I recently wrote about returning to favorite places. A lifetime favorite, for me, is the Four Corners region of the United States. I could return there, and only there, for the rest of my life and be quite satisfied. For many reasons - perhaps some related to my content mental state these days - this was my favorite trip -of the many I have taken, in recent memory. Hyperbole? Yeah, maybe - but, candidly, I can't imagine having a better trip.
I traveled to places new and old - strange and familiar. My comfort level toting around a 3000 lb. trailer has increased and my trip planning has improved as well. I'm at that place of not worrying so much and enjoying things more...it's a good place to be.
This trip also felt a bit like a watershed for my photography. I've reached a point where I've grown somewhat satisfied about my approach - I have struggled balancing fun, relaxation and photography. On this little journey I felt I was able to better handle doing all the things I love to do.
My goal was to get to Hovenweep National Monument as soon as I could and so I drove 525 miles the first day back to Homolovi Ruins State Park. It was a long drive but between Audible, the MLB station on Sirius XM and my playlists it wasn't too brutal. The sky was wonderful when I got to Homolovi.
I gassed up and grabbed a quick bite at a chicken joint in Winslow and went to bed very early. I got up at the crack of dawn and headed for Four Corners. For a few years now I've wanted to see Hovenweep National Monument which sits on the border of Utah and Colorado. No reservations are available at the campground but, arriving on a Wednesday, it was wide open and I got a wonderful spot. After setting up camp, I went to the visitor center and took a few photos.
The next morning I was on the trail fairly early. I hiked the Square Tower Trail, the Castle Trail and Tower Point. The hiking was very easy and, in total, only covered about 4 miles. What a 4 miles, though! Each of the Ancestral Puebloan structures is fascinating and quite reminiscent of my trip to Chaco Canyon in New Mexico.
A highlight of the hike was, after picking up trash along my way, I ran into an NPS Ranger. We had a wonderful conversation and just as we were discussing how visitors can be idiots, she spied a guy dangerously off trail across the canyon and let out an awesome bellow. She yelled, “GET BACK ON THE TRAIL!”. The fool, near a precipitous edge, jumped back and said, “Oh. Sorry”. I gotta admit, it was pretty cool.
The eastern Utah sky put on a show that afternoon.
After two blissful days at Hovenweep I loaded up and set my compass east toward Montrose, Colorado.
Four years ago I went to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison River National Park and transfixed by the beauty, I decided on leaving that I had to come back and as soon as I could. It did take four years but it was worth it. This is an unheralded gem of the Park system. Uncrowded and serene and gloriously beautiful. After I arrived I couldn't help myself - I grabbed my tripod and headed directly for the rim.
I spent the next morning at the Visitor Center and on a Ranger Archaeology walk. In the bottom photo you can see the mighty Gunnison which still roars at times despite being dammed three times before the river gets to the National Park.
That night, well, you know what I did that night. You are correct, I grabbed that tripod again and went for a drive. The weather was perfect and I rambled along the trails in shorts and a t-shirt...just breathing in the grandeur.
One of the nicest things about this National Park is the access to magnificent viewpoints within 300-400 yards off the main road. It's great - you drive a few minutes and then walk and sight-see for 30-45 minutes at each stop (or longer - I spent 2 hours one afternoon at Rock Point). There are much longer hikes and rock climbing in the Park too - it's got something for everyone.
I was able to get to Sunset View literally just as the sun was setting. What an evening...
Four years ago when I was at the Black Canyon I camped down by the Gunnison River in East Portal. The road is, I believe, the steepest I've ever driven but it merited a return. I loved it down there. As I was walking to the river a strikingly pretty Smooth Greensnake crossed my path and, after all these years of being frustrated with people harassing wildlife (and being idiots in the Parks - see above), was tempted to pick it up. These human minds of ours... Of course, I thought better of it and watched it cruise across the road and into the tall grass where he/she melded into the reeds. Just lovely - as was the sweet, cool river.
That night, as is my way, I went to the Ranger Talk at the South Rim Campground. As a testimony to my traveling days I talked to a Ranger I'd met two years ago at Lassen National Park. He said he remembered me (we discussed the government sponsored bison kill at Yellowstone) and he said, in his many years of moving around the Parks I was his first repeat customer. He gave another excellent presentation and it was kick to see him him again.
After 4 days of canyon bliss it was time for me to drive over the Lizard Head Pass and get to my next destination, Mesa Verde National Park. The photo below is from a turnout on the San Juan Skyway.
After arriving at Mesa Verde I made a beeline for the showers and then, feeling fresh, I moseyed over to the Visitor Center and ran into some friends along the way.
The last time I was at Mesa Verde I was a young man. Since then the Visitor Center has changed and now a statue adorns the entrance which I thought was quite striking. It's an Ancestral Puebloan cliff dweller.
After securing my tickets for the next days Cliff Palace Tour and a congenial visit with the Rangers in the Center I decided to just drive back to camp and relax but an early autumn storm began moving in and I took some photos. It was a magnificent afternoon.
The next morning I went to iconic Cliff Palace and enjoyed myself despite one weird Ranger/Docent. On the way out an elderly woman was struggling to make it out of the little canyon and the Ranger started complaining that she needed to hurry up because he, "had to pee". The woman, hearing this, started to cry. One of her friends looked down at the Ranger and said, "WE ARE GOING TO WAIT UNTIL SHE'S READY!" He piped down after that. I could go on and on about this guy but he wasn't representative of the typical well-meaning, knowledgeable, helpful, underpaid and under appreciated National Park Rangers (like my buddies at Black Canyon and Hovenweep). Eventually, the woman was able to climb out and we went on our merry way although I felt awful for her.
I do enjoy the photos below. We know very little about the people who lived in this place -there's a sense of mystery here - we have many more questions than answers about the Ancestral Puebloans...
I shared on social media the photo below which seemed to garner some interest. The photo is of the old and original road into Mesa Verde. It has been washed out and is closed to hiking, but one can still get a sense of the harrowing experience it must have been driving to see the old cliff dweller structures. It was called the "Knife's Edge" - makes sense. While the current road looks and feels a bit treacherous it's nothing compared to this...
The following is a panorama of Navajo Canyon in Mesa Verde. It is quiet and grand and filled with wildlife.
I spent the next day over on Wetherill Mesa which, sadly, has been marred by a few fires and little resembles what I remembered from my last visit. I got up the next morning and headed for the Navajo Nation and one of my favorite places on earth - Canyon de Chelly. After I arrived I immediately decided to eat a traditional Navajo taco in Chinle. I then went back to the campground - waited for the afternoon shadows, and then drove along the south rim to make photos of the canyon and, in particular, iconic Spider Rock seen below.
