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The First Stamp: Journey from the U.S. to Costa Rica

Much like a 6 year old on the night of Christmas Eve, I couldn’t manage to get a full night’s sleep. Traveling had become something of a drug that I needed in regular doses, and today was the day I stepped up to the more addictive substance:  My first stamp in my crisp, new passport. This comes as a surprise to most who know me, since I spend so much time going on adventures throughout the states, always with a good story to return with and hundreds of pictures. I have also always prided myself on the quest of knowledge, and I knew a lot about life in the world outside the U.S. borders- but only from books. I have friends who reside in all corners of the globe. I plaster my walls with maps of the world, and geologic maps of caves from just about everywhere. Yet here I was, up hours before my alarm sounded, wonders of international travel flashing through my head.

I arrived at the airport several hours earlier than necessary and checked my duffel bag. I had chosen to fly with Frontier Airlines for the first time, carefully avoiding anything tied to Continental Airlines (A story many of you know from my trip to Baltimore, MD in March of this year. ) Turns out I had made an excellent choice: Frontier is tied to Midwest Airlines, and that means warm chocolate chip cookies in flight, comfortable seating, and dependable service, all wrapped into a value priced fare. I flew to the Denver airport for a 6 hour layover, where I had the best chili I have ever tasted (A green pork chili). I spent a few hours exploring every corner of the airport looking for a unique tornado shelter sign that a friend had informed me to look for. I never did find that sign, but I can now tell you where every gate and restaurant is in the Denver International Airport. I rode the subway that goes between terminals for several loops, trying to discern the design behind the fans in the tunnels….a producer of electricity, perhaps?

The Denver Airport subway between terminals

My flight out of Denver left at midnight: I was taking the red eye flight to San Jose to meet up with the Wilsey’s on Friday morning. This made three  ”flight firsts” for me: My first flight with Frontier, my first international flight, and my first red eye flight. My seat was an aisle seat, but I was too exhausted to even care about the chocolate chip cookies being doled out among the passengers. I put my orange, Jeep-branded backpack on my lap, used it as an awkward pillow and dozed in and out of sleep.

August 6, 2010

Arriving in Costa Rica was a little surreal. It wasn’t  hitting me that I was in a different country: in a new place that didn’t speak English as a first language. Almost everyone at the airport spoke English very well. I made my way through customs and this was the moment I was waiting for: The first stamp in my passport. It sits there now on the first page, a faded-red stamp proclaiming that my first step outside of the U.S. (aside from Mexico and the Caribbean) was Costa Rica on August 6th, 2010. I exchanged my U.S. Dollars at the counter for the Costa Rican currency: Colones. The bills come in denominations that I was sure to be confused by (despite the conversions in the mini-reference book I created pre-trip) In the U.S. we have dollars and cents. In Costa Rica there are only Colones. This means that approximately 520 Colones equals 1 U.S. Dollar. A bill of 10,000 Colones is equal to approximately $20.

I was right in my theory that I would make a mistake in Colone conversion with the very first purchase I made: The Taxi ride from the Airport to Adventure Inn, where I would meet with my friend and her family so we could head down to Manzanillo in the far southeast of the country.  When I arrived at Adventure Inn the taxi driver gave me the total in U.S. dollars, knowing where I was from after our short conversation on the drive to the hotel. Having just exchanged all my U.S. dollars for Colones, I did what I thought was some quick math and handed him a colorful bill.

Lucky for me, he was a lot like everyone else I tend to meet on my adventures: The Oklahomans who pushed me out of the ditch when I slid off the road into 6 inches of snow and ice (Dec 26, 2009), the citizens of El Paso who helped me get two new tires and a new wheel (Dec 28, 2009), and even the helpful waitress at Iron Horse Café in small town Roscoe MO who introduced us to a local cave/landowner (and a subsequent obsession with caves that will never be satisfied). The taxi driver corrected my taboo and handed me back the extra money I had handed him by mistake. The good will of the world around never ceases to surprise me despite how many times I have experienced in it. I still smile every time, genuinely touched that there are so many people out there that are still honest and caring.

I joined my friend and her family at the breakfast table. There were many fruits I didn’t recognize, and one I was happy to see: Star fruit. Since a kid I have always loved this fruit, probably more because of the shape when sliced than the pleasantm citurs taste. Here in Costa Rica the fruit was offered on the plate like it was a regular garnish- the equivalent to lettuce in the U.S. I was going to like this country.

Driving through San Jose

Many of us take the public roadway infrastructure of the United States for granted. In the U.S. all roads have signs. They are even color-coded to designate whether the road is an interstate, state, or county highway. In San Jose you are lucky to find a sign, and the locals give directions in terms of houses, churches, rocks and trees. Loaded into the rental SUV we wandered the streets of San Jose. We started singing the song “Do you know the way through San Jose”. The song suddenly had a whole new meaning.

A local beer along the winding path to the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica

After our long journey of twisting and turning through San Jose we finally arrived on 32 highway and we twisted and turned through the beautiful Parque Nacional Braulio Carrillo. Huge yellow and blue butterflies flitted through the air, high above the highway, and water trickled down the sides of all the road cuts, which were covered in dense, green foliage.

 

When we found ourselves descending from the mountainous ridge, and out of the Parque Nacional Braulio Carrillo, roads were bordered by rural towns and villages, open-air schools, and large banana and pineapple farms. The banana bunches on the trees were all covered with a blue bag, something to help prevent pests from destroying valuable agriculture.  Our elevation was slowly approaching sea level when we could finally see the Caribbean Coast just off the shores of Limon. It was a beautiful sight. From Limon we drove south, driving on a road that flirted with the sea, until we reached the place we were to spend 5 days: La Petita in Manzanillo.

Some wild fruit growing in Manzanillo

La Petita was a cute rental house nestled in the Refugio Nacional Gandoca-Manzanillo. In the shade of tall trees covered in green, this house was made of beautiful local woods with an open-air kitchen and hammocks to rest in. Howler monkeys swung from the trees, cacao trees dotted the landscape, and many colorful birds, including Toucans, flew overhead. As if this landscape wasn’t wonderful enough, the icing on the cake was the path through the rainforest to the beach. It was a walk that stimulated all your senses, winding through the rainforest on a path of wooden planks, where the sound of the waves crashing into the sand became progressively louder. When we returned after dark you could watch the lightening over the horizon even though the sky was cloudless and you could see every star imaginable and more….

The walkway thru the jungle to the beach. Manzanillo, Costa Rica
The beach after the walk through the Jungle. Costa Rica Aug 2010
Looking up the coast at the village of Manzanillo, Costa Rica
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Capulin Volcano, New Mexico to Home:Perhaps I Should Have Stayed On Vaca

It is easy to overlook the big picture when wrapped up in the day to day of our lives. We get lost in life’s mishaps and feel like we are trapped in quicksand.  None of our lives are ideal, and the daily grind can be exhausting.

I can honestly say my daily grind is full of adventure. It doesn’t seem to matter what the agenda is for the day, something always happens to keep my life interesting. I love my life not because everything goes right, but because everything goes entirely wrong. It’s a comical life, the type you see on those sitcoms where big mishaps take place but everything always ends up alright in the end. This sort of thing isn’t limited to Hollywood: I live it.

Today is a perfect example of my disastrous, wonderfully compelling thing called life.

I slept in a little bit and took my time getting ready, enjoying the free breakfast the hotel offered. I have to admit I’m a sucker for those Belgian waffles that hotels offer. In fact, when I reserve a hotel I check the description to see if the hotel offers the Belgian waffles before I decide if I am going to book that hotel or not. Ridiculous? Maybe for anyone else, but not for me.


I started my drive to Capulin Volcano National park, which was only a short 30 minute drive, and a tiny 1 mile detour from the path home. I took the turn towards the volcano and drive over a cattle grid, past a yellow caution sign that neither warns of deer, or that cartoon Elk I had observed all over Arizona two days ago. It warns me of free range cattle.

Sure enough as I travel down the highway, covered lightly in snow from the night before, there is a small herd of cattle standing in the middle of the road. Behind them stands a second cattle grid that would signify my freedom of the very cattle that stood in my way. I was traveling very slow because of the snow and ice, so I crept up on the herd of cattle expecting them to move as they saw me approaching them. Most animals get scared when a large, red object that rivals the size of an elephant approaches them. Not these guys.

As I get close they continue to stand there, staring at me. I slowed down even more, inching forward now, and they still don’t move. I was now only feet away so I touched the brakes to stop. The snow, however, had something else in mind. Despite the ceased rotation of my tires my car continued forward, sliding straight into 2-3 of the cattle that stood there looking at me in stupor.

CLUNK

CLUNK

CLUNK.

I bump into them, the cattle stumble and bounce away as they realize my car wasn’t friendly.

I sat in my car for a little bit, stunned. Had I really just hit some cows? Really?

I look over and see that a farm truck was sitting in the field to my right. I get out and check my car- all is ok, just some hair from the cows was plastered to the bumper with the moisture from melted snow. I look around for the cattle to make sure I didn’t hurt them and they all seem ok as they stare at me in disbelief of my violent greeting from a safe distance.

The farmer, who had been parked in his truck in the field, gets out and his two cattle dogs come with him as he asks if I’m ok. I reply that everything seems to be ok and I ask if he thinks the cows are ok. After both of us concluding I wasn’t going fast enough to hurt anything, and him explaining the cattle have the right of way and I need to be careful, we have small chat about the weather and the volcano. He tells me that the view from atop Capulin is definitely worth the drive. After petting his dogs and apologizing for running into his cows I get back in my car, parked in the middle of the road, and drive towards the volcano.

