The Long Way Round – Trip 7

John Wise and Caroline Wise at King Coffee Roastery in Phoenix, Arizona

Happy Good Friday, and it is. I’d forgotten that Caroline would be off today, so last night, I was surprised for the second time to find out that we’d be able to leave for our weekend getaway whenever we chose. But this opened up a dilemma for which I wasn’t exactly ready. You see, all week, I’d been working on details regarding other trips by moving some days around, adding activities, deciding that we’d head out over the 4th of July into the Wasatch mountain range east of Salt Lake City, adding the Zuni reservation to the mix by nixing something else, and booking a night in a hogan in Monument Valley for the second time in 14 years. After juggling these hundreds of threads, I had to turn my attention to working out in greater detail just what we’d be doing this weekend.

We already knew that we were heading to Ajo, Arizona (garlic in Spanish) and then down to Organ Pipe National Monument for some hiking, but that was it. With a brain already fixated on travel plans, I brought up the map and knew almost immediately that we should simply go the wrong way. Instead of driving west, we’d go east. Ninety minutes east of Phoenix is Miami, and in Miami is Guayo’s El Rey, and at Guayo’s El Rey we’ll be stopping for lunch. A lunch of carne asada at my favorite place for just that.

After eating, will we backtrack? Heck no. We’ll drive another 10 miles east before turning south to make the long detour around Tucson before finally taking a quiet road to Ajo, where we are booked for the next two nights. But don’t go thinking that this was all I could come up with tomorrow; we’ll be having lunch at a grilled chicken stand in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, on the Gulf of California, though those details and the rest of today will have to wait for us to get underway. At the moment, we are sitting at King Coffee Roastery down the street from home while I’m starting today’s post, and Caroline is knitting away to finish the new pair of socks that she’s promising I’ll be wearing before the weekend is out.

No, seriously, I typically hate any food photos I shoot; well, the donuts a couple of weeks ago turned out okay, but I have no eye for shooting meat. But then I thought, maybe this is like nature images where nothing I capture ever even remotely is as appealing as what we experienced with all of our senses tuned to wonder, and that years from now, when for one reason or other, I can no longer enjoy the worlds best carne asada, I’ll be able to look back at this one and remember the sense of yummy it offered me, though the image of it was less than appealing.

The signs around town mention the poppies, but had we ever been in Miami to see them in bloom? Had we simply overlooked them, or were we so uninspired that day that we couldn’t be bothered? I do have to admit no small amount of annoyance after driving the road between Superior and Miami as speeding lunkheads plow aggressively over the winding roads as they impatiently need to arrive somewhere that always seems to be dictated by some kind of emergency if their driving is any indicator. It’s hard to stop and smell the flowers when survival and stress are wearing you down.

Today, with the decision to let time be damned, we took the long way around by going well out of our way to turn a 2.5-hour drive into a nearly 8-hour tour east, south, west, and a little bit north just so we could get out and smell the nearly scentless wildflowers of the Arizona Desert on a spring day.

I’ve never seen a thistle I didn’t like, though the same cannot be said after touching one of these spiny plants.

We’re on Arizona road number 77, traveling south; the astute might notice I’m looking north for this photo.

Oh, more wildflowers, we must pull over, or how else will we use all that time between lunch and the setting sun to occupy ourselves when today’s destination doesn’t hold a ton of things to do?

The reminder that the drive wasn’t all about grand vistas and flowers but included a good deal of brown, tan, lifeless, dull dirt, leafless plants, and desert stuff that isn’t always amazing in its repetition. Hmmm, that sounds cynical and like the words of someone failing to appreciate the complexity of what a desert embodies. I should never give in and take the world around me for granted; I, better than most, have a pretty good idea of the formation of our planet, the upheaval, and the chemistry that has been working over millennia to form every bit of organic everythingness that must be here for me to begin to make even the smallest of observations. So let me reframe this: wow, just look at this spectacular dirt being eroded right next to the road for everyone who passes to witness just one more bit of nature at work on our behalf.

Then the Santa Catalina range of mountains screams at me, “You even care a lick about that little bit of dirt roadside when this kind of majesty is here to astound you?”

After negotiating our way through the chaos of Tucson (Little Phoenix in its boringness), we were on the quiet and scenic Arizona Route 86 for the rest of our drive southwest through Sells before turning northwest on our way to Ajo.

And this is why you turn a 127-mile (205km) trip into a 341-mile (558km) meander, a great lunch, colorful wildflowers, terrific mountains, and a fantastic sunset.

But the sunset wasn’t over yet, with the shifting high clouds and the evolving glow of the horizon offering us a thousand beautiful views that changed with the curve of the road, the cactus in the foreground, and which part of the sky was capturing particular spectra of color.

Our motel is on the sketchy side, with the amenities not what they might have been at one time. With no soap or shampoo in the room, we had to track that down. Stepping back out of our room, we heard a commotion around the corner from the housekeeper and the girl from the front desk: they were dealing with a snake. It turned out to be a non-venomous western ground snake, a pretty reptile with its orange and black bands. It slithered away after we caught a glimpse of its snakeness, heading for a hiding place behind our room.

After we were done hunting snakes, we informed the ladies that we needed some supplies of the hygiene type and were offered the basics. What they couldn’t help with was the musty old smell of our room, but we don’t pay $77 a night on a weekend with high expectations anymore; after all, it’s no longer 2005.

With the A/C on and a window open, we took a walk out along the road under the full moon, the peaceful quiet of the desert broken by the sound of giant truck tires barreling down the road as the partiers were approaching the hour that the border into Mexico closes for the night. Trying to keep an eye open for snakes that might look for warmth out on the highway while being aware of speeding vehicles that might not see us, we strode along, enjoying the pleasant evening.

Back in our room, still too warm and funky, I turned to blog chores as Caroline tucked into the Kindle and her reread of Tracks by Robyn Davidson. None of this lasted very long, as we were tired following our marathon drive.

And so this was how trip number 7 of the year started out as we ventured into the desert for a mini-vacation close to home.

