Solo Across America – Day 3

Sunrise from Lamar, Colorado

Showered, packed, and ready to go, I delivered bags to the car before sunrise, which allowed me to enjoy a glorious dawn on the Great Plains. But I wasn’t ready to leave as I had yesterday’s blog post to complete. Without a coffee shop or open diner, I had no choice but to deal with my narrative from the hotel room, missing whatever the sky had in store for the rest of the early morning.

Colorado Route 196 direction Bristol, Colorado

Forty-five minutes later, I was on the road toward Bristol, Colorado, and realized how enchanted I was by these flat lands. Up ahead at the intersections of Colorado 196 and US Route 385, 18 miles east of Lamar, I pulled over to step out of the car and take a moment. It’s certainly flat and a bit noisy with the insects abuzz, a bunch of barn swallows, and a lot of trucks. While it was early to desire nothing more than to pull up a chair and linger a while; that’s just what I felt would make the day so much better. It’s a good thing I didn’t pack a folding chair. Before leaving, I was able to listen to a few brief moments of the western meadowlark.

US-385 north toward Sheridan Lake, Colorado

The few trees there are out here are associated with somebody’s property; I don’t believe there is one wild tree out here.

US-385 north toward Sheridan Lake, Colorado

Nope, no bison here; you’d have to have wild grasslands and not the mono-culture farming that’s going on here on the Great Plains.

Sign pointing to the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site near Eads, Colorado

This sign reads, “Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site.” With a designation like that, you know that whatever this was, it was bad. Because it was classified as such, you also should know that it involved the Indigenous people of these lands. If you spent time on the Great Plains, you’d understand the vast area this encompasses; it stretches in all directions, and then think that back in the day, it was grasslands as far as the eye could see. There were no roads, railroads, trees, or mountains, nothing on the horizon for many miles. When the massacre of Cheyenne and Arapaho people happened, it was 1864, three years before the first train would roll through, and the nomadic people who called these lands home knew quite well how to live and coexist in such a wide open space, but white Christian people did not. I have to wonder just how hateful were those god-fearing Christian settlers when it came to people with skin color and customs different from their own. This sign makes me feel that the land of the Great Plains is soaked in the blood and death of countless people, nearly all the bison, the habitats, and traditions that were being erased.

Grain silo in Sheridan Lake, Colorado

I love these old-grain silos, but finding information about them is not very easy. The design appears to be from the early 20th century, maybe around 1910. I’m going with this date due to several factors: the first important one is the design, which was popular between 1910 and 1940.

Railroad tracks in Towner, Colorado

The next clues to the puzzle of how old the Sheridan Lake grain silo is came from this section of railroad track up the road in Towner, Colorado. I’d pulled over thinking I would snag an old insulator from the telegraph poles that still line the track, but no luck there. However, walking along the overgrown, long-retired track, I saw that a steel rail was stamped with a date of 1945. This would have had to have been post-World War II because all steel supported the war effort before that. The steel in train tracks is good for about 30 years before needing replacement, but I could see that being postponed due to World War II. Shortly after that, the highway system and modern trucking made the trains irrelevant, and now they are too expensive to remove.

Kansas State Line on Highway 96

Welcome to Kansas.

Sorghum on Kansas Route 27

Animal feed or ethanol production? What else might the thousands of acres of sorghum be used for? It’s probably the same thing as with all the corn.

Wallace County Courthouse in Sharon Springs, Kansas

I’m not focusing on towns and cities because I’m too quickly passing through. Besides, many of them are tragic hulks of what they’d once been, but this Wallace County Court House in Sharon Springs, Kansas, has held up perfectly, just as much of the town. Tribune, Kansas, is holding on south of here; I passed through that town 30 minutes earlier. I was struck by the fact that I’d driven more than 50 miles without passing a gas station or convenience store, which had me thinking how nothing is conveniently had out here when medium and large cities are often more than 100 miles away.

