Bike and Trailer: Ready for Road Trials

NOB HILL--Before starting on the Transamerica bike trip, I went on a little jaunt along the Malpais to test out the equipment. Here everything is ready to go, waiting on the porch for Bob to arrive. His wife Wendy drove us out to Grants. We then biked south to Quemado.

Joe Lawson, The Gumball King, Dead at 58

NOB HILL--Joe Lawson died last Thursday night. Saturday we had a wake. There are no words that can express the loss.

But I tried. I posted a piece about him on The Duke City Fix this morning.

Border Folly: The Rest, Including Day #3...We Cross Paths With the New York Times

NOB HILL--We made it back about a week ago. We had no internet connection for the rest of the trip. I got sick and put nothing up about the finish. This led to an interesting development.

We had spent the third night at Organ Pipe National Monument...at their backcountry campground. There were only 4 sites, pit toilets, no water, no shade. They were perfect.

By mid-afternoon all the sites were occupied: two by single men who looked like they had given themselves over to the focused, sun-baked look of desert fever, and a young couple who never left their campsite. Everything was peaceful enough. Especially at night once the older wild man quit talking to himself. And the young woman in the next tent quit her rhythmic barking.

Anyway we hiked in the afternoon, ate a good supper and breakfast, and left by about 10:00 a.m.

It is a very lush part of the southwest, warm and full of vegetation. Our campsite was fortunate enough to have the only organ pipe cactus that was actually in the campground. Saguaros were everywhere, as was mesquite, creosote bush and some other native plants.

Most interesting was what is called the Jumping Cholla. This single-stemed cholla has lots of spikey balls attached to its arms that attach themselves to passersby. They don't actually 'Jump,' but they come off the plant extremely easily. In fact, they fall off.

They stick pretty good to your flesh, however. And you can't touch them to pull them off. A ranger recommended using a forked stick.

The New York Times Connection
Anyway, I picked up a copy of this Friday's NYT and found that in the Escapes section, Keith Mulvihill had written a piece on the Arizona Borderlands entitled "A Road Trip On the Edge Of America." He mentions Organ Pipe National Monument. It is a wonderful piece with a lot of information. I will say that Organ Pipe NatMon is definitely at the edge of America: right on the Mexican border and totally out of the way...except that the highway through the Park is the main road from the USA to Puerto Penasco (otherwise known as Rocky Point).
The NYT article has a picture of our campsite! That guy Keith probably moved the picnic table just a hair, but that is definitely our site! I keep wondering about that woman's barking...was that the Times reporter at work? Who knows.

We may have been there at the same time. Maybe not. But I'll tell you one thing: we ate better than they did. Beef Stroganoff for supper. Pan fried potatoes, sausages, eggs, and green chile for breakfast.

Border Folly: Day #2...Tucson

TUCSON, AZ--The TV weatherman was full of warnings about extreme wind in the southern part of New Mexico this morning. We left early and were already near the Arizona border before the winds came up. The winds out here can be dangerous. According to the motel manager, every year someone dies on I-10 while attempting to drive through a dust storm. So, as I said, we took off early. We pulled over at Stein's and MaryAnn took a quick picture through the window. Except for some power poles, this shot could have been taken 100 years ago.

We had intended to camp out at Parker Canyon Lake southwest of Fort Huachuca, but the wind was so bad and the temperature was so cold we decided to drive into Tucson and hit that area on the way home. We got a room at the Tucson Inn, a place I remembered seeing last time we were here. I especially remembered its big, beautiful neon sign. I couldn't wait until dark to take a picture of it.

You have to pay premium prices in a town like Tucson, $40. But with accomodations out of the way we decided to go to the University of Arizona Museum, which was featuring an exhibit of Arizona and New Mexico native life going back to about 1000 A.D. Now, having read Stuart's book the night before, this was outstanding. Actually, Stuart talks about discovered fragments of life in New Mexico going back all the way to roughly 10,000 B.C.! That makes the Hohokam and Anasazi peoples seem recent!

We got back to the motel just before dark. I wasn't feeling too well. It must have been the "Chorizo Mix" I had at Lindy Loo's for lunch. Anyway, it was dark soon enough and I got my picture.

It proved to be something of a disappointment.