L.A. to Phoenix

Last night, somewhere about an hour after we went to sleep, the sound of a racing car engine woke me first. The squealing tires demanded I jump out of bed, quickly followed by Caroline. Our room on the third floor of the Garden Suite Hotel facing Western Avenue offered us the perfect view of the intersection at 7th Street and Western. What was going on down there took some time to decipher. The smell of burning rubber, a ton of smoke, roaring engines, and the sound of the crowd spilling into our room, but tired brains took a moment to compute that we were witnessing our first-ever sideshow, also known as a takeover.

Then it all starts to come together: someone disabled the street lights, there was a coordinated effort to shut down the streets in such a way that law enforcement wouldn’t easily reach the intersection, enough people showed up to make a sizable audience, and then the mayhem ensues. Get your tires smoking, turn into the circle, and hammer the gas. Passengers were hanging out of windows, and kids were darting into the middle of the street where cars encircled them, pouring smoke over everything. On the edges, other kids were trying to touch the cars when they weren’t jumping out of the way. This lasted nearly 15 minutes before a police helicopter showed up, and maybe 5 minutes after that, we could hear sirens from the approaching police. With the explosion of a large firework right in the intersection, things broke up, the crowd scattered, and cars pulled away in all directions, leaving us astonished at what we’d just seen.

Seven hours later, as we crossed the intersection, the smell of burned rubber was still present, and the idea that we heard, saw, and experienced what we did in the wee hours of last night felt like a dream.

Here we are across the street at Sun Nong Dan Korean restaurant that we visited last night. This is what $30 bought for breakfast compared to yesterday. First up was hot barley tea, followed by the banchan: kimchi (spicy), pickled radish (yummy), pickled onion with jalapeno (okay), garlic chive in sesame oil (oh my god, my mind is blown in amazement), and a side of brown rice (dyed purple with black rice!). Caroline ordered the Tta Roh Guk Bap (beef brisket with dried cabbage Soup), and I went for the Yuk Gae Jang (spicy beef & leek soup). Both had a good amount of spiciness to them; this wasn’t just some mild gochugaru added for coloring.

We were promised a partly sunny day, but all we see is gray, occasionally dark gray hinting at a chance for rain, but that won’t ruin our day as our dispositions are sunny enough. Hmm, I read those last six words and think I need to mash the backspace key and delete that cheese, but there’s a hint of truth there. You see, we always know we might be hit with unfavorable weather when we travel, but what exactly is unfavorable? Is cold, wet, windy, or too hot a negative for successful travel? Maybe this is why so many people think they need to go to Cancun, Hawaii, Ibiza, Tenerife, Miami, or other places at only particular times of the year. Well, that would be a setup for disappointment. All of today’s photos were shot under gray skies, that is, until we reached the Palm Springs area of the Californian desert on our way home when the sun finally emerged.

So now that you know the weather and our attitude towards it, I can share that we are at the Huntington Library and Garden in San Marino, California. In yesterday’s post, I wrote how we got our dates backward for when we were supposed to be here and at LACMA; well, the staff here at the Huntington had no problem exchanging the tickets and letting us enter right away, which was a big relief. Our first stop is at the library and this statue of Commodus (son of Marcus Aurelius and movie villain in the film “Gladiator”) as Hercules holding his son Telephus; I guess it’s kind of like the image of Trump as Rambo but also holding a baby Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Close-up detail of one of the original Gutenberg bibles that still exists. This volume printed on vellum is incomplete just as the majority of the 48 remaining bibles are, but lucky Caroline and I have also seen a complete copy at the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. and the one at the Austrian National Library in Vienna. Next time we are in Germany, I want to make a point of seeing the Frankfurt University Library copy that is also complete, and since I’ve also seen the one in Mainz, Germany, it’ll take me to have been in the presence of 10% of these old bibles from 1455.

An example of cross-writing where back in the days of expensive writing paper, the author would write their letter in the traditional top to bottom fashion and then turn the page 90 degrees to continue writing. This page at the Huntington Library wouldn’t be here if it didn’t hold significant historical importance; it is from Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein and wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley, written to her friend Marianne Hunt in 1819.

The stacking of coincidence to make for synchronicities isn’t lost on us. First, we go to Mexico City, and Caroline learns that it used to be a city surrounded by a lake. Then, yesterday at LACMA, we visited the Mixpantli exhibit that has a floor map interpreting the phase between Tenochtitlán becoming Mexico City. Now, here at the Huntington, Caroline spotted this map printed in 1524 of Tenochtitlán created as conquistador Hernán Cortés was causing the fall of the Aztec empire.

The various gardens here are part of the attraction for visitors who get to explore 130 of the 207 acres that comprise the grounds.

Couldn’t help but think of Kehinde Wiley’s presidential portrait of Barack Obama with this shot.

Inside the 55,000 square-foot Beaux-Arts mansion that Henry Huntington and his wife Arabella called their winter home. At other times of the year, you might have found them somewhere between mansions in New York or their home in Paris, France. Huntington made his fortune as a railroad magnate.

This is such a big, beautiful room, and normally down there at the end is the famous Blue Boy, a full-length portrait by Thomas Gainsborough painted in 1770, but it’s over in England on display until May 15 at the National Gallery in London. This is the first time the Blue Boy has been back in England in 100 years, and is likely the last time. In its stead is a modern interpretation commissioned by the Huntington of the Blue Boy by artist Kehinde Wiley. Interested in seeing what it looks like? Visit the Huntington; it’s worth your effort.

While there are more than a few paintings from Edward Bird here, it doesn’t seem like the artist ever gained the kind of reputation that would make his work extremely valuable.

This is a small overview of the very crowded Japanese garden. I know it doesn’t look that crowded, but I waited to get this photo with so few people in it, and like I said, it’s a small corner of it.

Next we headed to the new Chinese garden that was still under construction when we visited last. This place is perfect.

I might now be wishing for blue skies and sun, but I’d like to think that we’ll return here again and maybe on that day I can get a shot of this view in full glorious sunlight or maybe we’ll really get lucky and come back for a summer twilight visit

Part of the transition zone between the Chinese and Japanese gardens, I believe.