Upon reentering my vehicle and putting it back in drive I immediately begin laughing. Hysterically.

Only I could have this many mishaps on a 10 day vacation.

I get to the visitor center and pay the $5 entrance fee. Why is it that some of the most exciting places to visit charge so little, such as the beaches and Carlsbad, yet the Grand Canyon and Meteorite Crater are so ridiculously overpriced?

After watching the short informative video on Capulin, which informs me that all of the mountains in northeastern New Mexico were originally volcanoes, I go to pickup my postcards to send back home as I had at most of my major stops. I’m the only one in the visitor center and I’m looking at some books. I pick up one on geology and it somehow flips out of my hand and through the air and I catch it before it has the chance to get back to the ground. I laugh, the lady behind the counter laughs, and I put it back on the shelf.

“Yeah, that’s how my day started”. I laugh as I once again run the fresh image of the cattle bouncing away from my car after being hit.

We have a good conversation about volcanoes. I tell her about the jar of ashes I have from the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helens and she mentions that she has a Christmas ornament that is made from the same ashes. We talk about different things, including the volcano that erupted at the beginning of my journey, a world away. It’s nice talking to a guide that is educated in geology, it isn’t something you find everywhere. I leave the visitor’s center to drive up the swirling road to the top of Capulin Volcano.


Capulin Volcano is a cinder cone that erupted only about 60,000 years ago, which is relatively young in geological terms. It rises over 8,000 feet above sea level, and the crater is 400 feet deep. The road that spirals up to the rim of the volcano is 2 miles long, swirling up thousands of feet often without a guardrail. A little scary considering the road is still covered in light snow on the shaded side of the volcano where the sun has yet to melt it away. I drive carefully, the incident of the cattle massacre fresh in my mind.

I reached the top to find I wasn’t the only crazy tourist willing to risk their life to see a monument to geological history. There were two other cars up top, and the view from there was spectacular. You could see for miles and miles. The vegetation that covers the cinder cone (which is unusual for a volcano of it’s age, many don’t get so densely populated so quickly) is all covered in delicate frost crystals that move in the breeze like small feathers. Looking down into the crater you can see lots of volcanic rock that has accumulated there from it’s previous explosion.

I slowly descend the 400’ along the paved path, covered in snow and ice, to reach the bottom of the crater. I get there and look up, the view is pretty cool having the walls of the crater all around you. A couple is down in the crater as well taking some pictures. I take my picture by using a sign post as a camera stand. The couple offers to take my picture for me, but after reviewing the picture I had taken right before and seeing that it was alright I thank them for the offer, but decline.

I leave Capulin, paying special attention to the road for cattle. Along the side of the road on the way out is an old abandoned house sitting on top of cinderblocks as if someone had moved it there planning on building it a foundation but never got around to it. I wouldn’t mind living there, I think to myself.
The drive back home wasn’t planned to be all too eventful. I crossed the border into Texas, a short drive through the panhandle part of the state. The sky was really pretty here, as the sun decided to come out and fluffy, white clouds dotted the sky. Then I crossed the state line into Oklahoma. I was driving along the highway when suddenly I see the all-too familiar flashing blue and red lights in my rearview mirror. Great.

I pull over on the side of the road and the Sheriff’s SUV patrol car pulls in behind me. He walks up to my passenger side window which is smart for two reasons: One, he isn’t standing in traffic. Two, my driver’s side window doesn’t roll down. He explains to me that I had just passed through a lower speed limit and that I was going 60 in a 45. He tells me that since I’m not from the area he will just give me a warning, but asks if I can go sit in his car while he runs my plates and license to get the all clear. I oblige and his partner gets into the backseat to allow me to sit up front.

While sitting in the patrol car waiting for them to run the plates back at the station he starts up small chat, asking where I was heading and about my trip. After a few minutes I hear a rustling in the back and turn to see a cage that I assumed to contain a drug dog since I couldn’t see behind the back seats. He says that she was a pretty good dog, very quite, which brings up conversation about the puppy I had transported to California. I tell him about the drug dog at border patrol that got excited about the smell of the puppy.

Don’t ever mention that you had to go through border patrol to an officer with a drug dog.

Never.

My plates and license, by a small miracle, come back all clear. He give me back my papers and tells me I’m good to go except for one thing. He says that the fact I had to go through border patrol perked his interest, and with his job and having a drug dog he had to ask a few questions.

“Do you have any illegal narcotics in your vehicle?”

I reply no.

“Do you have an methamphetamines, cocaine, marijuana or any drug paraphernalia in the vehicle?”

I again reply no, and tell him I don’t even have any alcohol in the vehicle.

“Will you consent to a search around your vehicle with my drug dog?”

I, of course, say yes and he asks me to remain in the car while he gets out his dog and lets her run around my car. He takes her out on a leash and walks around the drivers side, around the front, and when he reaches the passenger side his dog sticks her head in my car through the open window. She takes one sniff of the puppy carrier that is sitting in my backseat and jumps right into my car.

…I turn to his partner, who is still sitting in the SUV behind me, and explain that I forgot to mention my passenger car door doesn’t open from the outside.

I watch the officer struggle with the car door, trying to get his drug dog back out of my car. He eventually figures out he needs to open it from the inside and reaches inside to pull the handle. He pulls his dog out of the car and puts her back in her kennel in the back of his patrol unit.

“Sorry about my dog jumping in…she saw that puppy carrier. Have a safe trip home”

Today is just full of laughter.

I continue my drive north towards Kansas, fresh muddy paw prints covering my laptop case and door sill. On the way out to California I had decided to take Oklahoma thinking that a toll road would be better taken care of than the interstates through southern Kansas. Since that theory turned out to be wrong, and had resulted in my disdain for Oklahoman roads, I decided to return via Kansas.

The sun setting in Kansas

Kansas is the spitting image of our preconceived notionst: A lot of flat farmland with just a few trees here and there. A funny scene was playing out in Kansas as I made my drive northeast through the state. The trees that sporadically stuck out in the terrain were all covered in a thick snow, but the ground was completely clear. I don’t know what causes this phenomenon, but it was rather interesting to see.

When I finally reached Emporia, KS I decided I was in the mood for another of the spicy chicken sandwiches. Since there are no Carl’s Jrs in this part of the country I decided to stop at it’s sister restaurant, Hardee’s, to get my spicy chicken sandwich. I even drove an extra hour and a half to stop specifically at a Hardee’s in hope to get jalapenos, knowing that Wendy’s do not carry them. When I get there they don’t have jalapenos, and they even give me the wrong chicken sandwich altogether.

Not spicy, but a grilled chicken sandwich. I was too hungry to care.

I stopped to get gas and fuel up with one last sugar free Redbull for the last stretch of my trip before I got back on the highway. The cashier gave me a discount on the Red Bull (Apparently it was on sale?) and I returned to my car to calculate my gas mileage as I did every fuel stop and zero my trip odometer. When I go to zero my trip odometer the numbers stick. GREAT. I just broke my odometer.
Like I really needed anything else to go wrong with my car.

On a brighter note, the flat plains of Kansas allowed me to get a full 26 mpg.

The drive home was like the blink of an eye after leaving Emporia. When you have driven over 4000 miles the last couple hundred seem like nothing. I reached home right around 1am, brought in my bags all in one trip and passed out.
As much as I love my journeys, it was good to be home.

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Spontaneity-Meteor Crater & Winslow, AZ, The Places Between

Spontaneity.

The quality road trips possess, and air travel lacks. Traveling alone is doubly spontaneous. One can literally stop anywhere they want, when they want. There is no complaining about schedules when I stop to see something interesting, no stopping because someone needs to eat or use the bathroom when I am content, and no feeling guilty about needing to stop to use the facilities when the other passengers do not. When traveling on the road by myself, I’m on my time.

Today’s drive was planned no further than arriving at Raton, NM by nightfall where I would stay in a nice Quality Inn (I get reward points when I stay at this particular chain) and get to swim a little bit before bed in their heated indoor pool. There were a lot of interesting stops that lie along the path through northeastern Arizona that I had not even thought about, so while the drive was longer than planned I was able to stop at many points of interest.

I drove through the snowy alpine, mountainous wilderness that was what I knew of Scottsdale, AZ thus far,  and turned East on the interstate.  Along the highway I see a big billboard inviting me to see Meteor Crater. Things of space have always interested me, I have even taken astronomy classes in college as a few of my electives. The necklace I wear everyday is a small piece of the Campo de Cielo meteorites that fell in South America. Campo de Cielo quite literally translates into “Field of the Sky”, an area in Argentina where 26 craters were formed over 4000 years ago. The necklace I wear is one of my treasures I am never without.

Me, wearing my Campo de Cielo meteor necklace in front of a much larger iron meteorite @ Meteor Crater, AZ

Meteor Crater National Park is one of the best preserved meteor craters in the world. It is the site where an iron meteorite crashed into the earth, one much like my charm of Campo de Cielo. I would be lying if I labeled the site as anything less than a tourist trap, costing $15 to get into the small museum and view the crater itself. The crater is exactly that: A big crater in the Arizona desert.