Or maybe not so much disappointing as requiring a different aesthetic on the part of the viewer...one that appreciates both the fleeting moment when everything works just like it should, and the more common moments when only about half of everything is perfect. The rest of it is something that Time takes back as payment for having lived long enough to remember how it used to be.

Border Folly: Day #1...Deming, NM

DEMING, NM--The purpose of this trip is threefold:

1. Get warm.
2. Experience as much as possible.
3. Spend little...very little.

Well, Deming fills the bill. We got a warm room at the Butterfield Stage Motel for $34.99. And it was a BIG room. Unfortunately it came with only two lightbulbs of limited wattage. And there wasn't much in the way of furniture either. But it was large and clean.

Once settled in our spacious abode, Room 11, we headed out for something to eat--although it was only about 4:00. The motel manager recommended The Campos on Silver just south of Pine. "They serve everything from salmon crepes to hamburgers."

"How are the prices?" I asked.

"Everything runs about 8 bucks."

We left for Silver and Pine immediately. The food was great. MaryAnn had two excellent Big Jim chiles rellenos. I had the skilletino, chicken, ham, and Andouille sausage in marinara sauce served over linguini in a hot 8 inch cast iron skillet complete with its own potholder. And two cups of decent coffee. Cost was 18 dollars plus tip. It turns out that the owner's brother is the head chef at the Double Eagle in Mesilla.

Anyway, we went back to the room and read by the dim light over the bed. I read all of David Stuart's little book Glimpses of the Ancient Southwest.

Later, listening to the rumble of the Southern Pacific trains and endless convoys of 18-wheelers on I-10, we ate the last of that great food from The Campos.

Countdown to Hot Cornbread

NOB HILL--Maybe we should form a Grandfather's Cooking Group to share recipes. My little Robby loves to bake. Here he keeps an eye on the cornbread. I know cornbread isn't the most complicated recipe, but we both like it...especially with butter and honey. We just follow the directions on the corn meal bag.

We used to make a lot of biscuits with Bisquick. But I was reading the label and found they use transfats in the mix. Unbelievable. Well, we've moved on to cornbread for now.

The Sunday Poem: Steven Schneider...Chanukah Lights Tonight

American Life in Poetry: Column 140

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Here's a holiday poem by Steven Schneider that I like very much for its light spirit and evocative sensory detail. Isn't this a party to which you'd like to be invited?


Chanukah Lights Tonight

Our annual prairie Chanukah party—
latkes, kugel, cherry blintzes.
Friends arrive from nearby towns
and dance the twist to "Chanukah Lights Tonight,"
spin like a dreidel to a klezmer hit.

The candles flicker in the window.
Outside, ponderosa pines are tied in red bows.
If you squint,
the neighbors' Christmas lights
look like the Omaha skyline.

The smell of oil is in the air.
We drift off to childhood
where we spent our gelt
on baseball cards and matinees,
cream sodas and potato knishes.

No delis in our neighborhood,
only the wind howling over the crushed corn stalks.
Inside, we try to sweep the darkness out,
waiting for the Messiah to knock,
wanting to know if he can join the party.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted from "Prairie Air Show," Talking River Publications, 2000, by permission of Steven Schneider. Poem copyright © 2000 by Steven Schneider. Introduction copyright © 2007 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Two Small Rains Equal 350 Gallons in the Barrels

NOB HILL--On the Duke City Fix one month ago I posted a story about my new rain barrel. It holds 100 gallons. I already had one that holds 55 gallons. And that covers the only 2 spouts I have on the entire house.

Well, here's an update. We have had two little rain events since they have been installed. Each one accounted for only about 1/2 inch of precipitation. From those I managed to harvest 350 gallons of water!

The smaller barrel filled up and I drained it during the storm into my small orchard. It has filled up twice since.

The 100 gallon barrel has filled up twice. Altogether that makes 350 gallons. Not bad for two tiny rain storms.

Find the Coyote...

NORTH BOSQUE BIKE TRAIL--Do you see the coyote? I didn't. Almost rode past him. Bob pointed him out.

This is in the same stretch of trail that has all those organic torpedoes littering the asphalt. Bold. But when you blend into your surroundings as well as this guy, what does a coyote have to fear?