For Caroline.

Back at the Japanese garden, though, we are just skirting it on the way to the Australian corner of the Huntington.

Last time we were here, the bonsais were chained down as something pricey had been stolen; looking around now there are enough surveillance cameras to dissuade potential thieves, I hope. This bonsai is an elm tree.

Almost missed this plant and flower as it’s kind of away from the trail. Caroline first noticed the peculiar gray metallic leaves, and then, on our approach, there were maybe half a dozen blooms distributed between two of these giant Australian plants.

The squirrels seen across the grounds are fluffy, fat, and cute, but they are not the only wildlife.

Initially, I wanted to avoid the desert plants as I feel we see enough of them where we live, but obviously, we don’t live in all desert areas and my memory didn’t remind me of the opulent beauty on display here.

Are these edible?

There are thousands of impressions, if not millions more, here at the Huntington, but I can’t share them all. It was a toss-up if we’d even visit this garden as there’s also the nearby Descanso Gardens just 10 miles away in La Cañada Flintridge that we would like to return to. We are scheduled to return to Los Angeles in July, but it’s awfully hot here, so maybe we’ll swap an October trip to Chinle, Arizona, with that one?

Okay, time to go; we are both getting hungry here shortly before 2:00 p.m.

Yes, we bought fresh strawberry donuts from the world-famous Donut Man in Glendora, but we didn’t tuck into those right way; we are way more reasonable than that. After collecting dessert, we headed over to El Gallo Giro in Fontana, where we thought of stopping on Friday night before visiting the Northwoods Inn. In this case, our memories were far greater than the food we found today at this popular Mexican fast-food restaurant. On the other hand, the donuts were everything we’d hoped for and more.

We pulled off the freeway at Desert Center to find a brass plaque that noted the role of the town in the founding of Kaiser Permanente, but couldn’t find it. Now, at home writing this, I found an article from 2014 that already spoke of the theft of that sign. While we couldn’t find what we were looking for, we had this opportunity to look back west at a terrific sunset before continuing our way east to Phoenix as we continued to nibble on donuts and finish our coffees.

Going Down Douglas Way

Caroline Wise and John Wise starting a short road trip from Phoenix, Arizona

Leaving this Friday afternoon shortly before 3:00 p.m., our expectations of what we’d be able to accomplish before arriving at our destination in Douglas, Arizona, this evening were quite low. As a matter of fact, they were diminished even more because I was adamant that I was going to avoid a long stretch of the overly busy Interstate 10 by taking the AZ-87 south to Picacho Peak and meeting the I-10 there.

On the AZ-87 just south of Phoenix, Arizona

To our astonishment, this late day turned into an amazing day.

Selling ammo on the AZ-87 in Coolidge, Arizona

Initially, we passed this guy selling ammo next to the road and were flabbergasted. After so many roadside fruit and jerky stands, this was a first for us. We had to U-turn and U-turn again to get into position to snap the photo while hoping the guy wouldn’t have a problem with people driving by taking photos. After all, if he’s loaded with ammo, he might also be armed. To our foreign readers, can you believe this?

South of Benson on the AZ-80 at Sunset

While there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and we were in the middle of the desert south of Benson, Arizona, the clean orange glow of sunset demanded we stop for a photo before it grew too dark.

Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona

Getting into Douglas down in the southeast corner of Arizona, just a hop, skip and jump from Mexico, we easily found our hotel and fell in love with it. At 115 years old and only $110 a night, the historic Gadsden Hotel ranks as one of the cooler places we’ve stayed. The aspiring young woman named Marina, who’s training to be a firefighter, checked us in, gave us a solid dinner recommendation, and offered to give us a tour of a few features of the hotel after we returned.

Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona

We stowed our things in the room and headed out on a short walk in the cold air to a place just around the corner called Chatita’s Mexican Restaurant. Anticipating that we’d tip Marina for her gracious offer of giving us a tour, we made our way across the street to a Circle K as we needed an ATM. I’ve said it countless times here on this site: we always forget something.

Art Cars in Douglas, Arizona

We’d walked over 10th street to the Pan-American Avenue to get to dinner but decided to walk up 9th street to G Avenue, where the Gadsden is. What a stroke of luck, there were some people inside a storefront, mind you that it’s after 9:00 p.m. in this small town. Of course, I opened the door and asked for details about a couple of things we could see, this Beetle wasn’t one of them.

Art Cars in Douglas, Arizona

We were welcomed inside and offered a quick tour of this funky joint called Art Car World. We didn’t have long to truly admire these works of mobile and drivable pieces of art, as we had our other date and had to get back soon. We were graciously offered the opportunity to return Saturday or Sunday, and Hunter, the guy showing us this showroom of the extraordinary, even offered to open up early Sunday morning if that worked better for us after he heard we had to return to Phoenix that day. We settled on meeting him there at 8:30. I can’t wait to grab more photos and share some details and some of their plans.

Caroline Wise at the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona

Back at the Gadsden Hotel, Marina took us into the basement and showed us the space that was a speakeasy back in the 30s during prohibition. The bar is well stocked because it and the lounge can be rented for private parties these days. Around the corner from that were some working-girl quarters and an old smoking lounge for the guys. Drinks, cigars, and happy endings, what could be better?

Caroline Wise at the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona

How about a ride on an ancient Otis elevator? This is the original from 1907. There was other information shared, but it’s nearing midnight as I put these words down when the original idea was to wake early so we could drive up to Chiricahua National Monument for some hiking, but now we’ve added a walk on the Willcox Playa and a visit to the Whitewater Draw Wildlife Area in McNeal after learning that there’s a bunch of Sandhill cranes staying over there. A seriously surprising day compared to the idea that we’d drive south, grab some dinner, and go to sleep. I’m certain that tomorrow will be 872 times greater.