Wind turbines north of Interstate 70 and Oakley, Kansas

Out of Oakley, Kansas, I started driving up US-83, which I’ve driven on before, most recently last May when Caroline left the Canadian border on this road, taking it as far as Texas. Before that, my daughter Jessica and I took refuge at a gas station at the Interstate 70 and US-83 intersection during a ferocious hail storm. Today, I’m only an 18-mile stretch of this iconic US-83 highway.

Intersections of US-83 and US-24 east of Colby, Kansas

Right here, where US-83 crosses US-24, I turned left to venture down new roads. It’s still flat as a board.

Corn growing on State Route 23 north of Hoxie, Kansas

There’s not a lot of crop diversity on this 200-mile section of Kansas I’m crossing today: sorghum and corn, followed by more sorghum, more corn, and more corn.

Grain silo in Dresden, Kansas

I’m still intrigued after all these years of stumbling across towns showing their heritage with names such as Dresden.

Long Island, Kansas

Welcome to Long Island, the one in Kansas, not New York. The landscape has been changing with more trees and hills; this can only mean one thing: we are approaching another state.

Gas station in Long Island, Kansas

Nothing more than a simple and functional gas station. No vending machines, no lottery tickets, no fried chicken, and only two pumps. Sometimes, narrow choices and getting directly to the matter at hand is a great option.

Field of soy beans in Nebraska

What’s this? A crop change? Could that be soybeans? Why, yes, it is. That must mean we’re in Nebraska!

Cornhusker Road to the marina at Harlan County Lake in Alma, Nebraska

The map app tells me that about nine miles down Cornhusker Road, which, as you can see, is unpaved dirt, is a marina on a lake in a town called Republican City, where I’ll find a restaurant on the water’s edge and some dinner. [Before anyone gets any ideas, Republican City is named after the Republican River – Caroline] In Alma, where I’m staying, there’s a pizza place open; that’s it. The guy at the front desk of the Super 8 ($80, including tax) told me that nothing is open because today is Monday. Please, someone, give me a memo next time I want to travel on Monday that it’s a bad idea should I want something other than diabetes fuel. So, what did I have at the marina restaurant? Yep, diabetes fuel with a burger and fries. Fresh pan-fried lake fish and steamed veg were not on the menu, though they did have an extensive selection of pizza.

View of Harlan County Lake from Republican City, Nebraska

For everything else I prepped for before leaving Phoenix, fishing and grilling gear wasn’t part of that setup. Just behind me, while I was taking this photo from the top of the dam holding back the waters of the Harlan County Lake, I spotted fishermen in waders working the outlet waters of the reservoir about fifty feet below my vantage point. I have Caroline’s kite in the car, but what good does that do anyone?

Solo Across America – Day 2

San Juan River in Blanco, New Mexico

It’s late in the day as I sit in my hotel room in Lamar, Colorado, at 9:30 p.m. and try to find where my mind was fourteen hours earlier. I know that my physical being was leaving Farmington, New Mexico, after coffee at a local Starbucks, and I know that I crossed the San Juan River in Blanco (seen here). From there, I merged into a 389-mile (626km) blur of sights, sounds, and thoughts, but this isn’t how a blog post chronicling the experiences of a day is supposed to unfold. Nope, grand insights and spectacular vistas are to be shared, and certain enough, those are ahead, but I’m contending with a state of tiredness while simultaneously being aware that I can’t fall behind in writing duties because there is no time to catch up during this trip. What isn’t finished tonight will only eat into the next morning and the opportunity to capture the greatest sunrise image I’ve taken yet. So, without further ado, I need to move away from sad excuses and put my fingers to work telling of this day to the best of my ability.

North of La Jara Arroyo in New Mexico on US Route 64

I’d stopped near Pueblita Canyon to take a photo from a bridge crossing La Jara Arroyo. I thought it would be a nice image with all of the green plants, curvy hills, and a sandy dry wash bed, but it turned into a washed-out bunch of stuff that lacked detail, while the trees of the forest on the side of a mountain in this photo I felt looked pretty nice in contrast.