Meteor Crater, AZ

While it’s no comparison in size to the Grand Canyon I had just seen before, the site is still inspiring. The viewing platform overhangs the crater itself, which is 570 feet deep and about 4100 feet across. Since it is the first part of January it was a little cold out there, but once again it was a view worth shivering for. After admiring the canyon for a while I returned to the visitor center and purchased a small meteor fragment and a lab-grown bizmuth.

When you purchase your tickets for the Meteor Crater’s museum you also get coupons to one of two restaurants: the Subway inside the visitor center, or “The Whole Enchilada”, a small burrito shack in the gas station at the highway exit. I decide to fuel up both my car and myself before I hit the road again. I order a burrito, and (of course) a churro. The man behind the counter asks for my drivers license when I present him my card to pay for the food and he asks where I’m from in Missouri. Apparently he once lived in Kansas City.  He says he never did like Kansas City much at all. The burrito was pretty good.

I get back on the road and I don’t drive long before I decide I need to stop again. Winslow, Arizona. I don’t really know anything about the town other than the song, so for the song alone I stopped and took pictures of that fabled corner in Winslow, Arizona along historic route 66. Funny how we all remember things as historical markers yet the significance is long forgotten.

Winslow, AZ

Along the remaining drive through Arizona there is plenty to see. I drove past the Petrified Forest, which is a big field of what looks like trees that have been chopped down and into logs. All of them were once trees that have “turned to stone”. Of course what really has happened is a type of permineralization called silicification. Visit the National Park Service’s Webpage about the Petrified Forest’s Petrified Wood by clicking here. It’s funny how the timber segments into separate “logs” when it petrifies. I consider stopping to try and pull one out of the field, but think twice about it after a sign warns of the legality of such an action, and the scene I would make trying to move such a heavy object all by myself.

When I return to the Land of Enchantment I have a reminder of why the state of New Mexico is called that. The entire state is quite scenic, covered in beautiful, colorful plateaus and mountains. I stop at the “Welcome to New Mexico” rest stop and trudge through the snow to the visitor center for some free coffee. A couple fenced areas are set up to allow dogs a place to run and get some exercise and a Siberian husky runs around, looking as if it belonged there with all the snow. Yes, even New Mexico is covered in snow.

New Mexico

While I mill around the visitor center drinking my coffee one of the employees there strikes up a conversation. We talk about the differing state’s highway departments and how well New Mexico’s roads are taken care of. I see some brochures on Roswell and realize my current path won’t pass by the area. Oh well. I get a few brochures in hopes that I can visit someday and get back on the road.

The rest of the drive was as scenic as I had remembered New Mexico. On the way out I had driven through the southern part of the state, and now I drove through the northern part, and both were equally scenic. The sun had set right before I approached Albuquerque and I was able to enjoy the city lights as I dipped down into the city that sits in a valley between mountains. When I reached Santa Fe it was dinner time and I really wanted to eat at a Carl’s Jr. Turns out I should have stopped in Albuquerque because none of Santa Fe’s services are right along the highway. You have to drive a ways to get to restaurants and fuel once you exit the highway. When I reached Carl’s Jr I had the most wonderful spicy chicken sandwich ever for only $1.29, and they supply jalapenos for you to put on the sandwich. Mmm.

I was only about 30 miles away from my hotel when it began to snow. The flakes were big and forced me to slow down quite a bit to be able to drive safely. I start cursing the snow. It doesn’t matter how far away I was from home, the snow seemed determine to get in my way.

I arrived safely at my hotel and was able to swim in the pool for a while, and relax in the hot tub, in solitude. It was nice to be able to relax at a hotel for a change. The previous hotels I had stayed at in the journey had simply been a place to sleep before I headed out on a journey, this time I was able to relax. Tomorrow I would be able to relax more on my drive home, stopping at a volcano on the way.
Today I had planned simply to get from point A to point B, but ended up touring the famous Meteor Crater and spending some time on the corner of Winslow Arizona.
Today was a day of spontaneity, but tomorrow had a planned stop that I was very excited to see. I had never been on top of a volcano, but that was exactly what I was going to do. Capulin Volcano National Monument.

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Destroying the Stereotypes: The Grand Canyon. SoCal-Phoenix

Preconceived notions of geographic locations tend to paint mental pictures for us. If you say “California”, close your eyes, and what do you see? The ocean? Do the same with Arizona. I bet you imagine a beautiful desert decorated with the famous saguaro cactus. It’s hard to remember that each place is marked by geographic borders that don’t necessarily follow a geologic trend. In California you also have mountains covered in snow year round, forests full of the largest trees in the world, expansive, sandy deserts and even large fields of agriculture. Arizona is pretty diverse as well, so don’t be surprised when you see landscapes dotted in more than sand and cacti.

The Grand Canyon Jan 2 2010

I woke up early today and left my brother’s apartment by 3am PST. It was still dark out and I wanted to near the California state line just as the sun rose. As I drove along the highway, slowly leaving the populated city of LA and entering the mountainous great outdoors I realized how early 3am was. I tried all my usual tricks in the book to get my blood pumping, such as singing along to the radio and alternating hot and cold air but I knew what I really needed to do. I pulled over at a rest stop after I left the mountain range and took a short 15 minute nap.  This is probably one of the most important safety tips of traveling: KNOW your limits, and succumb to them when necessary. The sun starting rising and the silhouette of the pine trees stood out against the brightening sky. It turns out the cold air and the nap were exactly what I needed, so I got back on the road and made my way into Arizona.

I  was driving near Las Vegas and had considered a detour, but I  kept my heading. I wanted to see the Grand Canyon and nothing was going to stop me. It was one of the great geologic marvels of the world. There are few places you can gaze upon so many exposed rock formations. I stopped at a gas station about an hour into the Grand Canyon State and decided to go inside to get some snacks and my ritualistic supply of Sugar-Free Red Bull. This is the fuel that energizes most of my long drives. In the gas stations I saw something that caught my eye and made me laugh, so I asked the clerk about it.

Flavored aerosol cans of oxygen.

She laughed a bit too and said it did make you feel a little more awake, refreshed, but she said it certainly wasn’t energizing as the can claimed. I pondered for a moment, considered buying one just to say I had tried it, but decided against it. My fuel of choice had served me well thus far.

One of the things I enjoy paying attention to along my travels are road signs. There are always some amusing names of roads, and sometimes the graphics of the signs are interesting as well. Something I am used to seeing are the yellow signs cautioning you of deer that may cross the road. I have often wondered what determines a certain area to be more prone to deer crossing than others. In Missouri these areas don’t seem to correlate with where I have hit the silly animals.

In northern Arizona, however, there is a more daunting sign cautioning of large mammals crossing the road: Elk. When seen up close, when stopped on the road, it is a close resemblance of the silhouette of an Elk. When seen from driving on the interstate, however, it looks a little bit like a comical animal. Bubbly and cartoon-ish in form,  every single one of them made me smile a little.

 

Elk Crossing in Northern AZ

I reached the Grand Canyon around noon. It’s time to throw that stereotypical image of the Grand Canyon out the window. Today the sandy desert that clouds my memories of Arizona is replaced by snow, and lots of it. Huge piles of it lined the roads where snowplows had dumped what had once accumulated on the roadways, enough to rival that which has fallen in the Midwest in the last few weeks.

In comparison to the wonderfully beautiful and enclosed world of Carlsbad Caverns that only costs $6 to tour, the vast, wide-open Grand Canyon costs a whopping $25 to drive to. It isn’t such a bad deal if you are going to be in the area for a while, as the pass is good for a full week. It also is fairly decent if you are traveling with a vehicle full of people, as the price is per vehicle. When you are traveling alone, however, and only plan to stay for a few hours, $25 is pretty steep. I honestly wish they had a pass for just a day rather than an entire week.

I found a parking spot on the sheet of ice that was formerly a parking lot, between an SUV and a small compact car. I walk along the icy, snowy sidewalks to get to the first viewing point of the Grand Canyon, passing by bus loads of Asian tourists that I could have sworn have been following me. It seems other countries appreciate that natural wonders of the world more than Americans. I could go into a large discussion about the failure of the U.S. government to stress education and development of the sciences, and the fact that we are falling behind across the board in education, but I will save this for another day.

The view was breath-taking, a not simply because of the icy breeze that chilled you as it blew across the vast canyon.

The Grand Canyon Jan 2 2010

Everyone knows the Grand Canyon is the largest of it’s kind in the United States. It is world-renowned for it’s beautiful colors of rock layers and how large and utterly overwhelming it can be.

Seeing it in real life, however, is a whole different story. It’s kind of like looking at a picture of a warm beach in the Caribbean and actually lying on said beach. You know what it is like, and you can even mentally feel the warmth of the suns rays and the gentle breeze, the soft lapping waves of the turquoise-blue waters. Seeing it in person, however, is an entirely different experience.

The cold seemed lessened because of the beautiful view, and apparently I was not the only one to think so. Hundreds of tourists were making the same delicate trip to viewing platforms along the edges of the cliffs that overhand a gorge that is over one mile deep, stepping lightly on the packed ice to avoid slipping. There were rails and fences, but it wasn’t hard to imagine slipping and sliding right under the gaps in that fence. I have to say I prefer caves. I feel safe in them, the limestone walls like a comforting blanket that promises I won’t fall forever. I knew there was a bottom to the Grand Canyon, but I certainly couldn’t see it. …The view was worth the worry.