Family Time – Day 2

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Darkness and cold greeted us as we left our hotel, but the tradeoff was arriving at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge at the cusp of daybreak. We’ve been here before when it was even colder and the pond we are standing next to was frozen over. But who cares about some chilly weather when already knowing what to expect, we dressed appropriately in order to brave whatever the day had to offer us. The beautiful early morning reflections are not the primary reasons we are here adjacent to the White Sands Missle Range on the Rio Grande River.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Birds, we are here for birds, lots of them. This early, while finding our place in the Refuge, we are not specifically looking for sandhill cranes yet; that’s them standing over their reflections. Nope, we have other birds in our sights. If these first two images above were the best I would have captured while making this visit, I could have gone home happy to have experienced such beautiful sights.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

But we weren’t done witnessing the extraordinary, and then again, who would have driven 450 miles (725km) for only 10 minutes of such things? Not us; we were here to milk nature in order to imbibe this intoxicating mixture of elements from the sky, water, creatures, plants, dirt, sound, smell, and feel. Stirring this all to life was a still-invisible giant ball of fire which was sending us hints like the image above that it was on its way back, just like the snow geese.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

For a good half hour, the snow geese flew in from various corners around the refuge. For reasons beyond our human brains, these bird-brained elegant animals capable of flight choose to congregate here on this lake right before us. They squawk and chatter in a secret language to which the cranes don’t seem to pay any attention, but I do. I want to know what they are saying because after enough of them have come together in a giant love puddle of snow gooseness, they hatch a masterplan that is executed in an instant with a precision that boggles my mind.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

That instant arrives when thousands of snow geese launch themselves off the water and into the sky on their way to points across the landscape to forage for food that their advanced eye-sight is able to glean in ways that insinuate that my own vision might be inferior.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Into the fiery sky, they disperse while we, who will never know what the freedom of self-powered flight is like, stand in awe, gawking at the spectacle of a giant flock of birds.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

In a flash, only the cranes remain.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Well, not only the cranes, as incredible beauty continued hanging out with us hearty travelers who were trying our best to absorb every bit of the visual symphony the scenery was wrapping us in.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Hey, rogue goose, where has your flock gone or are you going solo taking your own path?

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Don’t hesitate to note the important stuff, as some knowledge is transitory, like these birds flying across the scene. What I’m trying to say is that I think we might be at another pond at this point, but I can’t be certain. I’ve looked at the landmarks in the background, but I’m at a loss to find any specificity of location. Does it really matter?

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

I’ll go out on a limb and claim that this murmuration of blackbirds are starlings, but if they really are, I can’t really know.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Sure, the grasses are brown, gold, reddish, and kind of yellow in a palette of fall and winter hues, as are the leafless dormant trees passing through this season, but should you choose to see stagnation, lack of life, or a general sort of dullness, you might be missing the bigger picture. On closer view, the landscape is full of potential and hints of what was in the months leading up to this perfect moment. To be honest, I, probably like you, find particular beauty in scenes such as what is pictured in the very top photo above, but I’d have to attribute that to the rarity of those sights found at dawn. Those early moments at the beginning of the day or the final glow of the last remnants after the sun has dipped below the horizon typically last less than an hour, while the midday light will remain with us for many hours, bathing what we look at in light that isn’t so nuanced and transitory.

Sadly, I can hardly see what personal details and characteristics wild animals have to offer aside from their presence. Obviously, I can tell babies and juveniles from adults, but I cannot comprehend the rarity of them in this environment as I can when relying on photographs where the aging process and choice in clothes convey what stage or point in life the person was. While Jane Goodall was lucky enough to live with apes long enough to identify their personalities and people who have pets learn those animals’ characteristics, I cannot take up a spot here at the refuge where I might encounter the same snow goose or crane on a day to day basis. Instead, I’m stuck with these two loons.

And for loons, there’s only one place to eat while in Socorro, New Mexico and that’s right here at the El Camino Family Restaurant where little more than 12 hours ago we had dinner. Then, in another 8 or 9 hours from now, we’ll be right back here for dinner again, but right now, on this wonderful Christmas morning, we are grabbing breakfast.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

We’d discussed heading north to visit the Salinas Pueblo Missions National Monument series of church ruins but instead opted to return to the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge (by the way, Bosque is pronounced “bohs-kee” in these parts. We came back for some of the trails we’d never walked before.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

And the man said unto nature, “We humans, in our generosity, have carved out this fraction of the domain your ancestors once knew, but we are not heartless to your plight of a shrinking domain, so here, take this river bottomland we are not interested in and call this home.” Up here on this cliffside, we assumed our perch over the kingdom of creatures so we might better sense the rule of all that is below. This is the joy of being GODS.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

So, if you are the god you so arrogantly claim, how about you demonstrate that lofty position and chow down on this yummy cactus paddle as the javelinas do?

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Or might you be so humble as to organize the atomic and molecular structure of the universe to produce plants just like the force of evolutionary nature does?

Oh, I see how it is; we are here to sow destruction, create entertainment that satisfies our boredom of being horrifically aware of our existence, and steal what we can from all that is or might be as it feeds our sense of superiority. The depth required to be true creators and stewards is elusive to our puny-spirited population of idiots. But not us; we are here on Christmas Day to tread lightly, eschew entertainment and the consumerist experience to find the enchantment nature is putting on display in crazy abundance, delight in this brief moment of existence, and through it all, we hope that we’ve not intruded upon the potential of other life to indulge in another perfect day too.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