If you need help, click on the picture.

Sunday Wallpaper: Vic's Peak in the San Mateo Mountains

SAN MATEO MTNS--Named after the Apache chief Victorio, Vic's Peak dominates the countryside. It can even be seen from I-40. It is at the extreme southern tip of the San Mateo Mountains not far from the abandoned Warm Springs Apache Reservation. This place was so special that Victorio went to war rather than leave the warm springs for the San Carlos Reservation in soutwestern Arizona.

The Artist Ken Saville and I camped here about 2 weeks ago on October 19th.

The Sunday Poem: Todd Davis...Sleep

American Life in Poetry: Column 136
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Here's a fine seasonal poem by Todd Davis, who lives and teaches in Pennsylvania. It's about the drowsiness that arrives with the early days of autumn. Can a bear imagine the future? Surely not as a human would, but perhaps it can sense that the world seems to be slowing toward slumber. Who knows?

Sleep

On the ridge above Skelp Road
bears binge on blackberries and apples,
even grapes, knocking down
the Petersens' arbor to satisfy the sweet
hunger that consumes them. Just like us
they know the day must come when
the heart slows, when to take one
more step would mean the end of things
as they should be. Sleep is a drug;
dreams its succor. How better to drift
toward another world but with leaves
falling, their warmth draping us,
our stomachs full and fat with summer?

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2007 by Todd Davis. Reprinted from "Some Heaven," by Todd Davis, published by Michigan State University Press, 2007, by permission of the author and publisher. Introduction copyright © 2007 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Shit...But With Apples

NORTH BOSQUE BIKE TRAIL--Don't tell me you can't recognize that blur on the ditchbank as a coyote. He really looked fat and healthy. And fast. I took the shot, but had to do it one-handed with the LED washed out with sunlight while I was riding my bike.

Excuses...excuses.

Nevertheless, that IS a picture of a fast-moving coyote just south of I-40 and west of the bike trail. Then I happened upon several piles of coyote scat right on the trail.

Many of you know that coyotes like to mark the territory with scat, even to the point of depositing it on top of rocks near a trail.

Well anyway, I was riding along and swerving to keep my tires fairly clean when something red caught my eye in one of the piles. I rode on for a ways, then told bike-partner Bob, "I've got to go back and look at something."

I didn't want to tell him it was a pile of shit.

That shit had a lot of red in it. I looked closer. I thought there must be fingernails in there. I got off my bike and looked a lot closer. Nope. Apple skins. What a relief. That coyote is eating good. No wonder he looked so fat and sassy.

Those Little Lights that MaryAnn Loves

NOB HILL--It looks like we are putting up Christmas lights...and we are. But not for Christmas, which is still almost 2 months away. MaryAnn loves those little lights and this time of year the stores are full of them.

We bought the lights at Walmart: 2 bucks for a string of 70 with white wire. We used 4 strings. We also got fasteners. The lights really are beautiful. Actually the whole world is beautiful in our backyard. Especially when MaryAnn is there. This year it is still so warm that we use the outdoor area quite a bit. The temps are in the middle 70's and it is Halloween tomorrow.

Everything we have done in the backyard has been worth the effort and money. We love it. It is not finished, but still it is so peaceful, useful, (and delicious).

Jesus is a LIBERAL

NOB HILL--The New York Times has a long piece today called The Evangelical Crackup. It is the most popular emailed article of the day.

For the last couple of years I have stated that the next big political battle in America was going to happen within Christianity. How could the Christian church support war, torture, lying to the American people, moral hypocrisy, and the government being in bed with religious zealots.

Well, this "Jack Spratt" coalition of the rich and the religious is coming undone. Thank God.

Sunday Wallpaper: View from an Old Town Bench

OLD TOWN--We sat on the bench in the early evening just enjoying the cool air from a nearby thunderstorm. Everything was so alive. Everything.

The Sunday Poem: Josh Weiner...Found Letter

American Life in Poetry: Column 123
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

There is a type of poem, the Found Poem, that records an author's discovery of the beauty that occasionally occurs in the everyday discourse of others. Such a poem might be words scrawled on a wadded scrap of paper, or buried in the classified ads, or on a billboard by the road. The poet makes it his or her poem by holding it up for us to look at. Here the Washington, D.C., poet Joshua Weiner directs us to the poetry in a letter written not by him but to him.