Occasionally, on the road and at home, I'm asked for advice on seeing the "real Southwest". It's a tough question - but I typically recommend Four Corners and then I tell them about Canyon de Chelly. I'm always surprised about how few people actually know about the wonders there. In my last blog post I discussed places in which I enjoy returning - I've been a regular at this canyon since the early 1990's and I know I'll never stop going - it's too stunning and too sacred and powerful.
Sadly, that evening I prepared to leave and make the long drive home but I had one more stop to make - I wanted to camp at the free campground at Chiriaco Summit, just south of Joshua Tree National Park, where my friend - known professionally as PJ Finn - is the manager. PJ is a quintessential desert rat and a helluva photographer. There is no question that he and my oft-mentioned friend, Alex Kunz, have been my biggest inspirations since I started making photography an almost full time avocation. Moreover, I admire PJ's ability to live simply and happily in a place he loves - despite the sometimes terribly harsh environment of the California desert which he calls home year around. You can see his photographic artistry on Instagram and Twitter and on his blog.
I rolled in, after a 550 mile drive, about 5:30 PM. We had dinner at the nearby diner and hung out and, of course, I made some photos from the campground. I particularly like the first photo of Interstate 10 from the campground - it still looks like the California of my youth or somehow captures that feeling or something.
We got up early the next morning and went for a drive. PJ was an excellent tour guide and I finally figured out how to pronounce Chiriaco properly (it's a family name). Here is the man himself, his dog Abbey, and the cholla protector of Chiriaco Summit.
Lots of photos on this post - but hey I took over 1400 images in those 2 weeks! Many interesting ones left on the cutting room floor. I did my best to show what I thought were the most representative of the magnificent country I visited. Here's the last - a lonely desert road south of Joshua Tree. Thanks for joining me. I hope you sensed a tiny bit of the joy and wonder that I did on this meaningful journey.
Lately, I've been devoting a lot of thought to the idea of discovering new places and the idea of finding a place, loving it, and returning. I like seeing new places but, something I've learned from Buddhism and photography, is that we never truly visit the same place twice anyway. Let me use my own backyard as an example.
I know my old backyard, don't I? Heck, I see it everyday. But...if one looks closely, each time I walk out there it's quite different. It's a different time of day, a different feel of weather, a different season. It smells differently in the spring than in the fall. It looks different after a summer of extreme heat than after a winter of moderate rains. The marine layer adds to the feeling in May and June and even, occasionally, in October. It's not the prettiest of back yards, I suppose, but I love seeing and smelling and feeling the differences.
So, to me, one can never exactly return anywhere.
You'll notice, if you've followed my travel blog for awhile, that I do seek new places but so often I return to beloved places. Such was the case this August when I went back to my beloved Gaviota State Beach north of Santa Barbara. I also mixed in a new spot the Rancho Guadalupe Dunes Preserve.
I'll start by showing you some long exposure photos I took on consecutive evenings.
Of course, I made a few black and whites.
The day I drove out to Rancho Guadalupe Dunes I was surprised at the uncrowded and scenic virtues of the place. I had an excellent time - spoke at length to a Ranger about the endangered birds that call this gem home and the fact that the beach and dunes are typically quiet and serene. One reason is that the road is often closed since the dunes reclaim it on a regular basis. Check out the photo of the road in.
Each day I spent at Gaviota I went to the beach in the afternoon. The lifeguard there and I are kind of buddies - he sees me every year. This year, each afternoon at 3:00, a fisherman would come in to the beach with a huge bag full of fish. The lifeguard told me that he sells his bounty to local markets and restaurants. Since the pier has been closed for a few years now the fishing pressure has decreased significantly and, as a result, the fishing from boats has become quite good. I spent quite a bit of time thinking about this hearty soul who has chosen this life - no bosses - on the sea each day - making his own way. Ah...a rugged individualist. I admire that.
I also made a few other photos of this favorite spot which I return to - year after year.
Thanks for coming along! I hope you enjoyed the photos.
If you ever find yourself on the road north of Santa Barbara check out this quiet oasis on the coast. Who knows? Maybe, I 'll see you there.
I have an outdoors friend, R. Scott Jones, and one of his trademarks is "travel quests". I met Scott through social media (and he's discussed in my LA Dodger Spring Training post). He's the "king of quests" and I decided to follow his lead and come up with my own. (He's at justgetoutmore.com). I certainly wanted to make it something I'd love to do - especially since having a quest means a damn completion. After too many years of bureaucratic BS I'm not into necessarily having another "task" to complete - not even for myself- let alone an ungrateful group of local politicians. In other words, this HAD to be something I would love doing. No more gutting it out...
Once I set my mind to it I didn't take long to figure it out. Perhaps, you may recall I like our national pastime? I have another social media and SABR (Society for American Baseball Research) friend, Tom Thrash who is also a travel quest (and National Park) guy who has traveled to all the Big league parks and many minor league ones. Tom and Scott got me thinking...the California League is a High A league in California - how fun would it be to venture to each of the team's stadiums and watch a game? I decided to find out. A quick bit of background on the league - it consists of 8 teams in 8 locales and representing 8 major league clubs:
I started visiting the clubs on April 16 and finished on August 7. I saw some sights in California that I'd never have seen and some stellar baseball. After a lifetime of living, working and recreating in California, I was able to see and experience things that I simply wouldn't have without the inspiration from Scott and Tom - so, thanks guys. Talk about a slice of Americana...
If I had it to do all over again (and who says I won't?) I would change my seats. Since I ordered most of my seats online pre-season I decided to sit directly behind home plate in the first row which was a mistake. For years I've known that the best baseball seats for watching a game are as close to the press box as possible. There's a reason they put the radio and TV announcers there - it offers the best view of the action. In my overly enthusiastic approach I bought the tickets closest to the home plate action which, in retrospect, was an error...although I did get to hear some salty baseball language but you'll notice most of my photos are marred by the dumb screen and occasionally I thought pop ups were deep fly balls.
I also chose not to bring my Nikon to the games and only used my iPhone for photography. Carrying a camera around minor league parks would be a pain and a worry - I just wanted to relax and have fun - and that I did. In addition, the iPhone has a minor league app that allows you to follow the game and get info for each player, during the game, real time, - which is quite enjoyable. Each ballplayer has their own story and I find their birthplace, draft status, professional path, and experience, and of course, stats, so very interesting. It adds human interest the game.
I started my quest on April 16 in Lake Elsinore to watch the Storm play the 66ers. Only about a 1000 other people joined me to watch a very entertaining but frigid game. It was only 59F at the start with about a 20 mph wind blowing. I was glad I'd bundled up. Inland Empire scored a run in the top of the 9th to win 6-5. I did manage to get my first and only foul ball of my life. The place was so lonely that it hit a seat behind me and rolled right to me with no one else even trying to chase it. No kids were around so I kept it. It now proudly adorns my home office.
Lake Elsinore Storm
Each of the minor league teams has a mascot. As silly and juvenile and kitschy as they are- I enjoyed all of them. The Nuts were my favorite but more about that later. Here are the Lake Elsinore mascots - they are "Storm" and "Jackpot".
