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Archive for the ‘Journeys’ Category

 “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.” – John Lubbock.

Ye Old Swimming Hole

Everyone should have a summer swimming hole in their past This one can be found near Carthage, Missouri. — Photo by Pat Bean

“Summer is the time when one sheds one’s tensions with one’s clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all’s right with the world.” Ada Louise Huxtable.

Bean’s Pat:: The Kindness Kronicles: http://tinyurl.com/bnjcqha Today I simply pass on Debbie’s Irish blessing to my readers. Her blog offers daily inspiration for a kinder world. 

*This recognition is merely this wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps my readers might, too. The Pat on the back is presented with no strings attached. May 26, patbean.wordpress.com

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“When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can.” Samuel Lover, “Handy Andy,” 1842

Marker depicting some of the petroglyphs that can be seen below the cliff from the viewing platform. — Photo by Pat Bean

Newspaper Rock

The newspaper I found as I continued my travels on old Route 66 through the Petrified Forest National Park was 650 to 2000 years old. And it wasn’t written on paper pages.

Newspaper Rock, a National Historic Landmark. — Photo by Pat Bean

It was scratched in desert varnish on large boulders. And I couldn’t understand it. Neither can the experts.

Actually, in today’s age we would probably call it graffiti.

Were the petroglyphs carved into the rock by wise men among the Puerco River Valley Indian farmers who lived in the area?

 Or were they done by bored Indian teenagers wanting to leave their mark on something?

Up close details — Photo by Pat Bean

As usual, the landscape I’m wandering through has me wondering again.

I love it.

“To raise new questions, new possibilities, to regard old problems from a new angle, requires creative imagination and marks real advance in science.: – Albert Einstein

Bean’s Pat: Everyday Sunshine: Get Close http://tinyurl.com/73enmyg I dare you to look into these birds’ eyes – even if you’re not an avid birdwatcher like me, I think you will be amazed. 

*This recognition is merely this  wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps my readers might, too. The Pat on the back is presented with no strings attached.  May 25, patbean.wordpress.com

 

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 “We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.” — Jeremy Irons

 

This old junker is part of the Route 66 Memorial located in the Petrified Forest National Park. Note the passing semi on Interstate 40 in the background. — Photo by Pat Bean

You Can’t Get There From Here

As I continued on the park road after leaving the restored Painted Desert Inn and the mystery of the missing 200 million years’ unconformity, I found myself back at Interstate 40, but with no access to it.

This wandering old broad wonders how many of my readers traveled this road in its heydays. — Photo by Pat Bean

Located in sight of the freeway’s roaring traffic of semis and automobiles with occupants in a rush to get some place, I came upon a rusted, wheel-less relic of a different age. Like the A-Dome in Hiroshima, the only building remaining after the city’s bombing, this junker was a reminder of what once was.

Route 66 lives on only in memories, and bits and pieces of a route that truly takes one nowhere these days.

This tickled my funny-bone. — Photo by Pat Bean

I didn’t have the same degree of sadness in my heart as the day I stood before the A-Dome in Japan, but I wasn’t jumping up and down for joy either. Route 66 is a part of my past, a road that took this Texas flat-lander to magical places where there were mountains when I was only 14.

But then I thought of all the many places that today’s highways have taken me in my life. In the eight years that I have been a full-time RV-er, I’ve traveled this beautiful country called America from sea to shining sea. And more than once.

With this in mind, I gave a second look to this Route 66 memorial standing in front of me. And I laughed at the absurdity of encasing the front section of an automobile in cement. And this wasn’t the first such one I had seen. There had been similar encased old cars in the Albuquerque aquarium I visited, and in the Auto Museum in Santa Rosa.

Yup! Route 66 may be gone, but it certainly isn’t forgotten.

Bean’s Pat: Egret and Ibis http://tinyurl.com/cwefngs My kind of  poetry.

*This award is simply this wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps my readers might, too.