North of La Jara Arroyo in New Mexico on US Route 64

There are very few cars out here this morning, and maybe that makes sense, seeing it’s Sunday. Not only that, kids have gone back to school in many parts of the West, so vacation season is largely over. Maybe Labor Day the following weekend will be the last hurrah. There are plenty of gas and oil service vehicles out here tending to wells and tanks, along with some quiet space, temperatures in the low 60s, and some birds such as the Woodhouse’s scrub-jay and Cassin’s kingbird. Stopping for this stuff is peculiar; no one else is with me, and no real plan is being played out other than the need to drive the remaining 1,843 miles to reach Buffalo, New York, in time to pick up Caroline next Saturday. So, it’s just me, my thoughts, the camera, and moments of near silence.

Somewhere between Dulce and Chama in New Mexico on US Route 64

I have an overwhelming familiarity with the topology of the United States, which lends a sense of melancholy due to the knowledge that I’m driving out of the Southwest today. While I’m generally excited by the prospect of new roads and sights starting much later today, I’m keenly aware of how much I love this corner of our country. Bare rocks, canyons, and jutting cliffs are uncommon in the Great Plains and Eastern Seaboard. At this point on my road trip, I’m on U.S. Highway 64, east of Dulce, New Mexico.

Cumbres Toltec Train Depot in Chama, New Mexico

I’m still traveling familiar roads, and while we’ve not been to this particular train station in 15 years, it’s not for lack of trying, as we were supposed to attend engineering school here at the Cumbres & Toltec Train Station to learn to pilot one of their 100-year-old steam trains that run these lines a couple of years ago, but Covid and then the big uptick in tourism put that on hold. There’s a rumor that the 4-day classes will possibly return in 2025.

Route 17 in Northern New Mexico

The landscape is changing, most likely because I’m approaching another state.

Route 17 at the Colorado State Line

Like refrigerator magnets of yore, Caroline and I used to collect images of all the state signs with us standing next to them for proof that we’d been where we claimed we’d been. Notice how you can’t really know if I took this photo or stole someone else’s. Then again, I could just as easily Photoshop myself into it or maybe generate one with AI.

Route 17 in Colorado

I can see the writing on the wall that the relatively straight line drive across America will not have been enough, that a circuitous zig-zagging 90-day meander will be needed in order to best feel that we are seeing all the nooks and crannies. I’m fairly certain this road has been driven before; this old blog post from the July 4th weekend, 2009, seems to attest to that.

Cumbres Pass Railroad Station in Colorado

What a nice stroke of luck! I arrived at Cumbres Pass (elevation 10,022 feet or 3,055 meters) while this old coal-burning steam train of the Cumbres & Toltec line was in the mountain station. I wish I could have made a video of it pulling out of the station with the chug-chug sound, blowing steam, and the beautiful sound of the whistle, but it was photos or video, and as I don’t tell stories with moving pictures, I had to hope I’d get a half-decent image to share here, I think this one worked best.

Elk Creek Meadow and Canejos River off Route 17 in Colorado

Fifteen years ago, I took this photo from the exact same pullout, but the contrast between the images couldn’t be stronger. This time, I’m able to identify the location: that’s Elk Creek Meadow and the Canejos River down there, with my viewpoint being on Route 17.

Las Mesitas Church near Mogote, Colorado

Photographed this ruin of the San Isadore Church in Las Mesitas, Colorado, west of Antonito, Colorado, back in 2009, looks the same.

Blanca Peak near the Great Sand Dunes National Park from US Route 160 in Colorado

Somewhere in that general direction to the left behind Blanca Peak lies the Great Sand Dunes National Park. Believe it or not, the tallest of those peaks is 14,350 feet or 4,374 meters high. I had to go digging in our past, where I found that we last visited the dunes back on August 31st, 2003; yep, there’s a blog post for that day.

Somewhere on US Route 160 in Colorado

Goodbye mountains; from here forward, it gets flat and flatter.