Walking to the Grand Canyon viewpoints in snow and ice

Looking across the grand canyon feels as if you are on top of the world. You can see for miles, and the wind that blows across feels like it is coming from a world away. You can see so far that you can imagine lightly jumping and landing on that cliff way across, but you know it’s actually several hours, or even several days’, hike.

I took many pictures of the Canyon, and did my good Samaritan work just as I had done at all the other sites I had visited alone: took pictures of couples together for them with their cameras in front of whatever scenic view pleased them most. I even took a picture for a large family, and I imagine they had spent a lovely holiday vacation here at the Grand Canyon and had yet to get a picture without one of them behind the camera.

The breathtaking beauty of the canyon was eventually overtaken by the breathtaking, chilling winds of a snowy winter and I decided to head into Grand Canyon village and get some lunch. I chatted with the cashier about the weather as I ordered my sandwich and she talked to me as if I were from the area. She seemed to assume I worked here and was just enjoying a lunch break. I get that a lot on my trips. Perhaps because most people don’t sight-see alone?

After spending another hour braving the cold to take more pictures from another viewing point, I decided my time at the Grand Canyon had been spent. After dropping off my postcards into a mailbox I headed back onto the highway to head towards Phoenix. I was really excited to see some friends I hadn’t seen in some time. They had moved out to Arizona from Missouri  not quite a year ago.

When I hit Scottsdale I made the turn south towards Phoenix, yet again forgetting what state I was in. Another norm you don’t usually think of for Arizona: The typical alpine, mountainous forests covered in snow. The highways were periodically lined with families sledding down hills, like they had never seen snow like this before. I imagined that most of these people were from further south in the state and had made the trek up to enjoy some winter sports. The drive between Scottsdale and Phoenix was beautiful, transitioning from snowy mountains, to plateaus, to desert mountains as the sun set, filling the sky with various colors.

Jan 2, 2010 Sunset in AZ

Phoenix was exactly the Arizona I knew and loved. A warmer area, surrounded by mountains, with the whimsical Saguaro cacti standing as if they were people. I always found the Saguaro cactus to be amusing, imaging each of them to be a different type of person. Some grouped together looked like families, with the Mother and Father and little kids. Some were your traditional 3-armed cacti, looking like a head and two arms raised up in the air. Everyone is individual, and tells it’s own story.

Saguaro Cactus Near Phoenix, AZ

In one day, and through only two states, I had driven from Ocean views, city-lit streets, snow-covered mountains, barren deserts, rising plateaus, larger-than-life canyons, and deserts vegetated with cacti and brush. The world isn’t as simple as we make it out to be. Arizona is much more than the Saguaro cactus and mountain-shadowed deserts.

It is still the part of Arizona I remember the most, as does most of the nation. I love those whimsical saguaros.

Me, in front of the Grand Canyon sign. Jan 2, 2010
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The Beauty in Chaos: Manhattan Beach & Pasadena, CA

Chaos is an event that is typically taken in a negative light, but chaos can be a good thing. It is the one thing that can take life out of your control and allow you to experience things you would have never been able to do so otherwise. Chaos is proof that you can succeed no matter what. A confidence booster. The one thing that can prove you are, and will remain, undefeated by life.

Manhattan Beach, CA Jan 1st, 2010

I think we all know things don’t always go as planned. We get frustrated that things didn’t happen as you had thought. But does it really have to ruin your day? In the heat of the moment it may seem like the day is lost, but rolling with the punches can make any day even better than your itinerary allowed.
Today I was planning on heading up to Pasadena to see the Rose Bowl After-Parade float viewing. I had originally considered seeing the game and parade in person, but since my plans weren’t set in stone I had to pass on the possibility of getting tickets. I figured I would just see the parade-then I found out that people camped out for 36 hours to get a good spot along the parade route. I finally settled on seeing the floats in the after parade display. A friend of mine from Ohio State was in town to see his team play in the rose bowl. Considering the likeliness of two friends, one from Ohio and one from Missouri, to be in the same place at the same time we had decided to try to meet up. Unfortunately, the air lines had lost my friend’s luggage, along with his cell phone charger.

As a result of the long night in Hollywood (exceptionally long since I was a full two hours later than my normal time zone) I slept in later than I planned. I showered and headed out in the general direction I knew Pasadena to be located while I waited for the antiquated GPS to catch up with me. A full 10 minutes later the GPS had still not loaded the necessary information and I noticed a sign over the highway indicating that Manhattan Beach was nearby. I decided to make a detour.

Manhattan Beach is a very familiar name of a place from my young childhood. It was a beach that my parents took me to, being such a short drive away. I had originally assigned myself to the task of visiting the beach everyday I was here, and yesterday the magic of Hollywood and the new year had prevented me from doing so. Today, I decided the beach was not an option. Tomorrow I would not have the chance to see it again since I would have to leave very early.

When I took the exit for Manhattan Beach I noticed a sign on the side: Hawthorne. Hawthorne, California is my childhood hometown. I was certainly traveling down memory lane. Apparently the jogging of my memory also jogged the GPS’s memory: it finally figured out where I was.

I found a parking spot along a steep hill close to the beach. I set my E-brake and curbed my tires, and as I dropped a few quarters in the parking meter I noted to myself that if I was driving my Jeep this would not have worked so well. I really do need to get the e-brake tightened on “29”.

The beach was everything I remembered as a child. The sand along the beach was clean and a light-sandy color, covered in variously colored seagulls and sparsely littered with broken seashells and rocks. My jogging sneakers, that have a mesh outer shell, began to fill with sand as I walked across the beach towards the ocean. I took them off and enjoyed the feeling of the soft sand as I made my way to the water.

The sky was a beautiful blue color and pretty clouds were stretched across the sky. There were a handful of surfers bobbing in the tide, and some parents walked around with their young children as they played tag with the sea. Expensive houses and condos line the backside of the beach and I daydreamed of a day when I could afford to life in a place like that. A time when I could step out my back door onto the sandy shores of the ocean.

After I spent a good half hour sitting there, soaking in the ocean air, I realized how hungry I was. I looked over to the pier and imagined there must be a restaurant at the end of it. I could only hope it was open on New Years Day, and luckily for me it was. The small snack shack was fairly busy for the day and it took a decent wait to get my food. As I waited in line to order a small boy, around the age of 4, sang a familiar theme song as his dad ordered food. I laughed and asked his dad if the boy was in fact singing the Star Wars theme. He chuckled and explained his son had been playing a lot of Lego Star Wars recently. Cute kid.

Manhattan Beach Pier, Jan 1, 2010

I decided it was getting a little late and walked back along the beach and up the hilly, blue-colored sidewalk to my car so that I could head towards Pasadena. The thought of smelling roses and looking at the intricately built floats that were made entirely of roses sounded like a welcome escape from the city. This time the GPS started right up, it was almost as if it had failed to work the first time on purpose. Chaos had put a wrench in my trek to the parade, but I had to thank it for the peaceful time I spent on the beach. Sometimes detours are well worth the extra time they take.

When I finally arrived in Pasadena it was easy to identify the parade route. The street was covered in paper, bags and various pieces of trash that had probably accumulated during the campout for the parade as well as the event itself. I realized that I had no idea where the float viewing took place so I stopped at a CVS pharmacy and got some directions. I was probably a good half mile away when I hit the wall of vehicles in line to get a parking spot to see the floats. After slowly inching forward for what may or may not have been hours I noticed the time was getting later. I had planned with my Aunt & Cousins to have dinner with them near their home, so I text my Aunt. I find out there is no way to get a hold of my cousins while they are at work to try to change the time so I leave the line for the parade viewing and start driving back towards Panorama to pick up my brother for the family dinner.

All I saw of the Pasadena Rose Bowl Parade 2010

All I knew about the Chili’s restaurant we were to meet at was that it was it’s address on Sepulveda Blvd, a large street that runs N-S through the entire LA area. What I didn’t know was what town it was in, so I couldn’t input the data into my GPS nor determine how far I could travel down the freeway before exiting. So as I traveled down Sepulveda I had my brother get a hold of my Aunt to determine that they lived in Manhattan Beach. Funny, I was just there earlier that day. Since I now knew I had a good distance to go I got back on the freeway and coasted south.

My brother had told me a theory earlier in the week: He has never seen a cop pull over a vehicle for speeding alone. It was his belief that the cops here simply didn’t care if you were speeding as long as you weren’t recklessly driving. Seeing as how the traffic was lighter due to the holiday I decided to put his theory to the test so we could get to the Chili’s restaurant on time.

As of this scientific experiment, my brother’s theory holds true.

Dinner at Chili’s was nice. It was great to see my Aunt and cousins since I don’t get to see them very often. I talk to them a fair amount online via social networking sites, but it simply isn’t the same. It was nice talking about how our lives were going, catching up and telling stories. It’s the best to hear childhood stories of your parents so that you can, for once, have the upper hand in a game of embarrassing stories.

I know that the chaos of my life exists because of my lack of planning. I wanted to go to see the floats, but had no time frame and didn’t even know where exactly it was. I had planned dinner but didn’t even know what city it was in.I even started driving before I knew where exactly I was going.

I can get impulsive and do things on a whim, and it usually ends up detouring from the plans I had originally made. I had said earlier that some things don’t always go as planned, but in my case I guess my lack of planning creates an empty canvass for my life to play out on. While I may not have been able to see the floats in Pasadena or visit with my friend from Ohio, I still had a pretty interesting day. Even seeing the trash-filled streets of Pasadena was an interesting experience that I will remember.