I had a ticket for a week later in San Bernardino but it was raining and very cold - again -so I decided I'd go later and geared up for a road trip to the Central Valley. On April 24, I drove to Visalia to see the Rawhide take on Lancaster. The JetHawks kicked the home team's butt 9-3. The most notable feature of this game was the "cow bell" that fans bring to the game and clang whenever the home team does something of note. After the game I certainly did not have a "fever for more cowbell". Also, at this game some local district attorney people were behind me loudly and drunkenly voicing their support for the imbecile in the white house, discussing current cases inappropriately, and laughing about people they'd recently thrown in jail. It was, without question, the worst fan experience I had on the trip. Also, several young Latino fans came down and sat next to me and were immediately asked to show their tickets - I wasn't though - gee, I wonder why. I asked the usher, "Hey, aren't you going to ask me where my ticket is?". He, of course, didn't get it.
Anyway, I wasn't sad to see the home team lose. On the plus side, they did have a cool bathroom.
The Visalia Rawhide mascot is a Holstein cow named "Tipper".
The next night I was in Modesto to see the Nuts. I love this team and their stadium was lovely and the ushers and crowd were fun and friendly. I had a terrific time. Unfortunately the Nuts lost to the 66ers 3-2 in a well played game. I did buy a hat - had to - and the mascots were the best the league has to offer in my opinion. Here are Wally the Walnut, Al the Almond and Shelly the Pistachio. Hilarious...
Here is the ticket booth at John Thurman Stadium. I'll be back soon and remember, "GO NUTS"!
Rancho Cucamonga Quakes
My next visit was to see the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, the Dodgers High A team. This stadium is the closest to my home - a scant 40 miles away (Lake Elsinore is 45). I went to the game on April 29 and it was a terrific little stadium. That night storm clouds rolled by the San Bernardino mountains behind the stadium and I met Rylan Bannon an excellent third base prospect for the Dodgers who, turns out, was the 2018 league MVP. He and I had a fun conversation and I teased him about Justin Turner getting old and he said, "Yep! I'm coming for him!". He's become a real favorite - unfortunately the Dodgers traded him in the Manny Machado "rental trade". My friend Tom (see above) asked me what my favorite parks were and I'll rank them at the end - just know - this is a great little park. The Quakes lost a close one, 7-6 to Lancaster.
The mascot for Rancho Cucamonga is Tremor.
June was time for hanging out with my great daughter but, in July, Lupe and I headed up to Stockton and San Jose and went to AT&T Park in San Francisco for the first time.
It was HOT on July 9 for the Stockton vs San Jose game but it was an excellent game as the Giants scored 2 runs in the top of the 8th to win 5-4. Our hotel was literally next door to Banner Island Ballpark which made the experience even more fun. I really enjoyed the little riverfront park although I didn't take many photos.
The Port's mascot is Splash and this is a stock photo - the guy never made it down to the field and who can blame him? It was 97 degrees - I can't imagine how hot he must have been.
San Jose Giants
On July 13 we went to San Jose and it was packed and expensive. Tickets at each of the California League venues are $10 - a great deal but they were $25 at San Jose. The game was a blowout - San Jose beat Visalia 10-2. I enjoyed the park and its atmosphere. The photo on the bottom right were golf like bathroom "rules" for the men - cracked me up.
The San Jose mascot is Gigante.
On July 31 I finally made it out to San Bernardino to see the Inland Empire 66ers. It was my most enjoyable evening despite the heat. In fact, it turns out, the stadium with its mission style motif and mountain backdrop was my favorite. I also got to go to my favorite restaurant of life - Rosa Maria's. On the downside, the city of San Bernardino has truly fallen on hard times. It was sad to see what used to be lovely neighborhoods now with many, many homes abandoned and vacant. Tough years lately...here's hoping there's a brighter future for San Bernardino. The 66ers beat Lancaster 7-3.
Latino alter-egos were developed, this year, for many, many teams and the 66ers are the "Cucuys" (boogeymen). I had to have a hat. I wear it proudly.
Inland Empire 66ers
The mascots are "Slick" and "Bernie". Bernie cracked me up.
My final trip, to Lancaster in brutal heat, was on August 7. Turns out it was the most exciting game of the year - with the scored tied 3-3 after 9 innings the 66ers scored 2 runs in the top of the tenth but the JetHawks came back and scored THREE to win 6-5. Game time temperature? 101F. Whew... Still, it was a grand way to finish my quest. Rene Rivera of the Angels played on a rehab stint. I also found a terrific Mexican restaurant with the best dang tortillas I may have EVER had -"Que Paisa" in Littlerock, CA.
It was quite a summer for baseball travel! Man, I enjoyed it. As promised here is my ranking of the stadiums - I used scenic value, amenities, friendliness of stadium personnel and crowd comportment as my criteria:
1. San Manuel Stadium, San Bernardino
2. LoanMart Field, Rancho Cucamonga
3. John Thurman Field, Modesto
4. Banner Island Ballpark, Stockton
5. San Jose Giants Municipal Stadium, San Jose
6. The Hangar, Lancaster
7. The Diamond, Lake Elsinore
8. Rawhide Stadium, Visalia
Like baseball? Check out the fun of minor league ball - it's a kick. Thanks for following along with me. See ya at the ballpark.
My buddy Alex recently put together an interesting blog post. For awhile now I've been contemplating writing a blog on music. I've started a few but they sit there as drafts since the topic, for me, is a bit overwhelming and I have so very much to say.
People who know me well know I am a music addict. In my lifetime, nothing has given me more comfort and solace in my most difficult moments. It is also something I've studied for a lifetime - it started as a youth in the 1960's when we we were inundated with such marvelous music and became cemented in my freshman year of college when I took a course entitled, "Popular Culture - Rock Music". The final exam had two hundred questions and I think it was the only final I ever received a 100% score on!
Since that time in my life all my interests, sans music, have waxed and waned. However, the one sure and solid and reliable source of diversion and comfort has been my tunes - LPs, 45's, 8 track tapes, cassettes, cds and now downloads - it's never mattered. I've always surrounded myself with music.
I am planning a trip next Autumn to Mississippi and Tennessee to visit the Blues Trail, Memphis, and Nashville and attend the annual Americana-fest. I can't remember being more excited about a trip. I'll be right there in the heart of it all.
Suffice it to say - I could go on for thousands of words about music but I'm going to limit the scope of this particular post by using the criteria suggested by Alex. Here goes:
“In no particular order – which 10 albums really made an impact and are still on your rotation, even if only now and then." It also says I should "post the cover and nominate another person to do the same" - uh, no to that part about nominating others. I'll tell you what mine are and if you're motivated to do the same exercise - then get on it!