Defunct gas station on Route 10 near Walsenberg, Colorado

This defunct gas station, which last sold fuel at the bargain price of $1.14 a gallon, marks the point on the map that I can be certain I’m traversing new roads. I’ve passed through the town of Walsenburg and under Interstate 25 to get here 679 miles from Phoenix, Arizona. I’m on State Route 10 driving east, and as you can see to the south, bad weather is rolling in.

Valdez Cemetery in Walsenburg, Colorado off Route 10

Two small gravestones not far from this one noted the passing of two children, born a year apart, with neither of them reaching their second birthday. We can never know a thing about their brief lives other than their untimely passings. We might find descendants of family members, but the likelihood that anyone knows the fate of those children is next to zero, and that’s the reality for most of us. Like thunder in the distance, we’ll have made a noise and just as quickly fade away. During these days of our own awareness, we can feel that we are at the center of a universe, yet a plurality of people, from my perspective, self-relegate themselves to living in a sterile box and will make little noise in their lifetimes.

Somewhere on Route 10 in Colorado west of La Junta

We need to be the bright spot, the flash of lightning in each other’s lives. Make a splash with the deafening crack of thunder, so others know of our existence. This is done when we attempt the difficult things in life and strive to challenge one another, find inspiration in our lives, and seek the world anew. Routine is not a way forward; we must break free of those shackles that leave us in fear.

Rainbow over La Junta, Colorado

Some might say that there’s nothing out here on Colorado State Route 10, but maybe the same could be said about the universe. The more important thought is, what meaning do we give things when little else can be found?

Lamar, Colorado

I’ve reached Lamar, Colorado, out in the middle of nowhere. This is the last photo for this day of intense traveling where I didn’t drive all that far, a mere 398 miles (640km), but averaging only about 38 miles per hour and jumping from the car some 50 times or so, that’s right, you only see a fraction of the photos I took today, I’m tired and would love to go to sleep early. As I said at the top, I need to keep up with these blogging chores and knock them out before the thoughts and impressions of these days of driving solo across the United States start to fade after I meet up with Caroline again.

Solo Across America – Day 1

Caroline Wise and John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

Actors, that’s what I’m calling us because looking at us, you wouldn’t believe our emotional turmoil when this photo was taken moments before saying bye until next Saturday. For months, we knew this day was coming; it’s not the first time we’ve been separated by travels that took one or the other of us somewhere away, but still, when the day arrives, when the hour creeps closer when the minutes wind down, there is no good way to hug and express our love adequately enough to allay the flood of emotions. Our tethers to one another grow shorter the older we become; romance is still our middle name.

Verde River in Fort McDowell Indian Reservation, Arizona

And here I am, a little later, behind the camera, with New York on the horizon. Actually, this is the Verde River on the Fort McDowell Yavapai Nation. I’ve wanted to grab a photo of this sight for years, but traffic on this bridge can move fast, making this stop precarious. Today, I took the opportunity to pull over as traffic wasn’t too bad. After I snapped this image, I was looking for a photo of the desert and some saguaro cacti that would encapsulate the environment I’m leaving, but this being summer, the landscape never offered up a scene I felt worthy of stopping for, especially when considering I have four hundred miles of driving ahead of me.

SR87 north of Strawberry, Arizona

The distance I’m driving today wouldn’t typically be an issue, but my commitment to avoiding all freeways means that not only will I have more opportunities to see the intimate side of America, but my pace will be slowed by the size of roads and more importantly, I get to stop for photos. That, though, is where problems arise. You see, taking photos in my mind only takes a few seconds, but in reality I can lose myself in the process, and I end up seriously delaying everything.

SR87 on the way to Winslow, Arizona

That is why I allocated eight days to drive out there, out across America. These very roads away from everything else draw me in, places where I can stand in the middle of the street on a busy Saturday, and people are polite enough to wait miles away for me to take a photo of a wide open space.