Chaos is proof that you can succeed no matter what. A confidence booster. The one thing that can prove you are, and will remain, undefeated by life.

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The Hollywood Story

Hollywood is a place of show. Everyone is trying hard to be who they think others want them to be. Walking down the streets lined with celebrity look-alikes and rising artists “giving away” sample cds for a small donation it’s easy to get swept up in the whirlwind. All of us are guilty of this to some degree: we work on certain tasks to impress a supervisor for a promotion  (despite what you know to be more pressing) and  we pretend to share our significant other’s taste in music or movies.. It is human nature to try to impress our peers, and Hollywood is quite the epitome of trying hard to be what others want us to be, in the ironic hope that it will allow us to, eventually, be who we want to be.


I woke up today to look out the window and see the sun shining brilliantly into the courtyard of my brother’s apartment complex. I got ready, taking my time to curl my hair so I wouldn’t have to do anything to it for tonight. Today, I was going to Hollywood. And tonight, my brother, his roommates, and I would be ringing in the new decade in Hollywood.

After I was all ready I woke my brother up, knowing he had to drive his roommate to work today, and went outside while he got ready. I found the perfect spot in the courtyard where the sun was directly shining and laid on the concrete to soak up as much of the warmth as I could. In many ways I feel like a reptile when I do this, the warm sun making me feel warm and fuzzy- literally. You can’t help but smile, even if it is caused by the sun’s rays.

Finally my brother and his roommate walk past me on their way out and I join them mid step, to them I had appeared out of no where. We walk the couple blocks to my brother’s mustang and he has to pull out so we can get in the car- his door sits too low and hit’s the curb.

I would like to now proudly point out that I am not the only one that has problems with their vehicles, and that most of my problems don’t affect the performance of my vehicle’s engine at all. That said, let’s head up the entrance ramp in my brother’s shiny black mustang:

Chug., chug…studder.

My brother’s roommate and I look at him.

“Um…what was that?” I ask

He says it happens from time to time. A side effect of him tinkering with his engine (for example, putting in new headers, etc) and not having a tune up afterward. Now, he has no money to get a tune up. I laugh, and try to keep my hair from being completely destroyed as we manage to reach speed with the windows open.

After we spend a little time milling around the roommate’s place of employment my brother and I head out to explore Hollywood. He drives for a while so I can get a good picture of the Hollywood sign, then we head to a Del Taco so he can eat lunch. I’m not terribly hungry because I had a bagel at his roommates’ workplace, but Del Taco does have something I need: CHURROS! I get two.

We get to Hollywood and find a spot in a parking structure that is only $2 if you get validation. Wandering out of the mall/parking structure we get to the sidewalk, covered in stars with the names of the famous. Actors, Singers, Writers…just anyone you could think of seeing their name on a billboard. Even Godzilla has a star. I laugh, as does my brother.


Covering this sidewalk are tons of tourists, many wearing Ohio gear for the Rose Bowl game tomorrow, and of course the entertainers. The entertainers are dressed up in various costume ranging from John Travolta, to Spiderman, to Jack Sparrow to Bumble Bee. Also covering the sidewalk are musicians who are trying to peddle their Cds to get their name out on the streets. Surprisingly, even with all of this hustle and bustle, I still manage to get some really good pictures of the stars in the sidewalk.

The Chinese Theater Hollywood, CA

One of the more popular stars along the walk is Michael Jackson’s. There isn’t a minute where someone isn’t posing beside his star for a picture. The Chinese theater is amazing, standing there picturesque behind the hand and footprints of big-time celebrities. Many of the handprints are fairly recent, even as of this month. There is one black-colored containing the handprints of the stars of Harry Potter, and Clint Eastwood proclaims “You Made My Day”.


After milling around Hollywood, exploring all the tourist traps, we decide to head back. We get to the parking structure, and we realize that for you to get parking validated you actually had to ask for it….a receipt from the shops doesn’t work. Shame.

As we head up the mountain to head back down to the valley where my brother lives his gas light comes on and his car begins again to chug.

“I hope we make it over this hill” My brother says.

I laugh. Maybe I’m not such a strange member of the family after all. It’s just in the genes to live a precarious life.

We make it over the hill and get back to his apartment safely. After we run to the grocery store to stock up on soda, and find myself a bottle of champagne, I decide that it’s time to dress up. I had purchased a dress almost 8 months ago that I had not had the opportunity to wear even once. Despite the fact I knew that no one else would be dressing up, I decided I needed to do so.

It was something amazing, ringing in the new year in Hollywood. One of those surreal events that many people talk about but most don’t get to experience. I, of course, drank a little too much, but I had lots of fun and had a driver.

As I sit in the bar in downtown Hollywood enjoying all the merriment that swirled in the air I felt complete. Here I was celebrating the new year on the pacific coast. I wasn’t here to impress anyone, or to even prove my worth. I was here because these types of places make me happy.

In the city where people make a living off of being someone else, I was happy to be exactly who I am.

This new year, new decade…is going to be great.

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The La Brea “Tar Pits”-Where History and Modern Science Meet

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

Have you ever had a favorite movie as a young child that you went to re-watch as an adult only to find out it was much better in memory than in reality? If so, you will know what my day at the La Brea Tar Pits was like. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a great place to visit. It was just incredibly different than I remember as a child.

I was probably about 5 years old when my Aunt took me to the La Brea Tar Pits (Official Site) for the first time. The memories I have of the visit are a bit patchy, but here is what I do remember: Walking past the gated tar pits into the museum, looking at dinosaur statues, feeling the sample piece of “dinosaur skin” to see what scientists thought their skin felt like, and at the end she bought me a triceratops figurine and a photo slide.

Today the only thing that was familiar were the gated tar pits themselves. Political correctness and the evolution of scientific theory have changed the landscape of the museum in an entirety. There are no dinosaur statues in the museum, and with that the plaque of “dino skin” I wanted to touch again out of nostalgia was no longer in existence.

Here’s where the lesson in science comes in for all of you folks. No dinosaurs were EVER found at the La Brea Tar Pits. Considering the tar pits were formed well after the extinction of dinosaurs it would be impossible for this to occur unless someone decided to dig up some remains and dump them in the pits thousands of years later.

Most of the skeletons found in the tar pits are from the ice age, but the tar pits continue to ensnare small animals and bugs today. What you have pictured in your mind of the tar pits is probably inaccurate. It actually looks much like a big pond of water with some surface oil, much like a puddle in an urban street. Methane bubbles periodically work their way to the surface, making it look like a dying Jacuzzi tub.

Inside Page Museum at La Brea (yes, La Brea Tar Pits is actually quite redundant, seeing as “Brea” means Tar you are saying “The Tar Tar Pits”), there are numerous skeletons from thousands of years. One of the more numerous skeletons found in the pits is the Dire Wolf. They have a wall covered in their skulls, and these are only a portion of what they have found.


Some of the scientists here work in a literal fish bowl, just like you see in the first Jurassic Park movie. Walking around the back side of the museum you will come to the Paleontology Laboratory, which juts out into the room with a full-glass semi-circular build. The scientists work quietly inside, able to see everyone that mills around watching them tediously separate microfossils from minerals and sediment. It must take a lot of nerve to work under those conditions and I imagine they take turns sitting in the “fish bowl”.

After my brother and I finished the tour of the museum we walked around the ‘pond’ out front that has the mammoth statues tragically stuck in the ‘tar’. Around the walk are some art pieces, one of which looks like spare parts of a construction site. They are simply four concrete boxes. One of those pieces that starts the argument, between my brother and I, over whether art is the product or the intention of the artist’s talents. As we step down to cross the street I notice that tar has bubbled up through the street. Makes roadwork easy I laugh with my brother.

We try to go to Trader Joe’s to get another piece of my childhood memories: Fruit Leather. When I was young my parents used to pick up the fruit leather from Trader Joes for us to snack on. Once again my memoirs were blocked by time and reality: the parking lots were small, crowded, and full. No parking and there were several cars sharking around for spots just as I was. I decided that the fruit leather would have to wait and we headed back to my brother’s home city.

The drive home was through the mist that had remained throughout the day, the sun hiding behind the clouds. The memories I have of living in California mostly involve sunshine, or very windy days where we wore what was called a “windbreaker”, or in Midwestern talk, a light jacket. I don’t clearly remember any rainy or misty days from my childhood, probably because they were spent doing things of no monumental value, like playing legos inside or watching “Oprah” with my Mom.

The mist isn’t unpleasant at all, in fact it’s warm enough that with a jacket the weather is really nice. Comparable to a spring rain in the temperate regions. My Dodge Stealth still looked clean, mismatched wheel and all.

Yet again that I am reminded that memories are not only selective, but they are exactly that: memories.

A person can put themselves back in the same place, with the same people and even the same time of year but you can not recreate a memory. You can find small things that bring back those memories but the world is an ever-changing place, constantly in motion. Times like these, where you try to immerse yourself back into your past, are when you realize that not only have you changed as you grew older, but so has the rest of the world.

And it is in times like these that you realize something important you may have overlooked. For you to continue succeeding in life it is ok to change paths. When you can’t see a dinosaur exhibit, enjoy the comedy of the “fish bowl” scientists and the fascinating numbers of the Dire Wolves that were found in this little piece of Los Angeles.

The Dinosaur exhibit will always be a part of you, and it’s the reason you stepped into the next phase of life. It inspired you to learn something new and continue moving forward.