While we were here at the Bosque, we walked along, chatted, and obviously took a significant number of photos, maybe too many. Then again, these images capture precisely the world as it looked to us, and as such, they appear unique as they coincide with our memories, whereas someone else’s photo taken on a different day won’t strike the same notes as these will. True, there are images I’ll share here that fail to readily demonstrate in an apparent way why I thought there was something extraordinary about the view and would certainly fail to compel someone else to walk in our footsteps, but they sing to my memories. As others go into their unfolding world using the luxury of digital photography and even a rudimentary ability to write, I’d like to encourage people to record their world in this slow medium, meaning not using video, and then, years down the road revisit these documents and appreciate just how amazing your own memory is in bringing you back to something that might have otherwise been long forgotten.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Hello, future recollections of that day back at the end of 2021 when Caroline, Jessica, and I strolled through this wildlife refuge under fluffy white clouds set against a deep blue sky, and with the sounds of birds in our ears, we just walked along with nowhere else to be.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Maybe in that sense, we were much like these deer who couldn’t have cared about the larger world outside of their immediate experience. They were in the moment having deer thoughts and doing deer things just as we were having human moments doing human things, totally unconcerned with what was happening in the larger outside world beyond being right here.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Screwbean mesquite is a species of the tree that, as far as I can determine with 2 minutes of research on Google, will have that mesquite flavor desired by grillers across the southwest. As for the beans, I’m going to invite Caroline during her editing of this post to learn about the cooking potential they might have and share what she finds. [Screwbean mesquite pods are edible, particularly ground into flour that is gluten-free and nutrient-rich. However, other mesquite species are said to be more flavorful. – Caroline]

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

The Rio Viejo trail follows a former riverbed of the Rio Grande that’s now on the other side of a berm to our far left. In its stead is this trail, the screwbean mesquite trees, along with a bunch of cottonwoods. At this time of day, though, there weren’t many birds here.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

But there was a group of javelina coming out of the nearby brush, and as we stood silently, allowing them to do and go about their business, they slowed down, checked us out, and continued on their way.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

We counted eight javelinas in this squadron (I looked that up). Walking out of the bush and prior to sensing us, they were preoccupied foraging for whatever it was they were sampling from the forest floor. I’m guessing we were afforded the close encounter with these peccaries due to the direction the wind was blowing, but when they got within about 20 feet of us, they’d stop, and while looking straight at us, their snouts started frantically wiggling as though they were evaluating the potential threat in front of them that they likely could barely see. Lucky us, we could see them all quite clearly, but unfortunately, they never were in the right position for us to gather a good sniff of their musky stink that earned them the nickname skunk pigs.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

We’ve continued up the dirt road going north to position ourselves near the Coyote Deck. From here, we’ll just hang out a good long while before continuing the loop toward where our day began.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

From corners far and wide, the geese are heading back to the safety of the ponds where they can pull up their pillows and get some rest, safe from the coyotes that would gladly make feasts of the abundance of these feathery treats.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Just as we were about to head back to the hotel so we could catch something or other on TV, maybe some football, even more birds came flying in. Don’t you just hate it when you know there’s something worthwhile on the television and nature keeps interrupting you from getting back to the important stuff, like watching all of those old Christmas movies you’ve already seen dozens of times before because It’s a Wonderful Life is just that great? Yeah, well, I was being cheeky, and although it’s Christmas day and the romantic drivel of consumer-driven merrymaking is supposed to be all the rage along with this fakey nostalgia for such ugly, repetitive nonsense, I’d rather tell you to go stuff yourself regarding traditions…watching wild birds in the air rocks while roasted geese on your table are sad and tragic, just like your pathetic lives in front of idiot boxes.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Everything in that paragraph above was written by my wife, Caroline, against my wishes as I would never take such Scrooge-like digs at this Great American Holiday, which represents the best of what we have to offer as a free and decent people. As a matter of fact, I regret that we skipped out of Phoenix for years so we could avoid my mother during Thanksgiving, as who wanted to be part of that shit show?

Editors Note: Again, my wife has taken certain liberties with this last sentence to make me appear as some kind of crude curmudgeon with a broken sentimentality organ. I would never talk ill of the dead.

Note of Truth: Okay, so I take full responsibility for all of the text in this post, but after writing for the 28 photos that preceded this descent into farce, I just couldn’t come up with nice flowery things to continue rambling about the refuge and our delight at being here. So, I took a tangent, but after 2,000 words and so many photos, there’s NO WAY anyone is still reading this; even the Google indexing algorithm probably dipped out about a thousand words ago.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Hey John, instead of turning this obviously wonderful experience into a tragic parody of some poorly executed attempt at humor, why not just delete some photos, consolidate the text, and make this easier on all of us? My best answer is, when I was choosing photos in the days leading up to the point I’d start writing, I was certain that I required every single photo I’d chosen because each had the potential to be great if only I could add some meaningful poetic musings to elevate them. Instead, I’ve, in effect, maligned the magnificence of these cranes, some geese, too, as I channeled grumpy John.

Then again, do I really look all that grumpy? By the way, my daughter used to have the world’s stinkiest feet. We recently learned it could have been due to a type of bacteria that apparently also affects dogs, so if I were a betting man, I’d say my weird-ass daughter likely played footsy with her dogs back when they were still alive. I point out their life status as after staying with her in more than a few hotel rooms this year; we’ve not had one gacking moment, not even a little one. That’s my daughter in the middle for those of you who don’t know, and maybe I should also point out finally that she blogs, occasionally as poorly as I do, over at TheJessicaness.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Bright golden grass growing out of the shallow waters of this pond with the sun setting couldn’t be left behind. Writing that, I can’t help but think about how often I have wanted to leave my daughter and her rotting feet behind, but something compelled me to keep dragging her along. Ha, no, that didn’t happen; she’s married, and lucky for me, her husband Caleb somehow adapted to enduring the wretched stench of a magnitude compared to which even my farts smelled subtle and nearly insignificant. But enough of this airing of dirty feet on my eloquent and lovely blog I’m soiling with remembering my daughter just this way on Christmas; I’ll move on, I swear.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Sunset is coming, which means we are about to leave for dinner, and I have nothing else to say.

Bosque del Apache near Socorro, New Mexico

Really, nothing. Okay, here’s a Merry Christmas, but that’s it.

North To Utah As Alaska Is Too Far

The day starts like any other day on the streets of Phoenix, Arizona. Shortly after 5:30 in the morning, Caroline and I find ourselves checking out the Christmas lights. We won’t have a lot of time to dawdle as after the sun rises, one of us will be staying home, and the other of us will be heading up the road to Utah, as why not?

Brinn shows up on time, but before we start the endurance test of our butts, backs, and hips, we have to stop in at King Coffee, a regular stop for coffee for me and occasionally for Brinn too. This is not King Coffee.