Little Colorado River in Winslow, Arizona

I emerged on the high desert approaching Winslow, Arizona, after passing through the cool forests of Payson, Pine, and Strawberry. I have no time for standing on the corner since I’ve been there and done that, as the saying goes. I’m feeling a bit anxious that I might be moving too slowly. It probably had something to do with leaving Phoenix later than planned, stopping at Starbucks and talking for a few minutes with regulars who wanted to hear about this trip, and then that u-turn I made to fetch some In & Out Burger that would be the last one I’d see for the next 8,000 miles (about 13,000km) I’ll be driving. Anyway, that’s the freeway out there crossing the Little Colorado River, and no, I’m not going to get on it to make up time. My commitment to this adventure of a backroads meander is holding fast.

SR87 on the Navajo Reservation in Arizona

I passed a Native American hitchhiker as I drove into the Navajo and Hopi Nations. While I have the space, I don’t have the headspace to want to talk with a passenger. I feel guilty for leaving that man at the side of the road, but I’m looking for my voice out here and to have the intrusion of someone else’s, well, that risks crowding out my own. Part of me thinks he might have lent me inspiration, but then I’d be writing his story, not mine.

Horses near Dilkon, Arizona

It’s not that State Route 87 is too big a road; it is only two lanes, but this Indian Route 60 gets that much further out. There are no fences out here near Dilkon, and something about that makes the land feel infinitely more open.

Navajo Reservation on the US 191 near Nazlini

After turning right on Indian Route 15, I was greeted by a torrential downpour that would have been great had it not been for all the signs warning that I was in a flashflood area. Getting photos of the deluge proved impossible, not that shooting through a windshield ever produces great results, and there was no stopping under that storm as all I wanted to do was get out of the flashflood zone and hope it wouldn’t start hailing. This is the otherside of Greasewood looking back at what I drove through.

Near Lukachukai on the Navajo Reservation, Arizona

Dreams of better weather to the west while directly overhead are reminders that rain isn’t far away.

Near Lukachukai on the Navajo Reservation, Arizona

The dark clouds of monsoon season stayed behind me or to the right, leaving me with the sense they were pushing me along. I’d stopped in Chinle to talk with Caroline on the phone, though we’d been chatting the entire morning into the afternoon as I worked my way northeast. A friendly rez dog approached and shared in my quick roadside dinner of a boiled egg and a lettuce roast beef wrap. This reminds me that we don’t have dog food in the car for these moments. I encountered this red rock on the road out of Lukachukai, which took me on a steep, twisty road up over some mountains and brought me closer to New Mexico.

Approaching Red Valley, Arizona

Off in the distance is Shiprock, which calls New Mexico home.

Rainbow in front of the Red Valley Trading Post, Arizona

I stopped at the Red Valley Trading Post as Caroline voiced a wish for a trinket of some sort, but sadly, this trading post doesn’t offer such things. They did have an incredibly friendly rez dog out front and this rainbow, so I didn’t leave empty-handed.

At the Arizona and New Mexico State Lines near Red Valley and Shiprock

It’s growing late in the day, and while I should be reluctant to stop for even more photos, I can’t help myself. Plus, I need to remember that I planned this so I could go slow, stop frequently to see the world, consider things, maybe write a bit, and have the flexibility to take my time. Sometimes, it isn’t easy to let go of urgencies and the sense that we need to be somewhere.

Indian Service Route 13 in New Mexico near Shiprock

While it never rained on me again after leaving the Greasewood area, the threat of wet weather was ever present and mostly acted as beautiful reminders of what monsoon season in the desert looks like.

Shiprock, New Mexico

I had been disappointed that Shiprock was in shadow as I approached from the southwest, but here I am on its eastern flank, and a dramatic sky frames it ever so nicely. It was well after 9:00 p.m. when I pulled into Farmington, New Mexico, and found a motel. I set the alarm for 5:30 to get out early before sunrise to set up in a Starbucks to write this post, as the photos were prepped before I went to sleep. It’s 7:15 in the morning when I finish this. The sun is up, and I’m ready to continue this meander east, hopefully without buckets of rain along the way.