There is a lot in this world to see, and I have planned to see as much as I can of it, but there is a small factor that I continue to forget: the factor of time. I can take a picture of the world and try to see all of it as it existed in that picture, but I will never truly see all of the world.

To be a well rounded person I truly believe you have to experience the most of the universe as possible, and that’s what I try to attempt in my life. I may only be able to see the “dino skin” exhibit when I’m 6 years old, and the Dire Wolf collection at the age of 25, but every piece that I add to my collection of memories is going to be there forever. In another 20 years, perhaps, I will return in search for the memories of this misty day in Los Angeles and the bubbly waters of La Brea only to discover something new.

Remember: The memories last forever, and the new ones should be cherished just as much as the old.

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SoCal: Back to the Pacific Coast

Deep down everyone has a special connection with a place. It may not be a specific place, but rather a certain environment, that makes a person feel completely at home. Relaxed, rejuvenated and in complete serenity.


For many this place is their home. Home is a place where they may have grown up or graduated high school. Wherever they may have happened to spend the majority of their life, or where the most influential time of a person’s life took place. The problem with this theory is when people ask me what my hometown is I hesitate. I certainly graduated in a specific city, I lived in many, but all in the midwest. I was born in California.  I spend a short time in Arizona. In theory, all these places could be considered my home, but my answer is never direct.

The truth is, I consider home a place that makes me feel like all is right in the world. This place for me is the pacific coast. Not necessarily my birthplace, or where I lived, or anywhere specific. Where I can sit on the beach without a care in the world, soaking up the seaside air, listening to the waves crash against the sand and rocks, and watching the sun the instant it disappears below the Ocean.

Today, I was home. Probably the best present I could ever give myself.

After sneaking Ellie out of the hotel, as I was trying to avoid the pet cleaning fee of $50. Either I was so tired I wasn’t hungry, or I was too excited to see the coast, I am not sure which. Perhaps a combination of both. Whatever the reason, I managed to inhale part of a waffle (my favorite hotel breakfast food),  jumped in my car, and without even bothering to wait for my borrowed, aged GPS to find signal, I began to drive west.

I didn’t care where it was, I needed to see the ocean.

I arrived at the Oceanside Pier & Beach, dropped some dimes and nickels into the parking meter, scooped up little Ellie the puppy, and went straight for the water.

The sun had just risen about half an hour ago and it still sat low in the sky behind me. The waves were pretty good and about a dozen surfers were already in the water taking advantage of it. The palm trees lined the strand, the smell of the salty air hit my face and at once everything was right with the world. I spent a few minutes there just soaking in the view, then walked towards the edge of the ocean so that little Ellie could experience the sea for the first time.

I got really close to where the waves were coming up when suddenly a big wave came up and caught us by surprise. Ellie took a dunk in the water up to her ears, I had shoes that were now full of sea water and sand, and the bottoms of my jeans weighed down. I laughed at myself, and even the cold water didn’t bother me: I was too excited to be on the ocean shores to care.

After changing into a dry pair of jeans I headed North in the direction of my brother’s place. It would be a couple hours drive, at least. I wanted to get up there as soon as I could so I could find a beach to relax at until my friend could meet me. It was there I would have to say my farewells to my little, fuzzy traveling companion.

I was cruising up the coastal highway when I decided to stop for gas. I noticed a station that offered car washing. If you purchased a wash you received a discount on the gas. Relieved at the thought of  my car finally being shiny and clean (and not having to endure the strange looks and questions I was getting about the salty grime that covered my car from my snowy trek back in the Midwest) I pulled up to the pump and a man came out to greet me.

“Would you like a car wash? I‘ll give you a good price”

I nodded and pointed to the sign that notated the different washing services they offered, ranging in price from $16 for a basic wash, wax, window clean and vacuum to a full out detail for $60.

“The $16 wash will be fine” I said.

“Ohh No…your car is much too dirty for basic wash” He stated, running his finger across the side of my car to show how much dirt, salt and grime had accumulated on my car. “We can wash your car for $25”.

I hesitated internally. $25 for a car wash was ridiculous. My logical side told me to decline and find a self-serve car wash where I could rinse off the grime for a couple bucks. My exhausted side told me I didn’t want to waste any more time searching for something with the GPS that took forever to work, and would loose the information if touched the wrong way. All I wanted to do was get to the beach and relax. No more detours, no more disasters.

My lazy, exhausted side won.

I felt a little cheated paying $25 for a car wash as I once again became the bag lady as I sat on the curb awaiting my car to be cleaned, waxed and shined.

When they were finished I felt a little better about the ridiculous amount I had paid for the service. My car was probably cleaner than I had ever seen it. They even cleaned the inside of my windows, which tend to get a film buildup on them rather quickly because of the inclination of the windshield and the hatchback window. The tires shined a glossy black, my Dodge Stealth’s paint shined a beautiful red with a deep, crystal-like shine.

I was no longer ashamed of my dirty car as I sped up the I-5. Traffic in L.A. was, as usual, slow and meticulous. It would take 15 minutes or more to travel a mile or two. I was ok with this for the moment, it allowed me time to take a few pictures of the signs and the buildings, and listen to the radio.

I arrived at my brother’s apartment where he helped me bring all my luggage up to his 3rd floor apartment, and we stood around and chatted. Ellie’s new owner had sent me a message that it would be a couple hours before she was near out meeting place: Santa Monica Pier & Beach. After some amusement at the puppy’s fascination with vertical blinds, I headed towards Santa Monica. A name that was familiar to my mind as a child, but I had lost any picturesque memories from that young age.

The drive was quite scenic, winding through the mountainous terrain that was green and beautiful from the winter rains they had received. Every now and then I could get a glimpse of the ocean through the vegetated, hilly terrain.

Arriving at Santa Monica Pier I parked and paid the $7 for all-day parking. I scooped up Ellie and carried her down the sidewalk to the ocean. Along the way she peed on my new Carlsbad t-shirt, a shirt I was now wearing for the second day straight because I was too tired last night to bring my luggage up to my room. I didn’t really care anymore. I wasn’t going for glamorous or anything, I was just here to relax, alone, and enjoy all six senses as they swirled in bliss at the environment.

I walked down the pier, watching the Pacific Ocean lap against the sandy beach, and the smell of food hit my nose reminding me how hungry I actually was. Then I saw them: CHURROS!

I have this small obsession with churros.

I bought myself a Churro and ate it in what seemed like record time. Oh, how I love those cinnamon-sugary coated pastry sticks of joy! You look for them in the Midwest and everyone looks at you with that confused expression and asks “What is a Chur-O?”.

Mmmm. Birthday Churro.  Somehow this is one of my best birthdays ever. Covered in puppy pee and all.

I laid on the beach while Ellie discovered the wonders of digging in the sand, sending fountains of sand all over my jeans and shirt. It was actually quite amusing. I sat and watched the ocean and the sun as it was slowly getting to late afternoon. There were plenty of people there, but the beach was much less populated than what it is during the summer. Behind me children played on top of the “Walk on L.A.” sand mold, a round, tubular concrete stamp of an aerial of LA that was designed by Carl Cheng in 1988. Basically, the contraption is pulled behind a tractor and it leaves imprints in the sand so you can “Walk” on L.A.

It wasn’t long before my friend picked up Ellie, and after we visited for a while and they departed, I walked straight back to the pier. The sun was now prepar

ing to set and the wind was chilly. I should have had a sweater with me, but I decided that it was an opportunity to get myself a souvenir. I purchased a pretty, light blue hoodie that said “Santa Monica” across the front. It was warm, and incredibly soft on the inside. I think I have a new favorite sweatshirt.

I then purchased another Churro- Hey, don’t judge me, I only get them when I travel westward, I needed to enjoy them while I could-and headed straight to the beach to watch the sun set. I took over 100 pictures of the sun setting and paused to watch the sun disappear in those few, breath-taking seconds it took. The sun spends all day slowly moving it’s way across the sky, but watching the sun disappear is something that seems to happen in an instant. Like it sped up so that you could appreciate the beauty even more.

I can’t describe the beautiful colors of the sunset, or the serene calmness it seems to cause in everyone that still stands on the beach. I think you will have to see my pictures for that.

Another wonderful day in the life of Nicole.

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The “Treacherous” Drive Along the Border- Carlsbad, NM to San Diego, CA

The adventurous spirit in all of us lives. We can try to plan adventures, to organize a series of events that will complete your experience, but the truth is you can’t plan a true experience. Oh, you can make plans that allow you to be in a place and time, but it’s usually unexpected events that make your journey all that more memorable. Whether it be a pleasant surprise or a near disaster, a good story to tell doesn’t come from a schedule.

Today was one of those memorable days, and a story I will be able to tell for a lifetime.

I woke up half an hour earlier than I had set my alarm clock to Ellie starting to whimper. Luckily she slept much better last night, probably because I had tired her out on the trail and the runs we went on. It was 445am CST, as I had left my clocks in central standard time zone so that I wouldn’t have problems calculating time versus distance. I wanted to take the chance to get some free breakfast from the hotel before I left. They had said that breakfast starts at 530, so when I was all ready at 540 I headed to the lobby to check out and get breakfast.

I got to the lobby and the breakfast doors were closed and no one was in sight. I rang the bell on the desk once, no answer and complete silence. I waited a minute and tried again, no answer. I hit the bell again. Silence.