As a matter of fact, we’re no longer anywhere near Phoenix but well north of Flagstaff by this time. An abandoned old motel in Gray Mountain has become a bit of an art project, well, the outside, anyway.

The inside of what remains of this roadside lodge is now questionable at best, sketchy at least, and interesting in some weird way like so many of the rotting remains from another age one finds while driving around America.

Fresh blacktop slicing a deep black trail across the red and gray desert makes for an interesting contrast, but the poverty up here still retains the same bleak hostility of neglect that economic isolation puts on the population of these native lands.

We were able to catch some rafters passing under the Navajo Bridge that crosses the Colorado River here in Northern Arizona. Minutes ago, we were able to watch one condor perched on the girders of the opposite bridge while four others were flying about further downriver. With five of these birds on view and sadly unable to capture an adequate image of these majestic rare birds, I’d like to think that their reintroduction to the Canyon system 25 years ago is looking successful.

I tried yelling down to this private trip of river rafters, but their music was too loud to hear anything else, so I don’t believe they heard me informing them about condors just ahead.

There are people who raft rivers who would look at this photo and know exactly where I’m going next.

John Wise at Lees Ferry Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Yep, Lees Ferry, a.k.a. mile marker zero in the Grand Canyon National Park and the starting point for Colorado River adventures that depart from right here.

Lees Ferry Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

The first riffle of white water in the Grand Canyon. Eleven years ago, when we first passed over this minor speed bump, from my perspective in the front of a dory, this was as terrifying as anything I could imagine. It turned out that this was nothing compared to what lay ahead. Read about that day starting at THIS LINK.

Our little two-day road trip is taking us up through the Vermillion Cliffs and will have us pass by the shuttered-for-the-season turn-off to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Good thing Lefevre Overlook isn’t popular with influencers yet because when Brinn and I pulled in, there was nobody else here enjoying the view. It wasn’t for lack of traffic as all day we’d been surrounded by those racing to get somewhere fast while this gray-haired old man plodded along, oblivious to how many middle fingers might have been thrown my way. The truth is that I don’t have time to race across the landscape failing to see more than a few of the details as one never knows how often they’ll pass through parts of a country not exactly convenient to visit.

The view from Lefevre Ridge.

Brinn Aaron in Utah

Brinn in Utah. Yesterday, while he and I were out between Superior and Globe down in central Arizona, he’d mentioned Utah a few times, so I had to ask, why? He’d never been to Utah, which was when, after a few minutes of thinking about that, I asked if he’d like to head up this weekend. Obviously, he agreed.

While we didn’t take the opportunity to have some “Ho-Made” pies, we did fill up on gas at the station next door, snapped a photo, and waved to our left as Zion National Park was not on today’s agenda. We are still heading north. According to an old blog post, Caroline and I first passed this place nearly 20 years ago.

Bryce National Park seems to come to mind.

After our stop at the old motel, a half-hour at Navajo Bridge, another half-hour (or so) detouring to Lees Ferry, and lunch at the Marble Canyon Restaurant, the remaining light of day is quickly escaping us.

While hints of what was to come tomorrow were able to be gleaned in the last moments of twilight, we arrived in Bryce just outside the national park when it was well dark and getting mighty cold.

A Walk Around Frankfurt

John Wise in Frankfurt, Germany

While Katharina and Caroline are spending a day together, I’m using the sun and nice weather to take a walk around Frankfurt. Be forewarned here that this blog entry is going to be a lengthy post due to the inclusion of 60 photographs taken along the path I walked. Even if I should go lightly on the text, you have a lot of scrolling ahead of you.

U-Bahn in Frankfurt, Germany

Before I got on the U-Bahn at Zeilweg, I studied the train map and was considering heading to an outlying town or even jumping on a train to Koblenz, but at the last second, I decided for this large circle around Frankfurt to see even more of the city I lived in for years and in some ways hardly knew. I exited at the Dornbusch stop and needed to head underground below the street in order to find my way to the part of the intersection that was going to be my starting point.

U-Bahn in Frankfurt, Germany

From Eschersheimer Landstrasse and Dornbusch, I turned to the west, and I was soon on Wilhelm-Epstein Strasse in the direction of Ginnheimer Landstrasse. I’ve not zoomed in far enough into the map to know yet where I’ll turn, but somewhere out there, I’ll continue my walk south until I cross the Main River before turning east and figuring things out once I make it that far. To the north, some heavy rain clouds loom, but I’m hoping they remain out there or dissipate over the course of the day. On with my walk…

Frankfurt, Germany

As I said, the weather is on my side so far. I’m not looking to photograph monuments or even unique views from various points around the city but only share some of its character as seen on a continuous trek, taking a wide berth around the city center.

Frankfurt, Germany

Mundane things like the sidewalk are shared as I often fail to capture these unique footpaths that are typically so very different than their American counterparts.

Frankfurt, Germany

Residential neighborhoods often change quickly and can have a very different character, even from one side of the street to the other.

Frankfurt, Germany

Frankfurt has integrated a judicious amount of green space into the layout of the city, making walking all the more pleasant. On my left and over the short wall nearly out of sight is the Bockenheimer Friedhof (Cemetery), where I’m turning south.

Frankfurt, Germany

There are so many pathways crisscrossing Frankfurt where, for a time you leave the big city of business and banking.

Kleingarten in Frankfurt, Germany

Skirting a cemetery on one side and small garden plots (the formal name is Kleingarten) seen across Frankfurt, I stop for a photo of a garden when a very friendly older man offers to open the gate for me to grab some better photos. I was surprised at the gesture and need to put that in the column of “Germany Improving For The Better!”