An important proviso - these are not, necessarily, the albums that I think are the "best". For example, "Sergeant Pepper's" is certainly superior to "Magical Mystery Tour" - these are, instead, the albums that influenced me - my life and musical tastes, more than any others... Note also this is not a list of my favorite bands - otherwise, for example, the Rolling Stones would be in my top 5...
Also...while the instructions indicate there is "no particular order", these are fairly chronological.
Enough. Here goes...
Number one is an album that my parents purchased that I probably listened to more than any other as a child, "Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison". It was released in 1968, I was eleven years old, and it's impact on me - musically, politically, sociologically was profound and remains so to this day. Johnny's identification with the downtrodden and lost and hopeless modeled for me exactly how a man should be. As I got older and was, at times, downtrodden, lost and hopeless myself, this album always brought and still brings comfort. Who other than Johnny could have sung with such anger, regret and sadness, "I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die"?
When he sang, "I bet there's rich folks eating in their fancy dining car, they're probably drinking coffee and smoking big cigars" I hated those rich and free people even though he knew "I had it coming, I know can't be free, but those people keep on movin' and that's what tortures me". And...what tortured me was the implication that they didn't know or care about the other sad and troubled riders, like Johnny's sad narrator, on their own train. Those people still don't.
The entire album merited nearly daily listening in my youth and it's still in my regular rotation after all these years.
It's just bad ass...
ROLL UP! ROLL UP! Number two was the very first album I bought with my own money. I was 10 years old and I saved my allowance each week. The guy at the record store wanted me, for some reason, to buy the new Rolling Stones album "Their Satanic Majesties Request" but I would have none if it. I had to have, just had to have, "Magical Mystery Tour". I wore out the grooves on it.
Of course , it's magnificent and I enjoyed that my mom hated, "I Am the Walrus" and it's lyric, "yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye", which was part of John's freaky imagery and while I didn't necessarily enjoy the picture of that image I liked that my mom thought it was so awful. Damn, I was a rebel.
My favorite song from this album was and remains, "Strawberry Fields". There have been songs, perhaps a dozen or so in my entire lifetime, that on first hearing take me away to a distant place - Strawberry Fields is one for me.
Let me take you down
Still works, doesn't it?
Number 3 is another I purchased, as an 8 track tape, on my own as an 8th grader at Ralph's Department Store in Blue Jay, CA. I played Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits, Vol. II, over and over and over and drove my father to exclaim one day, "Can't you find ANYTHING other than that to play"?!" I'm an American Roots music man these days and so was this one influential? Well...yeah...obviously and profoundly. This was a delicious double album. Talk about resonating in my heart, soul and ears.
Of course, over the years, I have met people who claim that they, "don't like Bob Dylan's voice". That's cool, but my hunch is that they have favorite artists that don't have beautiful voices and whose success as a singer is perhaps because Bob led the way on lyrics and vocal expression...but to each his own. In my younger days I tried to teach the world about Dylan and and I ended up doing the learning. I learned that some people just aren't gonna "get it" and that's ok.
I have many thoughts about old Bob which probably will merit a single blog post in the future - my final exam in the Rock History class I was boasting about earlier? Of the 200 questions - 190 were about Bob. It's no wonder I aced it and got along famously with the professor. At age 61 I realize there will not be another artist who will mean as much to me in my lifetime as Dylan. His winning of the Nobel Prize finally shut down some of the ignorance about his work but, if you don't like Bob, don't you realize what you're missing?
Ah here I go again...maybe, after all, I still haven't learned the lesson...
Number 4 "Harvest". Another artist, my entire life, who I've always managed to find at just the right moment is the great Neil Young. This album, from my high school days, if I had to guess, is probably the one I've played more than any other when I've been deeply sad (Simon and Garfunkel are good, too!). At my high school, when the weather was nice, the Drama Dept. would pipe music outside and I can remember warm, spring days listening to "Heart of Gold" and feeling that teenage youthful joy that we only experience when we're young. This is another album in which I could discuss each track and how much it has meant to me over the years. One song, "Out on the Weekend" might just be number one on the soundtrack of my life. Obviously, it's "still in my rotation". Neil has always seemed to understand the profound sadness and strangeness of life.
See the lonely boy,
Number 5 - The first concert I attended, in the Fall of 1974, was Elton John at the Fabulous Forum in Inglewood, CA. Elton had some songs that were big hits on the radio and while I loved, "Yellow Brick Road" (still do) it was "Madman Across the Water" that captured my passion. I didn't realize it at the time but the great Elton John lyricist, Bernie Taupin, was living just a few miles away in a nearby neighboring mountain town, Blue Jay, CA. "Tiny Dancer" has always been a favorite and I still use it as one of the quintessential road trip songs. The image of the "seamstress for the band" while they travel from town to town captures some essential travel vibe that still resonates.
Hold me closer tiny dancer
There are several excellent songs on this album although they may not be as well known as Elton's "hits". I hope you can imagine my horror and sadness when this artist started making songs Like "Philadelphia Freedom" and went so far away from his original brilliance. Oh Elton, where did you go?
Number 6 - "The Band". Most of these "influential" albums are obviously from my youth. This band and this album have been my "go to's" all my adult life. In my view, the Americana genre was really started and pioneered by The Band (ironically 4 of the 5 members were from Canada). Robbie Robertson and Levon Helm are two of my musical heroes. I was lucky enough to see The Band in 1975 at the Greek Theater for their last tour and just a few short months before the famous "Last Waltz" concert - of which I had tickets but to my everlasting chagrin couldn't go - (true story and it still pisses me off). My lifelong anthem, "The Weight" is not on this particular album - it was on "Big Pink" - every single song on this album is a treasure and has personal meaning for me. As I reach the twilight of my life - and as much as I love the Beatles and Stones and Clash - this group, it turns out, has been my lifelong favorite. Perhaps one day I will write an entire blog post discussing each of their songs and why they are so important in the canon of American music. It started in the fields and then the delta and through Charley Patton and Jimmie Rodgers and Hank Williams and there is a direct line right to "The Band". What music...
Number 7 - "London Calling". In college I considered myself kind of a cool kid and I knew music and was a bit jaded and then...punk music. I was admittedly infatuated with the genre and really liked the Sex Pistols album when it came out but I was blown away, wiped out, by The Clash. Not only was the music new and cool but Joe Strummer and Mick Jones had a nearly Lennon/McCartney harmony that was compelling and fascinating and provocative as Hell. As if they could be any more cool their politics were EXACTLY like mine and, oh say, Woody Guthrie's...People sometimes seemed surprised to find out that Woody was such an influence on Joe Strummer but, when you think about it, it's not much of a stretch. One of the most wonderful afternoons of my life was spent at the Santa Barbara County Bowl listening to the English Beat and then the remarkable Clash. If you haven't given this album a listen in awhile then do so again and hear the musical revelations - and revolution.
