The Wine Commonsewer™

Horseshoe Bend

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

Throwback Thursday: It's only a little more than a half mile hike out to Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado River below Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell. But, when the temps are in triple digits, the afternoon sun is set to 'broil', and you're wearing sandals, it *seems* a little further.

I really needed a wide angle lens to fully capture the entirety of Horseshoe Bend.

Behind Mrs TWC™, there is a sheer drop of several hundred feet and there's no rail or fence to prevent a plunge into the abyss. Though she is manifestly unimpressed, she smiles and appears calm. Be advised, however, she's in full Mom Mode and has carefully positioned herself between her children and the precipice.

June 19, 2004

As Ever,

Leaving Lost Wages (Sanity Retention on the Drive Back to So Cal)

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

The key to a relatively painless car ride across the vast Mojave Desert from Las Vegas to LA Metro on a Sunday is to get the heck out of Dodge early.

By the time I packed my trash, got downstairs, forked up a half-hour's wages for an overpriced dark roast~~leave some room for cream, thankee, and got out of the parking structure, it was already 7:37 AM. That's not too bad. There was a bit of traffic on Metro I-15, but it was rolling. I hit a few knots of traffic caused by knotheaded drivers on some of the antiquated stretches in California. Here's the thing; if there is a mile of empty road ahead of you in the fast lane and 15 cars stacked up in your rear view, you need to get out of the way.

Even with the photo-op at Halloran Springs, a fuel stop, and a crappy mid-morning burger at Chit-In-The-Box, I was home and unpacked before noon. Under four hours actual drive time. Bonus: 34 mpg in Mrs TWC's Sonata at speeds that are pretty much legal in Montana and Utah.

That's sunrise in Las Vegas as seen from our room at Planet Hollywood, which is pretty dilapidated and desperately in need of an upgrade to the 21st Century. Many of the rooms are dark and dingy with poor lighting, which helps hide the overall shabbiness. PH upgraded us to a suite at the end of the hall. Securing the inner door silenced the din from the gorram drunks staggering down the hall, screaming and slamming doors in the middle of the night. WTH is wrong with these people? 

By my way of thinking, one definition of Post Modernism is sitting in dead stopped traffic in the middle of the Mojave Desert anywhere between the Nevada border and Cajon Pass. In part, the fault lies with Cal-Trans and dates to the first Moonie administration, which took the position that the more excruciating driving becomes for Californians, the more likely it is that they can be driven from their cars and onto mass transit. Pun intended. Certainly, there have been some improvements, notably between Barstow and Victorville, where truck lanes and lane restrictions have ended the practice of one truck lumbering along at 54 mph in the fast lane while passing another truck in the slow lane that's zipping along at 53 mph. On an upgrade. All of these improvements are welcome, but they are decades late and not sufficient to ease Sunday afternoon traffic jam headed west.

As Always,

The Road Home From Green River

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

Starting at the end seems like a fine place to begin.

When the bucket list wilderness river adventure concluded, it was a 13 hour ride from Green River to home (659 miles). Even still, that looks like an average of almost 51 mph which included 3 power naps, 4-5 gas stops, 3-4 sanity stops, and 1 stop to check the trailer brakes. A perplexed look crossed The House Blond's face when I mentioned taking three naps. I reminded her that the truck has cruise control.

I can't recall the last time I put that many miles on the odometer in one day. These days, I can barely make the four hours to Cottonwood Cove without nodding off.

Got hosed by Whiskey Pete at Stateline*. $3.40 a gallon. Should have gotten gas outside of Lost Wages where I misread the exit number on the billboard and missed the exit. Other than that gas priced out between $2.35 and $2.59. Even in Californicate. Whiskey Pete's is where you can see the bullet riddled corpse of Bonnie and Clyde's 1934 Ford.


It turned out that the temps from St George to the casa were about 15-18 degrees cooler than the trip up. Coulda done without the blasted headwind, though. There were gutsy* winds all the way from Central Utah to home and it just go worse as the day wore on. That boat is brutishly heavy and lacks any semblance of aerodynamics. It's mostly like towing one of those limestone blocks pyramids were built with through deep, wet sand. 

Didn't realize until going home that the 15 is pretty much a down grade from the 70 to Nevada. That was nice. Plus it was cool and it rained some in Central Utah.

Somewhere south of Beaver, Utah

*purposefully misspelled

Photo courtesy of Whiskey Pete's

Death car image courtesy of these guys.