Graffiti in Frankfurt, Germany

Sure, there’s a lot of ugly graffiti scrawled across Frankfurt am Main (Frankfurt on the Main River), especially the scribbles and curses on apartment buildings, but there is also some beautiful work that is often allowed to stand a good long while before some knucklehead comes along and disrespects it. [I did some follow-up on this mural, and it turns out that Helga Wally, pictured above, was a deeply respected and trusted person in the Frankfurt street art scene. She passed away in 2019, and this is her memorial – Caroline]

Frankfurt, Germany

By this time I’ve been walking along some train tracks for a while now.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s a certain fluidity of economic status sprinkled across this city, and while there are pockets of incredible wealth, there are also diamonds in places you’d never suspect. At first blush, the casual visitor might not recognize the diversity of architectural treasures in Frankfurt, ranging from the Fachwerk (Half-Timber) of Römerberg to the high-rises (nearly unique to Europe), it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the big picture. Getting out on foot or by bike, one can peer into the tiny corners of this city.

Frankfurt, Germany

This is the train stop for Frankfurt am Main West that I traveled to often when Caroline and I had an office nearby on Volta Strasse.

Frankfurt, Germany

Keeping Google Maps open on my phone is eating my battery, so I’m reluctant to do any serious route searching that would keep me in green areas; plus, I wanted my walk to represent some of the many facets of this city. So, on occasion, I’m walking along larger roads or on narrow sidewalks I’d prefer to avoid, but this is the only way to share a diversity of views I suppose.

Frankfurt, Germany

I can no longer remember the street name, or if this is the main road that connects to the A3 Autobahn as it’s been far too long since I drove these streets regularly, but if my memory isn’t betraying me, that’s exactly what this thoroughfare is doing.

Frankfurt, Germany

This area through Gallus just south of Messe is the work of a massive undertaking where Frankfurt reclaimed railyards in order to build an entirely new area of apartments, offices, and shops that stretched behind me and over to the highrise in front of me.

Lunch at Central Grill in Frankfurt, Germany

Around the West End of Gallus, I end up at the intersection of Hufnagelstrasse and Mainzer Landstrasse for lunch at another location of the Turkish restaurant Central Grill. I’ve ordered a Tantuni Teller based on a photo that looks like something I’ve never tried before. Chopped meat, tomato, parsley, and onions wrapped in something a bit thicker than a tortilla covered in a yogurt sauce with a side of spicy peppers and a couple of wedges of lemon, lecker (yummy).

Frankfurt, Germany

This is the old gate tower in Galluswarte that once helped control traffic in and out of the old walled city of Frankfurt. The gate tower in my head that directs writing has to multitask at times like this when I’m actually writing this paragraph on the morning of September 14, two days after I embarked on this walking tour. Earlier, on this day in the future, when this is being penned, I was writing of the events of September 11 as we were leaving Geisenheim. I’d finished it before arriving in Marburg, where I was going to spend the first part of the day, but that became a boondoggle you can read about two days from now and so I wrote a bit about that failed adventure before turning to this post which is far from done. But enough of this half-hearted lament, let’s return to the walk around Frankfurt.

Frankfurt, Germany

This stretch of road feels bleak. Maybe it’s from being below things, or maybe it’s the industrialesque environment near the rail lines that run nearby?

Frankfurt, Germany

On bicycles and scooters, you see a lot of people with Wolt and Lieferando boxes on their backs as they race around delivering food.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s more to the story here than meets the eye. Yes, this is a blackberry, and yes, I ate it, but this wasn’t where I wanted to be. I took a path hoping there’d be a trail where I wanted it to be, but fate would have it that I found a dead end. It didn’t have to be, but I’m 58 years old, and crossing four rail lines and hopping a fence to reach the pedestrian side of a rail bridge didn’t seem like the brightest of ideas and telling others that in old age, we should be cultivating no small amount of wisdom seemed to fly in the face of my advice.

Graffiti in Frankfurt, Germany

So I turned around and took the proper trail down under a bridge and over to the other side where I could practice adulting.

ICE Train in Frankfurt, Germany

It’s strange how someone can live in a city for years and never have crawled over a fraction of the places that are available to touch upon. From all the years I lived in the area to our multiple visits here in the intervening years we’ve been calling Arizona home, I’ve never walked over the rail bridge on the west side of Frankfurt. By the way, back when I was in my 20s, I never gave a second thought to running over the tracks and flirting with death, though I was pretty conservative as to when exactly I’d make a run for it.

Frankfurt, Germany

This area near the main power plant for Frankfurt has undergone a dramatic transformation since we left the city in 1995 and has seen some high-scale upgrades along the river with million-dollar apartments the rule.

Frankfurt, Germany

Millionaire or pauper, everyone has access and the need to travel the same pathways through the city.

Frankfurt, Germany

It’s not every day you see a sailboat on the Main River.

Frankfurt, Germany

I had to skirt the bulwark of a university hospital that runs next to the river before turning south in Sachsenhausen.

Frankfurt, Germany

Another new find on my exploration of streets never walked before, there are more than a few consulates in this area, this one being Pakistan’s.

Frankfurt, Germany

Don’t want to forget the small things as I focus on the bigger ones.

Frankfurt, Germany

There’s a line drawn between high-rise apartments that are desired and those that must be avoided. All too often, these midrise addresses are relegated to affordable housing that, just as in all cities, draws in some unfortunate souls, often prone to aggression due to their limited intellectual capacities to see a future. Shit parenting is the same everywhere.

Frankfurt, Germany

Besides being a haven for an incredible number of bees, this bush-covered multi-story tower of dubious utility belongs to a Korean church; nothing else is known.

Chestnut Tree in Frankfurt, Germany

Try to find food growing wild in America, other than blueberries in Maine and some rare berry finds in California and Oregon; we’ve been hard-pressed in our efforts to sample free things across the United States. Here in Germany, outside of traveling by car, we are stumbling across berries, apples, apricots, and now chestnuts [Sorry, John, these are an ornamental variety. – Caroline].

Frankfurt, Germany

While I know that my entire walk will have come in just over 24 kilometers (roughly 15 miles), I don’t know where I was in that distance at this point. I’ve been on Mörfelder Landstrasse for a while now, that much I know.

Frankfurt, Germany

Two people, age unknown, are memorialized here after they died back on February 13 of this year. I can only imagine they were trying to cross this major thoroughfare and that someone traveling way too fast didn’t see them. A sad and tragic moment along my walk.