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 “Read, every day something no one else is reading. Think, every day, something no one else is thinking. Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do. It is bad for the mind to continually be part of unanimity.” – Christopher Morley

200 million years are missing from this landscape. — Photo by Pat Bean

Unconformity Along Route 66

It’s amazing how much you can learn from stopping to read roadside markers. I rarely pass one by, usually only because it’s on the wrong sign of a busy highway, and I value my life more than my curiosity.

It’s amazing what one can learn from roadside markers. — Photo by Pat Bean

That was no problem during my recent loop through the Petrified Forest National Park, where I’m not sure I even saw a dozen other cars.

The educational marker shown here notes that the basalt cap on the top layer of the cliffs was deposited five to eight million years ago. The lower valley layer, however, was deposited about 225 million years ago. What happened to the 200 million years in between?

The scientist have only guesses.

During the 1990s, I saw similar unconformities in the landscape in the Grand Canyon, when I rafted the Colorado River through it. There was a fun discussion around the campfire later that night about the missing landscape.

But just like the scientists, we rafters could only speculate. Meanwhile, this wandering old broad is left in her familiar state of wondering.

Bean’s Pat: Don’t Follow the Lights http://tinyurl.com/7avfh7v I’ve gotta visit Marfa, Texas – so I can wonder some more.

*This award is this wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps my readers might, too.

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 “I see my path, but I don’t know where it leads. Not knowing where I’m going is what inspires me to travel it.” – Rosalia de Castro

Painted Desert Inn

Painted Desert Inn, Petrified Forest National Park. — Photo by Pat Bean

A National Historic Landmark, the Painted Desert Inn was once a thriving roadside stop for Route 66 travelers.

Restored ceiling tiles beneath which diners once ate. — Photo by Pat Bean

It went belly up, Like so many other attractions along the Mother Road, when Interstate 40 replaced Route 66 and bypassed the 25-mile loop through the park.

But where so many of the other relics of the past stand sagging and crumbling, the park has restored the inn to all its former glory.

But without the bustle of a busy lunch crowd, or travelers who might pay to spend the night, the inn felt sad and forlorn.

With only myself, the inn (now a musuem) caretaker and another couple, the place felt ghostly as I wondered through it, trying to imagine it in its heydays.

I didn’t stay long, but rejoined my canine traveling, Pepper, in my RV, so we could continue enjoying the scenery.  

Bean’s Pat: You Are My Collected http://rtewrite.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/you-are-my-collected/ Ditto what Harper said about my own followers. You are appreciated.

*The Pat is simply this wandering/wondering old broad’s way of bringing attention to a blog I enjoyed – and thought perhaps the readers of this blog might, too. It’s given with no strings attatched.

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 “If one dream should fall and break into a thousand pieces, never be afraid to pick one of those pieces up and begin again.” – Flavia Weedn

Here’s the traditional photo of me at the start of the hike to the top of Angel’s Landing in the background. But this year I chose the less-traveled trail. — Photo by Karen Bean

And I Have No Regrets

For an old broad, I’m in pretty good shape. But not good enough, I accepted this past weekend, to climb to the top of Angel’s Landing.

Instead I chose a path less traveled, and was well rewarded for it.

I said good-bye to my son, Lewis, his wife, and my two grandsons, at the Angel’s Landing trail head. The four of them had met me here in Zion National Park for Mother’s Day, a real treat as I am usually far away from any family members on this day.

I’ve been to the top of Angel’s Landing in Zion about 30 times. It was an April birthday tradition for me. Lewis, when he was younger, accompanied me on several of those occasions. It was an experience he wanted to share this past weekend with his family.

As the four of them turned right, just past the bridge over the Virgin River onto the Angel’s Landing trail, I turned left. My path would take me on a two-mile hike, via the Emerald Pools, back to where I could catch the shuttle and return to my RV to await their return.

My reward for being sensible this day was that I had the first mile of the trail completely to myself. This is a rare treat in Zion these days, as the park has an extremely high visitation rate.

While the view of the river and valley below wasn’t quite as spectacular as the one from atop Angel’s Landing, the peace I felt observing it made up for the difference.

I also, perhaps for the first time in my life, felt at peace with myself in accepting that I no longer could do everything I could once do.