*We locals informally refer to what is now called Primm Valley as Stateline, which is not to be confused with the other Stateline, Nevada that is adjacent to South Lake Tahoe.

As Always,

Don't Text And Fly

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

On a recent road trip to visit my father in the hospital, TWC spotted this on Milnes Road in Stanislaus County near Modesto in California's vast and thirsty Central Valley. Water has been scarce here and if El Niño fails us this winter, your food may become scarce as well. 

 

As Always,

Zion As A Thunderstorm is Breaking Up

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

We'd spent the morning in Silver Reef, Utah, a ghost town northeast of St George. Silver Reef was unique in that it was about the only place in Utah where Catholics and silver were to be found. Although our intent was to mosey over to Grafton, another relic of the old west, reality sidestepped that plan.

Oh Look! Wonder where that road goes? And, just like that, we ended up on Kolob Reservoir Road, a narrow, back road skirting a canyon that separates Zion from open ranch land. We were treated to a spectacular lightning show and pummeled by heavy rain, which was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Later the downpour blew sideways, washing off a couple of weeks of road dirt. Gotta say, the truck looked better than when Lenny Dykstra's crew pretended to wash it.  

As Always,

TWC 🍷

Photo Credit: ©TWC, all rights reserved

I Am The God of Hell Fire & I'll See Arizona in Flames

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

Fortunately, while on the Great American Road Trip (Summer of 2009), we made it a point to meander down many roads less traveled. That included Highway 191 from The Painted Desert to Wilcox, which parallels the New Mexico border through the White Mountains and follows part of Francisco Coronado's trail as he searched for the Seven Cities of Gold.

For weeks the searing conflagration consumed everything in its path with a furor, reminding us all that this *is* the Devils Highway, the southern portion of old Route 666.

Looking West From Old Route 666

This road wanders for several miles southeast of Route 666, gradually rising into the mountains and ended not far from where these deer are foraging.

TWC is grateful that we were able to enjoy it because it's forever gone. Be a century before it even remotely resembles what it looked like a month ago.

Fire Timeline (daily progression) here. Takes a moment to load. 

Bonus: Ozzy does Arthur Brown's Fire. 

As Always,

TWC

Hike to Horseshoe Bend

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

It's roughly a half mile hike out to Horseshoe Bend on the Colorado River. But, when the mercury is into triple digits and you're stumble-bumming along in your bathing suit with flip flops, it *seems* further. The kids were troopers.

For most of the trek, the trail is pinkish sand which gives way to eroded Navajo Sandstone, etched with other-worldly, free form designs. Mrs TWC is putting on her brave face, but you notice she's also standing between the kids and the precipitous drop of about a thousand feet into the river.

To capture the full effect of Horsehoe Bend, you really need a wide angle lens (I think).

As Always,

TWC

Photo Credit: ©TWC 06-19-04

Sunrise. Fremont Street. Las Vegas Nevada.

See The USA, In Your Shivolay (Don't Miss the Petrified National Forest)

Good Morning Gentle Readers,

TWC has an album on Facebook called On the Road With the Politically Incorrect Foreign Pickup Truck That's Made In America. I posted this pix the other day, which was taken last summer on the Great American Road Trip. You are looking more or less north east at former Route 666.

This particular section opened for business in 1942 and runs roughly from the Petrified Forest National Park to the Mexican border at Douglas, Arizona. Clearly, the Park Service missed a classic opportunity here. That place shoulda been named the Petrified National Forest. How cool would that be?    

The route parallels the New Mexico border through the White Moutains and follows part of Francisco Coronado's trail as he searched for the Seven Cities of Gold.

The post sparked a bit of a conversation that concluded with Angie's remark that she'd love to just see more of the USA. I love my country! There is a lot to see, Angie. 

Coolest thing about this commercial is that my dad had a 1952 red Chevy convertible just like the one you see in the ad.

There was a time when Government Motors made good cars that were tailored to meet the needs and wants of consumers. For instance, the 1955 Chevy had 43 different interior options to choose from.

There was also a time when GM execs didn't fly into Washington National in a private jet to beg for taxpayer supplied handouts (it's bad form to show up at the welfare office in a MBZ, don't ya think?). Instead, they quoted Hayek and touted the benefits of a free market.

From free markets to the welfare office in a half century. Not exactly your father's Oldsmobile. Course, they don't make Olds' anymore, neither.

Boy, that was kind of a downer.

Happy Mundane,

TWC

Traveling the Desert at Night