on the side of a hill that ran two ways. The baselines were easy as they were only 6′ wide, but from first to third was a bitch. The baselines were all chopped up using a rototiller rather than the disc’s, but the blade ran down them just fine. If Frank had left word before leaving, we would tilt the baseline to his requests, or if he hadn’t we’d make them level. For teams that had a history of bunting, we would grade both baselines so they always went foul and shortend the grass length. If Frank wanted to use the bunt in his offense, we’d tilt them fair, and grow the grass longer. We never made them tilt enough to be noticed, but idiot sticks aren’t known for their observational skills.

   Once the grades had been set, two or three of us would take brooms and walk the basepaths, grooming them to Country Day standards, and then spray water to keep the dust down. The baselines where then chalked, and painted from the edge to the poles and it would be ready. Normally, we had all day to do this and it often did, but on days when rain was added, it got a little hinky. Frank would come out during lunch and see how things were going, expecting to see everything done, but it had rained all morning. Some days he would become quite frantic, but never was a game cancelled because we didn’t have it done in time. In fact, we became so good at it, that other schools would opt to play one of their home games at Country Day, so the game could be played.

   One time, we had rented a D-3, a John Deere bulldozer, to do some gradework to a different area, but I’d use it to tear up the field so they could play on it. The material would go from muck to cement in one day, and it would play like being held in a Wal*Mart parking log. We’d have to bust that stuff up to an almost dust like state and then grade it out,  and water the top. I saw that Deere sitting there doing nothing, and to fuck with Frank, I used it to tear it up. When he walked out from lunch, I was doing circle 8’s between second and third and had huge piles of the crap everywhere. He went friggin’ nuts and headed into the school to see about getting my ass fired. An hour later when the Headmaster came out to see what Frank had been making an ass of himself over, it was all graded out and ready to go.

   In the fall of ‘94, I told my boss that I would be leaving in the Spring, and when he asked me which day, I asked him when did baseball season open? March 31st, I walked out of there a very happy man.