The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
You know, there's a reason the call him "The Boss". Number 8 could have just as easily been "Born to Run" or "The River" but, nah, I gotta go with the one that knocked me for a lifetime personal loop, "Darkness at the Edge of Town". In this album Bruce cemented his place as America's next great along the Woody Guthrie/Bob Dylan line. Few albums in my life have been written that seemed to be expressing everything about my life - the feelings, the loss, my own personal faults, the injustice of the world, like "Darkness". It's as if Bruce channeled my mind and then expressed it musically. There is pain in this album - it's filled with pathos - but because, it's Springsteen, it has layers of hope and beauty...just enough to make it real and universal. Classics like, "Badlands", and “The Promised Land” are as good as contemporary music gets. "Factory" could have been written about my father, too. Each song has profound lyrical and musical depth. While I have given excerpts from previous songs from albums on the list this one is given in its entirety.
"Darkness On The Edge Of Town"
For many years I could be found there in the darkness too.
It took many years before another songwriter spoke to me like Bruce...and that's today's generation's Jason Isbell. I can't call him "influential" but he gets it...I could write an entire blog post on "Southeastern" but you should just listen to it instead.
I couldn't possibly write a post and not include my favorite album of the great Elvis Costello. I read a review of him - got his first album, "My Aim Is True" but it was his next one, "This Year's Model" that must be included on this list at Number 9. Elvis, to me, was such a rebel and a a "retro rebel" if that is a thing - His "Elvis" name and those Buddy Holly glasses and pigeon toed style of performing. He was the man! Young Elvis captured my angry young man years as well as anyone because he also was so damn pissed off...and cynical and condemning of modern society and it's emphasis on superficial values. This album is flawless and one of the most brilliant ever produced.
From, "This Year's Girl":
See her picture in a thousand places 'cause she's this year's girl
Number 10 - More Bob? Yep. Although I struggled with this last one. I feel like I'm leaving out about a million albums that I love and, well, I kinda am. I was just about to place "Document" by REM here but it wouldn't be a true indicator of "influential" to me and I simply couldn't do it. Then there was, "Who's Next" and, as much as love it, I just didn't love it in the same way as my favorite Dylan album (I think it's my favorite - I equivocate a bit - tough choices there). I do know that in high school all the cool kids were spinning "Blood On the Tracks" and I guess I was one of the cool kids. This is Dylan at his balladeer best and not even my dad complained when I played it - which was daily for about, oh, ten years! I actually sang, "Tangled Up in Blue" when I was the Drama teacher at Rim of the World High School at the "talent show". I'd like to emphasize that was my one and only public singing performance outside of drunk karaoke. There are reasons I'm just a listener...
A few years back I read that Bob simply said about the album that it was, "nothing but pain" and his son Jacob said it was the musical soundtrack to his parent's divorce. I can certainly see that kind of sadness but there is also great storytelling to be found here as well as sweetness and love - especially with, "Shelter From the Storm" and "Simple Twist of Fate". Of course, "If You See Her, say Hello" summed up my teenage romantic angst so aptly:
Sundown, yellow moon
So there you have it - I've taken several weeks to think about his and I'm not sure I've gotten it right and I suppose I'll second guess my choices but, today, it's the best I can do. If you have similar tastes that's marvelous - if you don't well, that's OK, although I'd encourage you to keep listening to new (and old!) music and go to concerts, maybe read a little music history and theory, and, whatever you do, don't say, "Music died in the '60's or '70's" or...whatever. First, it's not true and secondly you're shortchanging not only some great artists but yourself as well. In my experience people who say, "I know what I like" really are saying they "like what they know" and usually that isn't much. Nothing speaks to our inner self - our soul - like the charms of a good song. There's beauty and soul stirring melodies and words out there no matter your tastes...
If, like me, you're compelled to get more into the "American Sound" I'd encourage you to start your journey by reading, "Mystery Train" by Greil Marcus. It'll put you on the right road.
Thanks for reading and I look forward to reading about your most influential albums.
Now, go put on some tunes!
National Parks back in the day - they were something. Old fogeys like me remember them as quiet and iconic and sensational - as I travel 'round the West it has become clear to me that our National Parks are simply being overrun (I know it's a constant refrain of mine - but it bears repeating). There are a few exceptions and this scoop - for my readers only - is that you can find old time National Park bliss at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
In the evening and morning you can drive the Cape Royal Road and, at times, be completely alone at some of the most magnificent overlooks on planet earth. You can stop and breathe and stare at that canyon for hours. This was my second trip in the last few years and I'm already planning my third.
It is a bit of a drive to get there. It's much easier to get to the South Rim and the North Rim is, indeed, significantly more isolated. It keeps the riff raff out.
I thought, since it's such a long drive that I'd make a stop along the way. I knew it would be hot but surely not "Africa Hot" (see Biloxi Blues). It was 108F when I arrived at Quail Creek Reservoir State Park. I spent the night in 90 degree weather inside the trailer. Oof. It was a pretty place for a man made thing but I decided to "GTHO" the next day and drive to the mountains.
I drove straight to one of my favorite spots in all of the West - Cedar Breaks National Monument where, at 10,000 feet, was a beautiful 65 degrees. Cedar Breaks, I'm convinced, would be a National Park if there weren't already five in Utah - which already frustrates those among us who would mine and develop and ruin these natural areas.
From there I took lesser known roads and drove to the site of the Mountain Meadows Massacre. It is the site of one of the ugliest episodes of the old West - and there were plenty of those. I would encourage you to read up on this one...the story has changed - even during my lifetime and it merits broader awareness. It's a very sad place.
From there I took a leisurely drive up to Pine Valley and down around Snow Canyon in Southern Utah.
I called Lupe before I left in the morning to help me figure out a strategy for dealing with the trailer sitting in the sun while I went to the mountains. We figured closing it up was best. So, I closed the blinds and locked it up. I'm not certain it was the best plan. When I got back it was ONE HUNDRED TWENTY degrees inside! Good Lord, man! I opened it up, sat outside, and when it reached only ONE HUNDRED I tried to sleep. It didn't work very well so I got up early, hitched up my little fiberglass home, and hit the road for the high country of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
I arrived in the early afternoon, and I suppose from the altitude and electrolyte loss, was wiped out and simply sat around the campsite. The next morning I went to take a reinvigorating campground shower and waited for my amigo Scott Jones. He and his partner Jen and some friends did stop by for a bit. It was enjoyable but far too short. Yes, that is an Everett Ruess shirt the old guy is wearing. Scott and I are going to attend the USC vs ASU football game this fall at the Coliseum. He's a Sun Devil and I received my doctorate at USC so- FIGHT ON! See you in October!
My pal and fellow train lover, Liz Kylin, was staying at the North Rim Lodge and came by too. She and I drove out to Imperial Point and a few other spots that evening. Turns out it was a nice to time for it.
I did spend a bit of time at the North Rim Lodge. What a cool place. You all know the famous Brighty of the Grand Canyon, right?