I decided the best way to get a hold of someone would be to call the hotel. Calling the hotel, the phone that sat a mere 5 feet in front of me began to ring. The phone rang 3 times and finally I heard some movement from the back office. A middle-aged Hispanic woman tumbled out of the office, disoriented from just waking up. As I was checking out it finally occurred to me they that while it was 530am in the midwest, it was only 430 am in where I was currently located. I laughed, but there was no way I could wait an hour for breakfast…I needed to get back on the road.

I guess it was a granola bar for breakfast today.


The sun began to rise as I wound through the Guadalupe Mountain range. The horizon slowly changed from a deep blue, to shades of purple, to pinkish reds. I stopped at an old abandoned café/general store and took some pictures. It was going to be yet another breath-taking day.

I had crossed back into Texas and was driving through a small town when I saw a car wash. My car was absolutely FILTHY with salt and most of the locals were not familiar with the treatment of roads after snowstorms and I was asked several times: “What is that all over your car?”.  I decided to pull over and give my car a quick hose down. It would be good for my paint, anyways.

I didn’t have any quarters so I took a couple dollar bills up to the machine on the front of the building. It wasn’t working. This SHOULD have been my first sign that at this point that cleanliness was a lost cause. Frustrated, I get back in my car that was sitting in the bay, sigh, and pull through the back and see that there is another machine on the back side. I stop my car and almost slip on a sheet of ice as I step out to get the quarters. This SHOULD have been my second sign. The machine works, and I get some quarters and back my car into the bay. I put in the quarters, the timer starts, and I get nothing. No water. The hose was frozen. $1.50 for a dirty car. I throw the sprayer back into it’s aluminum holster and get back into my car. I’d have to put up with the questions about my car’s “salt grime” for a while longer.

I am driving through the middle of El Paso, Texas next to a white GMC Jimmy with some unique, blue, geometric design on the sides. I top a hill and an urban scenery sprawls in front of me. I can literally see Mexico from my vantage point. Suddenly the big white and blue SUV swerves into my lane, so I scoot over to avoid bumping into him and *BANG*

I hit the curb. Hard.

I can immediately tell something terrible is wrong. I pull over into the nearest parking lot to see that my front passenger-side tire has a huge, gaping hole in the sidewall and the wheel is bent. The back passenger-side tire has a big bubble on the sidewall, and the rim is also slightly bent.

Not good. Not good at all.

I pull my jack and tools out from under my luggage and start to jack up my car manually, slowly twisting the jack around with the lug wrench that transforms into a lever for this exact purpose. I almost had my car jacked up when the jack started going sideways on me. Stupid, cheap piece of…

I had released the jack to try again when a black suv pulls up and out jumps a man who immediately goes to the back of his vehicle and pulls out a hydraulic jack and a lug wrench. He asks if he can help me as he starts going to work on my car, getting the tire changed. The spare, it turns out, is also extremely low on air. I thank him profusely, and he gives me directions to the nearest tire places that can give me a good price: Wal-Mart and Discount Tire.

Wal-Mart was closer, and despite my dislike of Wal-Mart auto centers because of a previous mistake they had made with my tires I decided my situation warranted the need. Like the man who so graciously changed my tire for me and wished me a Merry Christmas had said: “at least they are everywhere, and if something else goes wrong they fix it for free with the $7 hazard warranty.”

I make my way to Wal-Mart cautiously, feeling the strain my car has on it’s passenger side with a damaged rear tire and a nearing-flat donut on the front. I get to Wal-Mart and he tell me how much the tires will cost.

I may have almost cried of happiness in Carlsbad Caverns just yesterday, but this time I was actually crying. Out of despair. I really didn’t want to spend that much money, it was FAR out of my budget for this trip, but I didn’t really have a choice so I agreed and handed him the key. Although the price was high, I knew they wouldn’t get much cheaper anywhere else. The size of my tires makes them a little pricey.

I sat in the waiting room with Ellie in the carrier, bags slung over my shoulders, feeling a little like a homeless bum. The tears were rolling down my face, my mascara running down my face to further my impression of the homeless. I’ve been through much worse, and it could have been worse, I told myself. Stop crying.

About 30 minutes later the technician comes back into the waiting room and explains he got the new tire on the back wheel, but the front wheel was too damaged to mount a tire on.

Of course, this caused a whole new string of tears. Feeling some compassion for me (or perhaps because I looked so pitiful) he drew me a map to get to a shop that sold used wheels. I thank him, go up to pay for the tire, crying, and the lady behind the counter asks if I have a radio in my car. I tell her yes and she writes down a radio station to listen to. She says it helps her out when she is having a bad day. I force a smile and thank her, and she reminds me that everything always gets better.

I get into the car, armed with a fresh, hand-drawn map and a radio station number. I tune my radio to the station and, of course, it is a Christian station. I laugh, but leave it on the station in respect for the good-natured advice that the lady had given me, and in respect to everyone else that had helped me on this journey thus far.

I manage to find Tops Wheel & Tire by use of the map and explain to them I need a new wheel, and another tire, but need them as cheap as possible. Unfortunately, my car’s wheels are unique in the way the lug nuts are long and require a deep-set in the wheel. After 30 minutes of searching his lot, he managed to find a used Mitsubishi wheel for $75 and put my car in line to get the new wheel and tire. The tires here were a full $40 cheaper than Wal-Mart. I should have come here first…

Hungry (my last meal was that granola bar) I ask the cashier where I could get some food. She says there is a Blimpies two blocks up if I turn right, and a Mexican restaurant two blocks if I turn left. I go for the Mexican restaurant since Taco Bell the day before had failed to fill that void. How about that for the bright side: I’m on the border of Mexico and I’m finally getting some authentic Mexican food.

This area of town wasn’t the classiest. As I walked the two blocks to the restaurant I saw bullet holes in empty store front’s windows. The buildings were mostly old and run down. I was right next to the Mexican border. Somehow, I managed to blend in with the buildings and everyone ignored me. I looked much like the bag lady, traveling down the street on foot, bags slung over my shoulder, carrying a dirty, old pet carrier with a puppy, wearing a white hoodie that had dirt and grease on the sleeves from trying to change my tire earlier. Yep, I looked much like that homeless person that lived under the overpass half a mile down the road.

I get to the restaurant and there is not a word of English anywhere, written or spoken. I ordered something easy, a quesadilla. There was a little confusion over whether I wanted bottled water, “agua”, or tap water, but my high school Spanish managed to get some food ordered. I was afraid to come into the restaurant because I had a dog with me, but they seemed interested in seeing the puppy. I struggled with answering questions about the puppy’s age and name, and understood nothing of what was said afterward.  All I knew is they thought she was adorable, they cooed and made faces in her direction like she was an infant.

I made my way back to Tops, the tire shop, with an additional bag in tow that was full of Mexican food, chips and salsa. I sat down and ate my food quietly by myself. The gentleman who worked on my car told me he was finished and I walked out with him to my car after paying. He told me that the rear wheel will hold, but I should get a new wheel sometime soon because it was definitely bent and could pose problems in the future. I had the new mismatched wheel on the front, and two new tires. He asked what the white, powdery residue was all over my car. I laughed inside at the car washing incident and explained about the snow through MO and OK. He told me to drive carefully, and I was back on the road over 3 hours after I first arrived in El Paso.

I traveled along the highway that follows the Mexican border, listening to the radio because my Mp3 player had lost it’s charge. Most of the music was in Spanish, but I managed to enjoy it. I finally made it to Tucson, AZ right around dinner time where I met up with my cousin at a coffee house. She bought me coffee, and sushi for dinner, as a birthday present. I thanked her, and enjoyed some conversation over the sushi. We went back to my car for a while and played with the puppy until it was time for me to get back on the road.

Off I went, on my way to San Diego, where my hotel waited for me.

Driving through southern California was interesting. I went thorough two border check points where they asked my citizenship. The drug dog would get excited about the puppy in the back seat and start barking, but once they realized I had a puppy in the backseat they would excuse me from a tenuous car search. Along one stretch of mountainous road I watched a border patrol helicopter descend upon some people in the desert.

By the time I got to my hotel in Oceanside, CA,  I was exhausted. It was after 2am CST. I was so tired I didn’t even bother to bring up my suitcases. I took up my adventure bad, basic toiletries, and Ellie the puppy in the carrier. I let Ellie get some energy out, then passed out for some much needed sleep.

Just another adventurous day in the life of Nicole.

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Carlsbad Caverns

I’m in love. Have I told you that? I could live there and still not be satisfied with my time spent. That’s right, I’m in love with Carlsbad Caverns.

After my last entry I went to eat breakfast at Denny’s since I had waken up too late for the free breakfast the hotel provides. I ate my food so fast I think the waitress, and a couple of the other diners, were astonished. I must have looked starved but I didn’t care- I was in a hurry to get to Carlsbad Caverns.

Carlsbad Caverns is about a 20 mile drive west from the city of Carlsbad. When you reach the sign proclaiming “Carlsbad Caverns” you still have another 6 miles to drive. I stopped to take a few pictures in front of the sign, a couple with my digital and one with my phone. When you are traveling alone it is always interesting to get pictures of yourself on your travels. For safety reasons I usually prefer to wit until I am alone, which doesn’t seem to be a problem in most areas, then find a safe spot to sit my camera and set it on a 10 sec delay to give me time to get into position. Most of the time in these situations I use the hood or roof of my car, and this time was no different. I took a few pictures with the digital. As another car approached the pull-off I finished my last picture and jumped back in the car.