Found Letter

What makes for a happier life, Josh, comes to this:
Gifts freely given, that you never earned;
Open affection with your wife and kids;
Clear pipes in winter, in summer screens that fit;
Few days in court, with little consequence;
A quiet mind, a strong body, short hours
In the office; close friends who speak the truth;
Good food, cooked simply; a memory that's rich
Enough to build the future with; a bed
In which to love, read, dream, and re-imagine love;
A warm, dry field for laying down in sleep,
And sleep to trim the long night coming;
Knowledge of who you are, the wish to be
None other; freedom to forget the time;
To know the soul exceeds where it's confined
Yet does not seek the terms of its release,
Like a child's kite catching at the wind
That flies because the hand holds tight the line.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2006 by Joshua Weiner. Reprinted from "From the Book of Giants," University of Chicago Press, 2006, by permission of the author. Introduction copyright © 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Bike Returns. Story Continues...Even though I am Stuck Here

NOB HILL--Even though my big bike trip has been either postponed or canceled (depending on the level of optimism one brings to the situation), it continues to be a story. My bike finally arrived from the bike shop in Astoria, Oregon. I took it down to Two-Wheel Drive for re-assembly. They are the ones who boxed it up for me in the first place.

When their ace bike-mechanic Jeff originally took it apart for shipment a month ago, he explained that there was a difference between disassembly for a bike tourer and disassembly for resale: a bike tourer wants his bike taken apart as little as possible...just enough for safe shipment and still fit in a box.

Well, my bike was totally in pieces when it arrived from Oregon. Even the trunk rack was off the bike.

Be that as it may, I'm glad to see the bike again. I'll pick it up today or tomorrow. My cast interferes with my driving the 4Runner (stick shift) and that is the vehicle with the bike rack. Also, I am taking care of my grandson Robby today and have no child seat for him. So maybe tomorrow.

On another note, the Albuquerque Journal was to do a piece on the transamerica ride, but when I got hurt I called them up and they canceled the story. Well, writer Glen Rosales called my up and said they had rewritten the story and were putting it in the "Go!" section. It appears in today's paper.

The online version of the story doesn't have the pictures that the print edition has. Thank God! I had no idea I was that ugly! No "star" qualities here. Other than my looks, the pictures were pretty nice. And the story placement, on the first page of the Go! section, is wonderful. Now maybe some more former students will get ahold of me.

Of course, the fact that I'm not actually doing anything doesn't lessen my interest in the piece whatsoever. It may matter to other readers.

Today, if I were riding, Missoula, Montana would be coming into view. The trip odometer would have reached somewhere around 1100 miles. Mike and I would be looking for an air-conditioned motel room to celebrate.

Sunday Wallpaper: Bike Camp

NOB HILL--The Bike Coop sponsored a youth bike camp last week. The kids would gather each morning in front of the store before they all rode away.

The Sunday Poem: Wesley McNair...Hymn to the Comb-Over

American Life in Poetry: Column 122

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

The chances are very good that you are within a thousand yards of a man with a comb-over, and he may even be somewhere in your house. Here's Maine poet, Wesley McNair, with his commentary on these valorous attempts to disguise hair loss.



Hymn to the Comb-Over

How the thickest of them erupt just
above the ear, cresting in waves so stiff
no wind can move them. Let us praise them
in all of their varieties, some skinny
as the bands of headphones, some rising
from a part that extends halfway around
the head, others four or five strings
stretched so taut the scalp resembles
a musical instrument. Let us praise the sprays
that hold them, and the combs that coax
such abundance to the front of the head
in the mirror, the combers entirely forget
the back. And let us celebrate the combers,
who address the old sorrow of time's passing
day after day, bringing out of the barrenness
of mid-life this ridiculous and wonderful
harvest, no wishful flag of hope, but, thick,
or thin, the flag itself, unfurled for us all
in subways, offices, and malls across America.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2006 by Wesley McNair. Reprinted from "The Ghosts of You and Me," published by David R. Godine, 2006, by permission of the author. Introduction copyright © 2006 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.