Liz and I drove out to a spot Scott had recommended - Marble Viewpoint via a sweet dirt road. We got there in the middle of a hazy day and the photos don't do it justice. Not even close. What a magnificent view.
I spent the next few days wandering. The North Rim Drive is an unparalleled gem. The little cabin below was used by cowboys for stock food storage. That pretty flower is the Arizona Mariposa Lily.
The following gallery has a few photos of iconic Grand Canyon sights, to wit; Colorado River, Angel's Window, Wotan Throne and the Vishnu Temple. I did spend one day driving the entire Cape Royal Road. The last photo of this series is a panorama of Wotan's Throne (on the right) and the Vishnu temple (on the left).
Of course it sometimes pays off to get up at the crack of dawn to make photos. One morning I awoke at 4:00 AM to do just that - I drove up to Imperial Point - set up the tripod and waited for the light. It was a stellar morning- warm and breezy and solitary.
As I was post processing the photos I spent hours looking for opportunities to make black and whites. Some of these turned out OK.
Someone asked me once why I share so many photos on my blog posts - I wasn't sure how to take that question. Did it mean that many are bad and don't need to be shared? Maybe - but I answered the way I felt - my blog is a travel blog - not a photo blog per se. Do I want you to see the artistic expression of my photography? Of course - but - most importantly I want you to vicariously come along. Most of the time I'm alone when I travel and, like most travelers, I enjoy sharing the sights and sense of adventure I feel with others of my species.
I am, of course, happy about the quality of some of the photos and feel fulfilled when someone decides to hang one of them on their wall...I think of them whiling away the time looking at those magnificent vistas and feeling that "grand" feeling with me.
So, hey, thanks for coming along! We all know, especially as we get older, that we are only here for a limited number of days. As I reach the final trimester of my life nothing gives me more sheer joy than my family and my trips and my photos. How blessed I am that you are here with me.
Oh, and get out to the North Rim - but SHHHHH! We don't need another Zion or Arches...let's keep the wonder of the place just between ourselves.
Craziness and Cowardice in the Desert
Recently I read a story, in High Country News, about a campground in Colorado that was overrun by gun "enthusiasts". It sounded pretty bad and reminded me of a trip I took to Mojave a year or so ago.
I was camped in the site you see above at Hole-in-the-Wall campground. It was quiet and calm and fairly private. One late afternoon, while entering the trailer, I grabbed a small exterior handle to hoist myself inside and didn't see that a bee had decided to latch on to the back of handle. I felt a burning sensation and then - DAMMIT! I'd been stung. I saw the poor dying bee, sticking to the side of my hand, but felt little sympathy for the SOB. I went to the first aid kit and got the tweezers, pulled the stinger out of the side of my hand but it immediately started swelling. I took three aspirin, ate a pain filled dinner and iced up my hand.
At about 8:30 that night I decided I'd better turn in but, wimp that I am, my hand was hurting and continuing to swell and I couldn't fall asleep. I read and listened to the radio and finally, I'm guessing around 11:00 fell asleep.
At around midnight I awoke to a light, bright as day, shining in my trailer. I then heard the gunning of engines and went to open the door and my campsite was bathed in light from some jerk's spotlight that he had mounted on his Jeep. I was pissed. I decided to get dressed and have a word with my new neighbor. As I was getting my pants on I heard several more vehicles drive around the campground and started to get a little nervous. Still, I was mad and with adrenaline kicking in decided to confront these morons.
Charging out of my trailer I heard the "Pop-pop-pop" of gunfire. I stopped. Directly across from my campsite there were four or five men armed with rifles and shooting at something in the vast darkness.
OK - new plan.
I high-tailed it back to the trailer and locked the door (which I never do) and looked for my bear spray and machete. Yeah, that's me...I bring bear spray and jungle clearing implements to a gunfight.
The gunfire, now sporadic and accompanied by loud, drunken shouting continued for probably 20 minutes. I decided, at that very instant, to become a pacifist and not confront these "people". I tried to go back to sleep and the throbbing in my hand really kicked in (from the adrenaline kick I'd guess). I had the persistent thought that I might have to go to the emergency room, an hour away in Needles, if the swelling continued. After awhile the gunfire stopped completely although my campsite was still lit up like Fifth Avenue and 45th street. Around 3:30 or 4:00 AM, I eventually fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning to the racing of engines and more loud voices. I looked out the window and there were probably 6 or 7 Jeeps and maybe a dozen guys packing them up. I made coffee, fretted a bit about my hand, and stepped out into the sunlight. I heard these guys talking and discussing their plans for the day. They were talking about a route on the old Mojave Road. As they got ready to leave one guy, with a minor conscience, I suppose, walked over and said, "I'd tell ya I was sorry about the noise last night but we're all retired cops and we don't apologize- hahaha". I didn't say a word. I did give him a bad ass glare, however.
They were gone within 30 minutes. I jumped into my truck and drove to the nearest Ranger Station to report these community pillars.
It was closed and locked.
My hand got better.
First Stop: Point Mugu
It's time for the beach. Each year, at least once, I head north up the coast. Last year I foolishly went in June and was socked in with the marine layer for almost 10 days. This year I had none of the "May Gray" and it was sunny and warm and, well, damn near perfect.
The trip started out at good old Point Mugu and Thornhill Broome Beach which lies between Malibu and Oxnard. As a young man I lived in Ventura and attended UCSB but would work for my Dad in his typesetting shop in Los Alamitos on the weekends. I didn't enjoy taking the 101 to the 405 so I took the longer, more leisurely and exceptionally scenic route through to Malibu. That route went directly by Point Mugu. I'd look down at the people camping literally on the sand and think, "Man, that's the life - one day when I don't have to work 7 days a week I'm gonna camp there." I made good on that promise to myself. I counted and I may have missed a trip or two but I believe this was my tenth trip.
Even if you haven't been you to Point Mugu you've seen it. It's featured on about half the car commercials these days. I adore the area. On my first night my Brazilian musician and poet friend Mauro came to visit and we made a fire and and barbecued tri-tip. We chatted and listened to music well into the night...
The last photo is kind of random but across from my campsite was a padlock in the fence separating the highway from the campground. I was fascinated by it - how long had it been there? Why had someone locked it and left it? It's a dang oddity. Love those...
One of my photography influences is Dennis Stock. Back in the '60's he took what I consider to be the best shot perhaps ever made of the Southern California beach scene near San Diego. There are a few spots on PCH I consider quintessential California but, alas, they're changing as development and other changes impact the landscape and the road. Nevertheless, I did go looking for a few spots to make photos and was nearly hit by a small and swerving grocery truck. You have to sacrifice for art, right? I like these photos anyway.
The following photos are just up the road a bit from the campground and I've spent many an hour in that very spot. I always say, "It feels a million miles away from LA".