A lady and her son get out to take a picture by the sign. On the way up to the sign she suddenly jumps in front of my car as I start to pull out.

“Wait! Wait!” she cries, waving her arms.

I stop and open the door (my Dodge Stealth’s drivers side window doesn’t work) and she picks my camera up off the hood of my car and hands it to me.

“You don’t want to lose this do you?” She laughs.

I thank her over and over. I ask if she wants me to take a picture of her son and herself but she says no thanks. This makes the second time I was saved by a complete stranger in the past few days. I think a trend is starting to develop.

I pull up to the visitor center in Carlsbad Caverns National Park, which sits perched on top of a small mountain, and took notice of a sign as I pulled up. “Absolutely NO pets left in vehicles or allowed in caverns. Must use available kennel”. I hope this isn’t going to be too expensive…

I see a lady leaving the visitor center and I ask her about the kennel. She says it looks like it is a good place, and that it costs $5 for the day. Not bad. This is going to make my day much easier!

After picking out a kennel for Ellie and providing her with a fresh bowl of water I wander into the visitor center to purchase my tickets. I had REALLY wanted to go on a wild caving tour, but when I went to purchase tickets two weeks ahead of time online they were already sold out for this day. I was hoping for a cancellation or two when I arrived but there was no such luck. The only tour available was of course the self-guided main tour that takes you through the natural entrance, descending over 750’ and the winding through 1.25 mi of pathways until you reach the Big Room pathways. The Big Room, which includes the Hall of Giants, is quite literally a BIG ROOM full to the brim with gorgeous speleothems of all sorts. Over 6 football fields could fit inside this cavern area. Now THAT is big. This tour only costs $6, and is full to the brim with exciting things to see of the underworld. I HIGHLY recommend going on this tour. It will certainly be the best $6 you’ve ever spent!

I paid for my ticket and headed down the pathway towards the gate where a park ranger gives you a drill down of what you can and cannot do. No food or drink allowed in the gave, this includes gum. Kids must stay within arm’s length of their guardian. Absolutely NO TOUCHING of the formations. (For those of you unfamiliar with a cave’s natural state, touching the formations can actually kill them. The oils from your hands stop the water/mineral mixture from adhering to the rocks surface and it stops growing.) Then, a handful of people at a time, the release you into the pathway that descends past the bat watching auditorium and into the great underground.
As I walk past the bleachers that are there for the bat fly-out I remind myself I must return in the spring to see this. Every night from about March thru October thousands of bat swirl out of the cave into the darkening sky to feed on mosquitoes and other annoying bugs. Every night they take the exact same path, and have been doing so for years and years.

The descent into the cave is a pretty nice walk. The pathways are very rough, like a chunkier sandpaper, so that you don’t slip walking down the steep grade. Each time you turn the path you can feel the air of the cave hit your face. It’s a familiar feeling for me and I absolutely love the scent that accompanies it. The air is slightly cool, but only because it is damp. The smell is a damp, earthy tone that reminds me of several things from my childhood that I enjoyed. For example, The “Fire in the Hole” underground rollercoaster that sprays water on you at Silver Dollar City (Branson, MO) has a similar scent. Anytime I am in a cave I breathe it in deeply and let it calm my senses.

The tour of the cave itself is hard to explain except in pictures, and I took plenty (over 230 of them). Every time I turned a corner I would think that certainly it would end soon. Nothing so wonderful could last that long. But turn after turn I was further amazed at the increasing prevalence of speleothems and the opening of the rooms into larger and larger ones. It was almost too much to take in.

In fact, I had to sit down on a bench after I passed the Hall of Giants. I was so happy, and the caves were so much to take in, I almost started crying. I fought with myself, sitting there in that beautiful underworld. I am NOT an emotional little girl, I told myself. I don’t cry when I am overly happy, it just doesn’t happen. I fidgeted with my camera, pretending to mess with the settings and furrowing my brow in frustration of my sudden emotional turn. An Indian man approached me and asked me if I needed someone to take my pictures. I smiled and used it as an excuse to shove away these emotions and handed him my camera. He took a picture, of which I am not sure I will post because I look a little out of it, and then I continued along my way.

I also came across a really nice park ranger along my travels in the caverns. She works at Carlsbad Caverns for 6 months, then travels up to a Colorado State Park and works there for another 6 months. We talked about caves for a while, and she told me about some friends she has that work at Mammoth Cave in Kentucky and the research they get to help out with. I told her about “The Longest Cave” and encouraged her to read it, and showed her some pictures I had on my phone of bats in Missouri caves. She gave me some information on how I could get a job working for one of the National Park caves. I stored it in my phone. This was certainly something to SERIOUSLY consider.

When I finally reached the end of the tour, where a large series of elevators take you up through the rock (with windows on all sides so you can watch the rock fly past you), I was again feeling that sweeping emotion. I walked into the bookstore, which uses all it’s profits for cave conservation, and concentrated on getting some souvenirs and post cards. While sitting in front of the post cards staring at them but not seeing them a man I had met earlier in the caves approached me and asked me if I had enjoyed the tour. I chatted with him a while, he said he could tell I was a caver by my gear. (I had brought in my adventure bag, which is stained from cave mud and had a small led flashlight attached to the zipper). He told me about some caves from where he lives back in Texas and told me it’d definitely be something worth seeing. He introduced himself as Victor and said it was nice meeting me, I shook his hand and gave him my first name as well and he left with his family.

I ended up purchasing a book and a t-shirt, and a few postcards. The t-shirt I am in love with. It is made out of bamboo, so it is environmentally friendly, and has Carlsbad Caverns in beautiful script down my left side. I picked up Ellie, who was soaking wet from being in her water bowl, and we left the top of the mountain.

On the way down the winding roads we stopped at one of the trails and walked to the end where there was a wonderful outlook over the canyons. Ellie got plenty of exercise, and we both enjoyed the warmth of the sun after spending the previous day in a winter wonderland. The sun was nearing it’s position for set and I decided to head back to the hotel which was about 20 minutes away.

I decided that since I was in New Mexico the dinner of choice should be some authentic Mexican. I headed into town and discovered that since it was Sunday the couple shacks I had seen along the main drive were closed. I decided to use my borrowed GPS to locate a Mexican restaurant.

Here’s the time to explain the characteristics of the GPS I borrowed for this trip. It is older, and when you plug it into your cigarette lighter outlet it takes several minutes, sometimes up to 10 or 15, to warm up and figure out where you are. It also has a very sensitive power cable that if you touch the wrong way restarts the unit, and you have to wait again for it to find where you are. It is also a little out of date with the information in it. After the GPS warmed up I followed it to a couple places that were closed, and the final attempt at finding a restaurant ended at an empty grass lot.

Much less to say, and a little amusing, I ended up getting Taco Bell.

It was a wonderful day and I will certainly treasure these experiences for a lifetime. Tomorrow I continue my journey to another land, I will be driving almost 1000 miles to the west, back to my birthplace.

GEOLOGIC NOTES:

In this blog I use speleothem and formation interchangeably. Formation is not necessarily an appropriate term for a speleothem, but it is used widely to describe stalactites, stalagmites, soda straws, cave pearls, cave popcorn and more. If you want to get technical, these definitions are:

SPELEOTHEM:

any of the crystalline deposits that form in a solution cave after the creation of the cave itself. These deposits are generally composed of calcium carbonate dissolved from the surrounding limestone by groundwater. Carbon dioxide carried in the water is released as the water encounters the cave air; this reduces the water’s capacity to hold calcite in solution and causes the calcite to be deposited. These deposits may accumulate to form stalactites, stalagmites, flowstone, helictites, cave pearls, and many other formations. Deposits formed along ceiling cracks may produce drip curtains or draperies that may then reach the floor to become walls. Speleothems may grow in pools to form the nodular encrustations of cave coral or the natural dams that continually elevate themselves through accretion of calcite. The pure white of the calcium carbonate is often tinted with hues of red, yellow, and gray and may even be translucent. The growth rate of speleothems is highly variable due to seasonal variations in the rate of flow, carbon dioxide content, and other factors. Caves owe most of their beauty and much of their interest to these secondary growths.

FORMATION:

5. geology
a.  the fundamental lithostratigraphic unit
b.  a series of rocks with certain characteristics in common.

I would also like to add some information about Carlsbad Caverns versus the caves I usually visit in the limestone beds of Missouri. You may notice that most caves are carved out of water, and tend to have a long, linear shape to them as the groundwater travels in a stream or certain direction. After the limestone, or other soluable rock formation, is dissolved, the deposit of speleothems can begin. As the groundwater continues to trickly through the bedrock and it reaches the cave the water is enriched in minerals that get redeposited on the walls, ceilings, floor, etc of the cave. This is how a speleothem is, generally, formed.

Carlsbad Caverns has a very large and open nature to each of their rooms, and while the speleothems in Carlsad Caverns are formed in the same manner as above, the cave itself formed in a different manner than many of the caves we visit in the midwest.

Somewhere between 4 and 6 million years ago, water that was rich in hydrogen-sulfide mixed with other rainwaters to form sulfuric acid. It is this acid that allowed the caverns to form in large, magnificent rooms rather than long, lineated passages like those we are so familiar with.

For more information about this, I highly recommend visiting the National Park Service’s website on Carlsbad Caverns, particularly this page:

http://www.nps.gov/cave/naturescience/cave.htm