A Backroads Meander

Map showing route from Phoenix to Maine

The exotic and often intriguing nature of uncertainty is partially muted as a slightly greater familiarity with what lies ahead has, to a small degree, already been experienced. I’m referring to the cross-country adventure I’m about to embark upon. When Caroline and I took our first meandering drive over the breadth of the United States, we drove in the astonishment of new sights we’d never experienced. That intensity of discovery wanes with each subsequent encounter with a place, or so my anticipation informs me, seeing my excitement is not ratcheting as high as I might have desired. Maybe my joy has to be tamped down because the first leg of this trip will be solo to better position Caroline and me to maximize the core of our vacation together that starts August 31st in New York.

Map showing the route from New York through Eastern Canada

I feel that this blog post is being written to help form a kind of structural framework that I’ll use while out on my own, or at least will get me thinking of this solitary journey that is just days away from getting going. The truth is that there’s probably nothing that would influence or shape any aspect of those days on the road as the reality of the situation while underway is that I’ll be encountering myself reacting to the stimuli of the moment and any intentionality that might have had an impact was most keen back when I was able to solidify these travel plans. Now, all I can do is wait until I’m in the car and see what the days and miles inspire within me as I move along, wondering how Caroline might see what is ahead and all around us. With that in mind, I hope to write stories where she’ll feel that she was present, at least in my heart.

Map of the route to and from Newfoundland, Canada

Caroline’s part of our adventure will include 2,200 miles of driving east from where she lands in Buffalo, New York, and 1,200 miles of traveling west on our return to Maine, from where she’ll fly back to Phoenix, Arizona. Her total land distance will amount to 3,400 miles (5,472 km), equivalent to driving from Frankfurt, Germany, over Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Iraq, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and into Bahrain. The actual route will take us across and down through New York, over to Vermont, across New Hampshire, and into Maine before we move into Canada with visits to New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland.

Map of the route on Prince Edward Island, Canada

Meanwhile, my drive is equivalent to driving from Frankfurt, Germany, to Cape Town, South Africa, or 8,053 miles (12,960 km), all of it on backroads across the central United States to the eastern seaboard and Canada beyond that. My route to New York departs Arizona heading for New Mexico, followed by treks through Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, Iowa, Illinois, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and finally New York. As for the drive home, that is tentatively set for a long winding drive out of Maine and into New Hampshire, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, and finally back to Arizona. Twenty-three states in all, not counting our Canadian destinations.

Map showing the route from Maine to Phoenix

This will be a lengthy adventure meant to allow a substantial amount of time lingering on the way out and the way home, fulfilling one of my wishes of experiencing a slower side of America. Caroline would enjoy the same indulgence, but her allocated vacation allowance doesn’t allow that to happen. Yes, we have separation anxiety, yes, she’s a bit envious, and yes, I know that I have a ridiculous amount of privilege. Fortunately, I’m in a situation that allows this extravagance, and for that, I feel a certain obligation to meticulously record my observations to share the experience with Caroline to the extent that she can best feel that she was never far from me and can see that part of the adventure through my eyes.

Old People Suck, To a Large Extent

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

Here I am at age 61, by the measure of someone under 40, an old person, and for me, that means I’m part of the group of people who generally suck. The people who are averse to change, stuck in routines, creatures of habit, and detached from the zeitgeist. This is mostly true of those I encounter who have pushed into the mid to upper 50s and beyond, but obviously, not all.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

Today, I became the 810,701st person to join the Pika Discord channel, though I’m the 75,180th member on Runway’s channel. What this means is that I’m late to the game. What game is that? It’s not the Olympics, baseball, football, or any other sport the masses obsess about. Pika and Runway are early leaders in the artistic text-to-image and image-to-image artificial-intelligence-driven generative video creation. These tools require me to refamiliarize myself with the processing side of things, looking at the next generation of GPUs from NVidia, NPUs from Intel and Qualcomm, and LPUs from Groq, promising to accelerate our race into AI. Then there’s the terminology such as LoRA (Low-Rank Adaptation), Diffusion Model, VAE (Variational Autoencoder), Checkpoints, GAN (Generative Adversarial Networks), ControlNet, NeRF (Neural Radiance Field), GPU Clouds, and new terms are emerging all the time.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