Bean:s Pat: Everyday Wisdom #43 http://tinyurl.com/6nc3lky A great way to slow yourself down and live in the moment.

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 “Misunderstanding is my cornerstone. It’s everyone’s, come to think of it. Illusions mistaken for truth are the pavement under our feet.” – Barbara Kingsolver

What I Didn’t See

 

Looking across the deceptive shallow waters. — Photo by Pat Bean

There was only one thing left to do in Santa Rosa after my canine traveling companion, Pepper, and I left the Route 66 Auto Museum. Pay a visit to the Blue Hole.

Roadside signs advertising it had been tantalizing me for miles.

I found the attraction just a few blocks off Santa Rosa’s main Route 66 drag. I wasn’t impressed, seeing not at all what the hullabaloo was about. The Blue Hole looked like nothing more than a small, natural swimming hole that had been fancied up a bit.

Even the fancy diving pier didn’t clue me in. — Pat Bean

Pepper and I saw nary a soul as we walked all the way around it, which took about 10 minutes, before getting back on the road and heading to Albuquerque.

It was only later, when I did my usual curious-to-learn-more internet search, that I discovered why I should have paid the Blue Hole more attention. It was sort of like meeting a mild-mannered reporter named Clark never knowing that a Superman lay beneath.

What Pepper and I didn’t see was the 80-foot wide, 240-foot deep artesian well below the surface, its waters so crystal clear that scuba divers come for all over to dive in it.

There’s also a grate down there, blocking the hazardous entrance to some underwater caves that back in 1976 took the lives of two divers

There’s a lesson here. A familiar one. Never judge a book by its cover – or a pond by only what you can see.

Bean’s Pat: Pretty in Purple http://tinyurl.com/bqrz9vc If you’ve never seen a purple gallinule, then here’s your opportunity. And if you’ve seen one, I’m sure you’ll want another look.

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“Reckless automobile driving arouses the suspicion that much of the horse sense of the good old days was possessed by the horse.” – Unknown

High up on a pole, this bright yellow vehicle advertises the Route 66 Auto Museum. — Photo by Pat Bean

Running Board Back in Time

After a night spent at the Santa Rosa RV Campground, where you can order a western-style barbecue dinner be delivered to your motorhome, I decided to check out the town’s Route 66 Auto Museum.

The running board on this old vehicle took me back in time. — Photo by Pat Bean

One of the spiffy, polished cars on display here had a running board. Not writing it down in my notebook at the time,, and not being a car buff, I can’t recall the make of the car, just as I can’t remember the make of the old car with the running board that my dad owned.

While my dad’s car never looked anything at all like the flashy, polished-to-a-reflective-shine, ivory-colored car on display at the museum, the sight of the running board sent a jolt of memory through my body. I clearly remembered standing on just such a running board many years ago.

The thrill of that brief moment, when I was about 6 years old, was relieved in all its Technicolor excitement. I remembered holding onto the car door for dear life as my dad drove his car down the driveway of my grandmother’s home.

My dad would probably get arrested for child endangerment today.

Route 66 heydays: When Elvis was hot, wild and young. — Photo by Pat Bean

Of course so would I.

The first cars I drove didn’t come equipped with seat belts. I remember once driving to the store, holding a baby on my lap with one hand, and with a death grip on the steering wheel with the other hand.

I also remember frequently flinging my right hand out to keep a child sitting next to me from doing a death plunge into the windshield when I had to stop suddenly. Back in the 1950s, a lot of moms were expert at this maneuver.

Thankfully I survived, and so did all my kids.

The upside is that my canine traveling companion, Pepper, who occupies the passenger seat of my RV today, gets the benefits of my youthful right-hand-flinging practice.

Bean’s Pat: My Life is a Scream: http://tinyurl.com/6vrdpbl A hilarious take on Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” selling for $120 million dollars.

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 “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” Yogi Berra

Cactus Motor Lodge

Tucumcari, New Mexico, is a city full of Route 66 memories.

Until you take a closer look. — Photo by Pat Bean

One of those is the old Cactus Motor Lodge where I stayed this past week. Not in the lodge itself, but on the property where it once stood.