Second Stop: Gaviota State Beach
After 4 days at Point Mugu I drove North to my old standby Gaviota. While there I went looking for some railroad photos and visited the first place I ever taught - De Anza Junior High School in Ventura as a long term substitute in Autumn of 1981. I also went to visit an old house - the house we were living in when my wonderful son, Jordan was born in April 1983. I enjoyed it. I often wish I could transport myself back to that time - knowing what I know now - I'd do many things differently. Regrets? I have a few...
The hills around Gaviota were lush and covered in mustard.
The coast in Santa Barbara county is much different than the coast I grew up with in Southern California. Shale dominates here.
A train trestle runs across Gaviota and invites you to explore. So I followed the tracks north...
Here are some additional photos of my time at Gaviota. I'll be back in August. I can't seem to get enough of the place.
Final Stop: Morro Bay
I scheduled a Morro Bay State Park trip for last Fall but it was canceled by them after a freak storm brought down several trees in the campground. I love Morro Bay - have ever since I was about 12 and my grandmother brought me here to meet her old bachelor cousin who had lived here for 30 some odd years. He was a poor, salty old fisherman who lived in a small apartment about a block from the bay. I never forgot him. A bad ass, independent, crotchety, profane "pescadero viejo". My kind of guy.
Normally, when I've visited the last several years it has only been for a few days and I haven't really explored the nearby wetlands or Elfin Forest which are close to the south end of town, I made up for that omission on this trip.
I was, finally able to visit the Elfin Forest which is near Los Osos, CA and just across the National Morro Bay Estuary from the campground. I left for my hike about 2:00 in the afternoon and it was cloudy - by the time I hit the trail the sun had emerged and the light was not great for photography. Of course, that didn't stop me from taking photos and I decided, then and there, that I had to come back in the Fall since this was such an extraordinary place.
I hope, through these photos, you get some idea about how splendid Morro Bay is and that you will, if you find yourself on the California central coast (and you should find yourself there) , check it out. Wait until you see how you feel there.
I hope you enjoyed looking at these photos as much as I enjoyed taking them. Next stop is the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. See ya on the road...
To my mother's lifelong chagrin I'm not and never was a religious person. I was a skeptic at a ridiculously early age. Of course, over the years, one would hope we evolve. While I'm still fiercely skeptical I allow for, and try to be open to, new insights and experiences - call them religious or spiritual, or what you will.
In my life I've had two of, I guess, what one would call "out of body" experiences. Not surprisingly they were both in nature and both in the great Southwest and, no, I wasn't drinking at the time. The first was in Arches National Park in 1994 and the other in Southeastern Arizona just a few years ago. In both instances, as I drove into Arches National Park and Chiricahua National Monument I had to pull over to the side of the road because I felt light headed. Then, after taking a deep breath, I actually felt as if something deep inside of me was rising out of my body and expanding into the outdoors. Weird, huh? Here's the thing though - it was a deeply "connected" spiritual experience.
The great playwright (and my favorite) Eugene O'Neill described this much more poetically and eloquently than I can when he wrote in, "Long day's Journey into Night" the following:
"You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself -- actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way."
O'Neill gets it precisely right. I felt as if I was dissolving for a few minutes. Of course, both times, after I felt myself come back into myself, I was overwhelmed and tearful and grateful and full of humility and love for having this gift of life bestowed on me. What a literal mind-blower.
You know, of course, I've tried to get that to happen again and it hasn't and I doubt it will. It's not something I can will to happen - it is organic and ethereal and can't be manufactured.
It's so weird, of course, that I seldom, if ever, discuss this with anyone. Yet, here I am writing a blog post about it! Old age has clearly corrupted me and now I'm probably oversharing and it's TMI and all but I don't give a damn. It happened.
The irony is that one of my worst Ranger interactions happened in Chiricahua the very next time I went to visit. In fact, if my first visit was a "peak" experience let's call this one a "valley". I'd planned on camping and pulled into a site and began unloading my camp stove when a Ranger walked up and said, "You can't leave any of that stuff outside your truck". I was momentarily confused and the Ranger said, "We have a strict policy. Nothing left outside - either in your vehicle or tent". I explained that I had to remove some things because I slept in the back of my truck and couldn't fit all my gear in the cab of my truck. Ranger said, "Well, then, I don't know what to tell you but it doesn't look like you can camp here".
I understood why Edward Abbey called them the "Tree Fuzz" (despite being one himself for a couple of years). I've camped all over the West and never met a more obnoxious and unhelpful Ranger. In fact, I love most of them I meet. They're underpaid and under appreciated and protectors of our most cherished places.
Still, it was apparent that this particular Ranger hadn't gotten the customer service memo. So, I thought, to Hell with it. I'll just drive back to Cochise Stronghold in the Dragoons. Of course, before I did I wanted to drive up the road and go to the Visitor Center to express my dismay. As I pulled out of the campground, at say, 15 mph, another Ranger with his window rolled down, gave me the universal "slow down" sign by moving his hand up and down. I couldn't believe it. I could only go slower by stopping. Two fools in one 15 minute period. I drove to the Visitor Center and they said the "Head Ranger" would call me.
He did call the next day. He left two messages. The first was actually to me when he said that, "while we have no bears we follow best practices for camping" and the second, was when he apparently, dialed the wrong number, and was all about personal information that I had no business knowing. Honestly. Talk about weird and inept and disheartening.
So there you have it. Life in a nutshell - lots of weirdness, banality, oddities and a few moments of existential bliss.
Of course, I've been back to Chiricahua. I took Lupe and then actually made reservations to camp there with the Casita. One week before my arrival date I received an email telling me that, due to construction issues, the campground would be closed despite my reservations. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.
Oh land of Chiricahua - how I love thee.
The humans? Not so much.
Of course, I'll be back. And soon.
So there you have it. As the great Jeffrey Lebowski said, "Strikes and gutters, my friends, strikes and gutters."
My entire working life I dreamed of, one day, having the time to be on the open road and live the life of a part time vagabond and traveler of the American West. The last few years, I suppose one could say, I've been truly "living the dream". I thought it would be enjoyable to recap those years in terms of my personal experiences both as an exercise in re-living many of my trips and, perhaps, to stimulate my readers minds to visit some of the same places. I will recall my funniest moments, happiest moments, coldest moments, strangest, etc. This, my saddest moment, is the first post of the endeavor.
I was motivated to do this blog project while listening to the free book on Audible.com called "The Home Front: Life in America during WW2" (which I highly, highly recommend). Stories of Japanese Americans who were incarcerated at concentration camps (euphemistically called internment camps) all over America reminded me of the most crushing moment of my travels when I visited the Manzanar concentration camp off Highway 395 near the Eastern Sierra Nevada.
I have, perhaps like many others of us, experienced deep and profound injustice and loss in my life and as I walked around the camp I immersed myself in thinking about what life must have been for these people, torn from their homes, belongings sold or absconded, and the simple plain horror of that. The historical site, designated in 1992, has now built similar barracks and other features of the camp to help people, like me, fully comprehend the plight of those of Japanese ancestry in our country at the onset of World War II until 1945. It is a deeply touching and profound experience. As I meandered around on that typically windy and hot day I was overcome by sadness and frustration with our world and my country.