Inherent complexity is certainly at the center of this emergent field of creativity, with pundits on the side lamenting whether machine-generated art, writing, music, or video even qualifies as such. That part of the conversation is a non-starter as it negates the fact that iterative stages of all tools hold the potential to disrupt the comfort of those who’d prefer to maintain the status quo. I believe the alarmist side of the story is most appealing to the elderly, who fear change and are reluctant to experiment with things. They fear embarrassment if they are not adept at bringing on new skills.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

Along the way, I contend with those who want to insist that AI is a zero-sum game for humanity and will either fail or enslave and destroy us instead of simply being another tool that enhances how and what we people do. I suppose if one looks on from the observer’s point of view and listens to the talking heads trying to entice one’s senses to hysteria (since that’s what pulls the masses in), one might easily believe there is nothing of any lasting value in the scary futuristic world of human irrelevance. But if those same people could peer into an intricate node network of ComfyUI harnessing the community-driven tools of image manipulation or tune into trying Claude’s Sonnet, Meta’s Llama 3.1-405B, or Mistral Large 2 asking about the intersection of ideas between Thomas Pynchon, C.S. Lewis, and Oswald Spengler to see what thoughts these AI’s might inspire them to consider, they might see that humanity is opening a window to a deeper knowledge that could move culture forward in profound ways.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

Almost daily, there are advancements in tool evolution regarding video, music, writing, research, vision systems, medical diagnosis, and other areas of augmenting intelligence and pattern recognition that benefit from deeper thinking, just as the mass of humans would be doing if they, too, were exploring complicated systems instead of banal entertainments that absolve them of stepping into the minefield of potential failure of comprehension.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

But why am I picking on the elderly? Because I want co-conspirators in this exercise to fight against intellectual lethargy by turning over these brain cells in an attempt to maintain a semblance of plasticity in this aging gray matter in my head. Then, maybe instead of hearing their stupidity put on display in public as they speak of the dumbest shit imaginable, I’d be able to dip into their conversations and have them drop knowledge into my hungry mind. I have to thank social media and all of its ills for creating connections with those who are at the frontier of discovering and playing with things that are the furthest away from simple and easy. I’m not saying I always want to be mired in the trenches of difficulty, but the Marvel Universe, various television series, celebrity relationships, and political shenanigans are nothing more than distractions absolving the populace from advancing themselves.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

At this moment, I’m in the discovery process of learning ComfyUI. The basics are starting to make sense, but only slightly, and now I can decipher what the image notes at Civitai mean when they reference which Checkpoint version the artist is using, the prompts, LoRA trigger words, the sampler used, how the seed lends variation and just what kind of time and broad thinking is being invested by these artists. Demons, fire, nymphs, buxom anime girls, cyborgs, and tons of fantasy stuff are abundant and grab the attention of many, but some incredibly intricate and seductively beautiful works of art start to shake the obvious AI influences. When I watched my first tutorial about ComfyUI, I thought it was complex. Now I recognize that the basics were just that, and there is a universe beyond those starting points that boggles my mind. On the one hand, I’m overwhelmed, while on the other, I know that as the pieces come together, these times where infinity entices me to go further will leave me wondering why I ever thought any of this was as difficult as I wanted to imagine.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

I’m trying to say that the excitement is palpable, but the coherency of the objective must be kept in focus. With so many moving pieces in the intellectual process that’s driving activity, it’s often difficult to balance my interests. The initial thrill driving these explorations will fade, though I hope that should I acquire any new skills, I can utilize them to complement my current output. Regarding the prompt I utilized to have ComfyUI help me create this image, I’m at a loss as to how the mind of AI used its skills. I should also point out that all these images, except the last one, were created over the first week that I began learning to work with Stable Diffusion via the ComfyUI software, except for the last image of the blue mountains, which was made with Krita tied to ComfyUI.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