Frankfurt, Germany

Street trams are known by numbers such as this one numbered 18, as opposed to U-Bahns that run underground and above ground but have a “U” designation before their number.

Frankfurt, Germany

Visiting a friend? You’ll have to find their name on one of the buttons and press it to buzz them, and then they can unlock the door from their apartment and let you in. Most of these apartments that are less than six floors do not have elevators so tenants and visitors often get a good amount of stair climbing in per day. Add to those stairs that the train system also features platforms that require people to scale heights and climb down into the depths of subways so legs are always getting a good workout.

Frankfurt, Germany

While much of central Frankfurt north of the Main River was destroyed in World War II, I have the impression that a lot of Old Sachsenhausen remained intact. Maybe this is due to the area being permanently drunk, such as the man who’s drunk himself into such a pickled state that when he falls down, he simply bounces a while before settling into his stupor. Yep, I am suggesting this part of the city is that inebriated.

Frankfurt, Germany

If this is postwar architecture and I was wrong about Sachsenhausen, or this was all rebuilt, we’ll let Caroline weigh in on the matter. [Definitely not postwar, John – Caroline]

Frankfurt, Germany

Let me not forget that shopping is distributed throughout Frankfurt; even in residential areas, there are small shops here and there or, at a minimum, a small kiosk, which is a small convenience store.

Frankfurt, Germany

Spring, summer, and early fall streetside dining is often an option in Germany especially these days of the pandemic. There’s one downside of eating out in the fresh air: it’s not fresh as Germany hasn’t given up smoking in areas where people eat. It’s not uncommon for four people at the next table to light up just as your food is being delivered. Back when we lived here, people smoked everywhere except on trains, and even that wasn’t always observed.

Frankfurt, Germany

Of course, there’s no need for anyone else to walk 24 kilometers around a city as with so many options to get to where one wants to get, Germany is nothing if not convenient for options. From car-sharing, scooters, bike rentals, subways, trams, taxis, inter-city trains, and, of course, feet, it’s easy to travel these lands.

Frankfurt, Germany

Need a free book? Small libraries packed with donations from people in the neighborhood are hosted across the region. I’m not sure Germany’s Little Free Library is part of that system, but it’s effectively the same thing.

Frankfurt, Germany

On a Sunday morning, you’ll see a lot of evidence of the festivities held the night before. It’s quite common to see young people walking around with open bottles of alcohol, getting tipsy as they stride into the night. The next day, empty bottles and broken glasses litter the landscape.

Frankfurt, Germany

I’m losing steam as I reapproach the Main River. Caroline and Katharina are done visiting Jutta, and while Katharina needs to head back to Darmstadt, Caroline and I are going to meet for dinner.

Frankfurt, Germany

With Caroline coming from Römer and where I was on Schweizer Strasse, it made sense to meet in the middle.

That middle was on Eisener Steg over the Main River.

Frankfurt, Germany

Our dinner date was at Apfelwein-Wirtschaft Fichtekränzi in Sachsenhausen; not the first time we’ve eaten here.

Frankfurt, Germany

I’m tired but not willing to call it quits yet; I’m going to drive on with our path going by Eis Christina as I’m drawn in by the promise of my favorite spaghetti eis.

Frankfurt, Germany

Can you smell the reek of piss and beer? They call that Old Sachsenhausen.

Sunset over Frankfurt, Germany

Back over the Main River with a view we never tire of, sunset over Frankfurt.

Frankfurt, Germany

I’ve seen a lot of things on the street, but never a growling, unintelligible woman living in a cage. I thought I’d be stealthy and zip around the front of her after walking behind the sidewalk-blocking enclosure so I could snap a photo of the creature that lives within but she was having none of it. Armed with a sharpened stick, she gave me the finger and raised her weapon; I thought better of my naive move and retreated as I wasn’t in the mood to risk losing a testicle.

Frankfurt, Germany

No part of some stinking Democratic or Republican party, Flora Gessner is full-on part of the Pirate party and is running for office, taking no prisoners.

Frankfurt, Germany

Ooh, my lucky day as the yarn store is closed, but hey Caroline, at least you have this photo of what you couldn’t buy.

Spaghetti Eis in Frankfurt, Germany

Oh yeah, spaghetti eis a.k.a. vanilla ice cream pressed through a spaetzle doohickey onto a layer of whipped cream and topped with strawberry sauce and parmesan cheese, I mean white chocolate pieces. I can’t tell you why the appearance of spaghetti makes this better, but it does.

Frankfurt, Germany

Sure, there was a temptation by now to jump on this train and speed our way to Dornbusch, but with so little to go on my long walk around Frankfurt, I’m not about to quit now.

Capri Restaurant in Frankfurt, Germany

When I first arrived in Germany in 1985, the American Post Exchange, or PX, was just down the street from here. While the U.S. military presence is long gone, Capri Pizza soldiers on. Serving burgers, pizza, and more, it’s been here so long that the phone number on the sign reflects an age gone by as it’s listed as 59 95 95. Those days are gone, and from the recent reviews of Capri, they should be gone, too.

Frankfurt, Germany

Across the street from here is the Hauptfriedhof, or main cemetery. I’ve never visited it and won’t find the time to do so on this trip unless we scale the wall here late in the evening.

Frankfurt, Germany

Meet Onkel Otto wearing his mask to lend weight to the need for Germans in the Hessen area to wear theirs. Uncle Otto is the mascot or was the mascot for Hessischer Rundfunk (Hessen TV).

U-Bahn in Frankfurt, Germany

And here we are where I started earlier today, having made a full circle. With almost 32,000 steps, 24 kilometers (15 miles), and more than 6 hours of registered activity on my Fitbit, this was my view of Frankfurt.

Walk around Frankfurt

If you’d have asked me 30 years ago if this were possible, I would have thought absolutely not. In my perception of Frankfurt, it was as big as Los Angeles or any large city I’d been in, but the truth is that density, architecture, and street size deceive the naive mind. This opens up the crazy idea that the 34 days needed to walk from Flensburg in the north to the southernmost German town of Sonthofen could be a possibility.