While the former well-used motel rooms, some with their own auto garages, sit vacant and ghostly, the grounds have been turned into a landscaped RV park. While I was there, it was popular with both travelers and western kingbirds, the latter an especially nice touch for this avid birdwatcher. The gray flycatchers with their bright yellow belllies were all over the place.

The historic stone lodge, once neatly trimmed with bright orange and yellow paint, was built in the 1930s. Its office was converted from an old dance hall, where gambling was conducted illegally in the basement, according to some unsubstantiated information I turned up on the internet.

The dance hall supposedly had an escape tunnel, which was most likely cemented in when a swimming pool was built at the lodge in the 1950s. At least that was the guess of new owners who looked for the tunnel, but couldn’t find it.

Memories from Route 66’s past, when gas was only 39 cents a gallon, seeped into my thoughts as I walked my canine traveling companion, Pepper, around and around and around the property. She’s a young dog with a gazillion tons of energy and I’m an old broad who needs to keep walking.

We’re the perfect pair of wanderers. And Route 66 is providing us with plenty of colorful opportunities to wander off the beaten track.

Bean’s Pat: This Man’s Journey http://tinyurl.com/7wkhksa A different take on the photo challenge.  Perhaps we all need to unfocus a bit.

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 “It is better to fill your head with useless knowledge than no knowledge at all.” – Jim Hinckley, author of “Route 66 Backroads: Your Guide to Scenic Side Trips & Adventures from the Mother Road.”

 

Remains of The First Inn in Texas, named for its border location. Of course it was also the last inn, too. — Photo by Pat Bean

 

Glenrio, Texas/New Mexico

The old diner — Photo by Pat Bean

Once thriving with business, Glenrio today is a ghost town, its deserted buildings crumbling memories of brighter days that are fast disappearing with time.

Straddling the border between Texas and New Mexico, the town was given life by the railroad and outlying farmers and ranchers. It’s name means river valley, but oddly the description belies its arid location.

At the turn of the 20th century, Glenrio already had a post office, hotel, hardware store, land office, several grocery stores and a newspaper.

It also had, according to “Legends of America,” gas stations – but only on the Texas side of town because New Mexico’s gas tax was higher. New Mexico got the bars, however, because the Texas side of the town was in a dry county.

In 1938, when Route 66 was born, Glenrio, located midway between Amarillo, Texas, and Tucumcari, New Mexico, on the highway, boomed. It was also picked as one of the movie locations for John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath.”

Route 66 casualty — Photo by Pat Bean

The prosperity tumbled when its railroad station was closed. But it was only when Interstate 40 replaced Route 66 in 1973, and bypassed Glenrio, that the town died.

I saw no other humans when Pepper and I took the detour to visit the ghost town. It was sad, yet I was fascinated by the decay, trying to imagine the vacant-eyed buildings filled with activity as I knew they once had been.

There was the diner where travelers stopped to eat, and the motel where they slept.

Were those passers-by on their way to Disneyland in California, or to grandfather’s funeral in Oklahoma? Perhaps they were excited about seeing the Grand Canyon in Arizona for the first time, or seeing a new grandchild in Texas?

They might even have been just traveling one-way, perhaps to the big city of Chicago for a new job.

I wandered and wondered, but the crumbling ruins didn’t answer.

Even Route 66 to the west of Glenrio has returned to the earth. When maintaining its pavement got too expensive, New Mexico county workers removed it. I back-tracked to the interstateand exited at the next paved section of 66 still remaining. — Photo by Pat Bean

Perhaps I wondered because I was one of those travelers who had passed through Glenrio in 1950s. I was traveling with an aunt and uncle as a teenage baby-sitter for their young daughter. We were headed to Sequoia National Park.

It was the first time I had ever been out of Texas, and the first time I ever saw mountains. I haven’t been the same since.

Bean’s Pat: Wistfully Wandering http://tinyurl.com/7qzhv8r Say happy birthday. This blogger’s post turned a year old today. Let her take you to Chicago, where Route 66 begins.

 

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