And what about my original premise that old people suck? It’s not because they are old. I’m also old. It’s that, by and large, they are incredibly boring, stuck in routines I cannot understand. Someone recently asked me, “Do you have any friends?” Without skipping a beat, I told this person, “No, not really in the way I’d call someone a friend.” I explained the difficulty of being an outlier who can’t share small talk about television, movies, sports, cars, guns, the gym, my children, or investments. Many of the older people I talk with are retired or are working because they don’t know what to do with their time. I’d guess that they are bored with television, movies, sports, cars, guns, and the gym, but it’s the only life they’ve known aside from being parents or being a reflection of their careers. The problem is vanity and pride stop them from attempting to learn things where they’d risk showing themselves as amateurs. Instead, they’d rather remain in their lanes of superficial knowledge where they’ve gathered friends stuck in the same rut.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

This post was growing as days went by where I’d not prepped the images for it due to various distractions, mostly AI stuff, and in the time since I began writing this, I’ve begun to understand how to paint in Krita with the help of ComfyUI and how to work with ComfyUI in Photoshop instead of being restricted with Adobe’s Firefly implementation. This is significant as a couple of weeks ago, I felt I wouldn’t be able to run these tools on my current laptop with its Nvidia RTX 3050 Ti and 4GB of VRAM, but while it’s slow, it works and has opened my explorations of the technology until I can acquire an RTX 5090 at the end of this year or early next year which will truly allow the capability of these complex interconnections to take flight.

Image made with the assistance of ComfyUI

I’ve lived through many milestone moments in the evolution of the personal computer industry, starting when the very first computers for consumers were sold. Then, in the 1980s, the first ideas of how these devices would harness multimedia gathered steam, such as when DPaint and Imagine 3D were released for the Amiga along with Desktop Publishing software called Quark on the Apple. Then, in the early 1990s, ProTools, Windows 3.0, Photoshop, and 3D Studio were catapults, but before being able to leave the 20th century, Windows 95 and the internet browser would change the world. Things stagnated for a bit, but with Windows 7, Adobe’s Creative Cloud, and smartphones, we were again being launched into a new world of the digital arts, with social media making its mark. A blip of virtual reality that went nowhere, along with blockchain technologies that are still widely misunderstood, came onto the scene. Today, AI is controversially evolving. Once again, we are at the cusp of a monumental shift when entire subcultures still outside the mainstream are adopting new technologies and language that will drift into common usage in the coming years. Still, for now, it is the bane of those who’ve heard the fear-mongering on the edges of this incredible technology.

AI Generated Mountains from Kria with ComfyUI

Having lived through these multi-generational changes since the 1970s, I’ve listened to the frightened yammerings of those afraid of great change, but here I am, fortunate enough to be alive to witness yet another seachange regarding the tools humanity has brought to bear. Not only do I get to watch the shift, but I’m also able to dabble with it all, maybe because I’m not too old and my level of suck hasn’t yet reached its zenith.

Addendum: Between the 21st and the 23rd of August, I learned more about the creation of LoRAs, but I’m leaving for vacation and won’t be able to focus on learning the process yet. When I return, I’ll have to find time to train a few, one on old family photos, another using the images we created when we were living in Germany making record and CD covers, and then one focusing on our travel photos, maybe one from the concert videos we shot back in the 1980s for that 4:3 grainy look of old TV.

Vagina Vitamins

Billboard for Vagina Vitamins in Phoenix, Arizona

This image was not generated in AI; it’s a real billboard in Phoenix, Arizona, that I wasn’t going to miss. As I don’t have my own vagina, I cannot know what vitamins would be necessary for such a thing, and Caroline hasn’t shared with me her regime of supplements for hers. Although, as I feel I’m rather observant (especially of that), I don’t believe it to be part of the German character to care if the old puss has gotten enough vitamin C this week. The sign does have me thinking back to 2007 when, traveling on the freeway, I photographed a billboard which had a Poop Doctor asking, “Are you as backed up as this traffic?” That was the first time I’d seen public advertising for constipation. How long (pun intended) before I see a billboard for Penis Minerals?