At the end of my visit I decided to check out the visitor center and bookstore. When I walked in I was surprised to find many families of Japanese ancestry in the Center. I spoke to the Rangers at the front desk and began wandering through the bookstore when I saw a young Japanese family, a mother , father and their small, perhaps 5 year old, son near one of the bookshelves. The father was stooped over explaining to his son that his grandfather had been held at Manazar. The little boy looked very confused and then softly said, "But, why Daddy, why?" The father simply looked away with tears in his eyes.
I was overwhelmed with sadness and grief and anger at the injustice. As I write this today I still am.
In the next few weeks (months?) I'll be listing some of my favorite memories of my life on the road. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I will sharing them.
In the meantime, especially in today's political milieu, you might consider a visit to one of our great National Historical Monuments - Manzanar wouldn't be a bad place to start.
I've included some photos that I took that day. Since my photography is a bit better these days I need to go back and do it justice. In the meantime...
I love baseball. During my working years I lost touch with the game a bit. Devoting too much time to work and caring about what other people think comes with a cost. Often that cost is putting many things one loves on a back-burner and thinking, "one day I'll spend more time with that". Well, "one day" has arrived. I have finally returned to immersing myself in my favorite sport.
I had always told myself that, after retirement, I would go spend a week at Dodgers Spring Training Camp. When they left Florida to train in Arizona it made the idea even sweeter (I like Florida but it ain't Arizona). I figured I'd take my little trailer and find a place, close to Phoenix, and go watch my team prepare for the season.
Sometimes reality is better than our dreams.
Lake Pleasant, a short drive from Phoenix proper, was a terrific place to camp and sight-see and lounge. In addition to making it my "baseball home base" I found a sweet little gem of outdoors fun.
What a gorgeous place and, not only that, but a fellow I've known and admired on social media for quite some time was able to come and meet me and hang out around a campfire for an evening. Mr. R. Scott Jones drove up and, bringing firewood and beverages, sat down and we talked, and talked, and talked. In fact, I didn't crawl into the sack until well after midnight which hasn't happened to me while camping in, say, 35 years.
Scott is a remarkable guy. He champions. "travel quests" and walks his talk. He has visited more places than I will be ever be able to get around to and has motivated me to do my own "quest" (more on that later).
As I sat there listening to his exploits and plans I grew to admire him even more. In my lifetime I've only known perhaps a handful of people who live the life they damn well want to live. It seems most of us, especially in our youth, are caught up in making money and moving up the ladder and all that other crap we're "supposed" to be doing. I count myself as one of those people. The biggest regrets in my life all surround not taking better care of my personal hopes and dreams and not spending more time with my precious family, all in the name of "success" (i.e. ego).
My hunch is that Scott will not have similar regrets. He lives with energy and vigor and outdoors loving zeal. He understands and appreciates the importance of our few remaining wild places and environmental issues. He's on the right side of history and he lives precisely the way he believes his life ought to be lived.
One of the coolest things about Scott is that he encourages all of us to get out and "Hike our own hike". In other words, we don't have to be a "quest' person or anything else - we should just be true to ourselves but get out there! Love it. What a guy. I look forward to spending more time with him down the road. The man inspires me to go for it.
In fact, after originally dismissing the notion of "quests" I thought I'd try one myself. This baseball season (it always comes back to that, doesn't it?) I'm going to visit each of the California League's venues and go to at least one game in each minor league park. Man, I think that's going to be fun.
Speaking of baseball the next component of this post will be solely devoted to the Dodgers and Spring Training. So, if you hate baseball or the Dodgers I wouldn't be hurt if you stop reading right here. However, I think I got some cool shots of the Boys in Blue and I'd love it if you took a look.
Baseball is known as the "thinking man's game". There are many cultural and historical aspects of the game as well as a deeply complex and technical strategical component. I love history and so it's natural that I would be a bit of a baseball historian. I'm happy and proud to be a Dodger fan because of the franchise's storied history. Of course, the Dodgers and Jackie Robinson broke the "color barrier" and the Dodgers were the undisputed champions of civil rights in sports. Maury Wills and Lou Johnson and other African-American players have spoken about how they loved playing for the Dodgers for that very reason.
I'm tempted to wrote a treatise here but I'll stop and simply point out, since we're talking history, the Dodgers currently employ one of the greatest left handed pitchers in the long history of baseball - Clayton Kershaw. I went to three games at Camelback Ranch but didn't want to drag my camera around the park so I only brought it to the game that Clayton was rumored to be starting. Turned out it was a good choice. Here is the superstar and his windup.
As soon as Spring Training tickets went on sale I got mine and so my seats were fabulous for each game and hence my photos are pretty up close and personal.
The Dodger's MVP last year, in my opinion, was Justin Turner. No one works harder or has a better attitude. Unfortunately, he was hit by a pitch toward the end of Spring Training and will be out for 6-8 weeks. Here are some photos of JT.
Enrique Hernandez is a passionate ball of energy and will need to step up this year in JT's absence. A native Puerto Rican he recently asked the Dodger's ownership to assist with the Puerto Rican Hurricane Relief Fund and they stepped up to the tune of 2 million dollars. That's my team!
Great things have been predicted for Dodger Joc Pederson. Unfortunately, at this point, he hasn't lived up to the hopes of the Dodger faithful. He's still young though. Here's Jocko.
Former Dodger All Star, Matt Kemp seen below, has returned to the team for this season.
The old man of the team, 39 year old Chase Utley, also known as the "Silver Fox" just signed a 2 year deal and is a stabilizing influence in the clubhouse.
The Dodgers skipper, Dave Roberts, was a fine player and is well liked by the players. His pitching changes make me nuts but I can't argue his success.
Even more than a "Dodger fan" I'm a baseball fan. I love the sport and enjoy watching all the teams (ok - maybe not the Giants or Yankees- no, actually even them). Since I love baseball so much I've become a fan of our local college team - the University of California, Irvine which is a little weird considering I attended four universities and UCI wasn't one of them. Of course when USC and UCSB play them I pull for my old schools but I am sincerely enjoying going to the "Anteater's" games. Last year they had a player, Keston Hiura, who hit a remarkable .442 and he was drafted by the Brewers. Sure enough I got to see him in that Brewer uniform and he hit a bomb off the batter's eye in dead center.
Can you tell I had some fun? It was a wonderful trip for many reasons. I took lots of photos and had so much dang fun I'm going back next year.
Here's to a great 2018 season and I'll see you at the ballgame!
This will mostly be a journal of my travels. I may include other items that interest me. Feel free to join in.
All content (C) Jeffrey C. Hubbard. No re-use without express written permission