Tales of Time and Travel v9.0: Arches

The best of both worlds. 
Why not start with something comfortable and familiar and then move onto something new and adventuresome?  The best of both worlds.

As promised, we would leave Temple Butte camp (the plan was originally Goblin Valley) and drive for about an hour and have breakfast in Moab, Utah at The Pancake Haus - like we have done on every other occasion when in southwestern Utah.  The Pancake Haus is on the main highway through town, is not particularly special or all that inexpensive, but it is a solid breakfast and it is now tradition.  I order the cinnamon apple compote pancakes, as always.

Usually we are passing through Moab on our way north to Boise, Idaho, this time it was a special detour to drop south off of I-70 and spend a few hours inside Arches National Park.  I say, if you have come to see the American Southwest, you have to see the Grand Canyon [done] and also see Delicate Arch in Arches NP [not yet done :-( ].  After breakfast is just a couple miles to the entrance of the park, we get the map and a warning "to be careful up there", from the ranger who takes our $10.  We fall in behind a parade of cars driving up the switchbacked road to get onto the massive sandstone platform that has provided the palette for erosion, gravity and wind to carve these exquisite geological wonders.  And indeed it is a wondrous land of shape and color, so alien to the landscape that most of us trudge through in our daily lives.

Strange, Weird and Wondrous Shapes abound

The plan was to spend just a few hours in the park, leave by noon or shortly thereafter and arrive in Denver around dinner time to stay with my niece overnight before driving the long last leg to the Lone Star State and home.  Well, we got off to a later start, had a later breakfast, and only started our tour of Arches late in the morning.  Behind schedule.  But, now that we were here, there were lots of weird rocks to become acquainted with.  Let the adventure begin!

We started with the 'Garden of Eden' section of the park.  We got out and scrambled over the bare tanned sandstone skin of the earth, looking at fins, towers and windows at various angles and snapping up a few photos for memory and blogging purposes.

We moved on from the Garden of Eden to the gallery of Windows and the famed Double Arch.  Parking in this popular place was a challenge, but we found a spot and picked our way across the sandy trail to get a better perspective on the Double Arch stretching high overhead and framing the turquoise sky in ochre and pink shades streaked with black desert varnish.

With a Double Arch in our rear view mirror, I said there is one last arch we need to see before we set our sights on Denver -- we have to see Delicate Arch. 

Delicate Arch is a 3 mile round trip hike across slick sandstone and all hikers are strongly encourage to bring at least a quart of water with them.  It was in the low 90's (no shade), and I did not think 3 miles was any kind of distance that could not be walked off in about an hour.  We found the lot full of vehicles so we parked a ways down the road on the shoulder.  We left our water in the car and set out to see Delicate Arch which was located over the rim of the ridge.  They say, 'the legs are the first to go', but I say years of flatland living a behind-the-desk experience makes the lungs the first to go.  And frankly, I was horrified at how far my lung capacity had declined.  I had not walked all that far when I begged for a rest.  Back up the slope, and then a need for more rest.  Grant suggested I give up and just go back to the car.  I insisted we could make it to our goal.  I put one foot in front of the other and lumbered up the outcrop.  Grant jeered me on by saying, "Dad, you are not going to be able to do this.  Let's just go back."  I see other old people going up without stopping and I see a guy with a cane coming back down.  I think I have to finish this hike.  I stop for another rest in the bright sun, and Grant says, "OK. What if I take the camera and quickly go up and get a



Grant waits for the old man to get up the
Delicate Arch Trail

 picture of the arch, and then we go back down together - you stay here."  I agree.  He strides ahead with my camera and returns.  I ask, did you see the arch?  Did you get some good photos?  He assures me, he did.  I say, OK, then, I want to get up to where you just were and see Delicate Arch.  I inch my way forward and get to the crest, and realize that I had been dealt a joker by my hiking companion.  I see no Delicate Arch.  A guy on the way pack passes us and says, 15 more minutes and you'll be there.



A hiking companion



I check my watch.  We are pretty late for our departure in order to make the 6 hour drive to Denver in time for dinner reservations.  I dejectedly, call it quits after about a 1.25 miles of the 1.5 miles in order to get back on schedule.  I miss seeing Delicate Arch.  Actually, looking at the map (after leaving the park) I see that we did not have to hike to the arch, we could have seen it by driving a bit further down the road to the 'viewing area'.  Another thing for my ToDoList - get in shape and go see Delicate Arch.

Upon our return to the car, we quickly began draining the thermos of water down our parched throats.  Rehydrated and disappointed in my performance, I handed Grant the keys and said, "Start the engine. Crank up the a/c.  Take me back to Denver."  I directed him to drive over to the "Devils Garden", I'd shoot a few photos from the passenger seat and then we'll exit the park, and watch out for the heavily patrolled road outside of Moab - the Utah Highway Patrol generates a lot of revenue along that desolate stretch of road.

Gate into the Devil's Garden



The Devil grows some fine rocks in his Garden

Park Avenue
Near the Entrance to Arches National Park

Tales of Time and Travel v8.0: The Loneliest Road in America

  I slept well, despite the rumor of bears and coyote packs expected to be roaming the South Lake Tahoe neighborhood that night in search of a 'free lunch' facilitated by the municipal declaration that Wednesday is trash day - a virtual buffet opportunity for the denizens of the National Forest across the street from our guest quarters.  Perhaps it was fitting that Grant and I arose at sun-up by ourselves, showered and left our fine hostesses, Natali and daughters Melanie and Lana, still sleeping when we pulled out of their driveway and embarked eastward upon US Highway 50 - known as the "Loneliest Road in America".  And as far as I could tell, the garbage cans were still upright at the curb.  I do consider myself smarter than the average bear - but even I sometimes also lose track of what day trash day is.

I was thinking of the Beatles when I decided that I too, just like Jojo who left his home in Tucson Arizona, head for some California gas - I too would stop and get some California gas before I crossed the state line into Nevada.  With the sun on the rise, gas in the tank and an empty stomach, we cruised past the casinos on the shore, rounded the south end of beautiful Lake Tahoe, a sapphire water-filled graben in the John Muir's "Range of Light", crested the summit and coasted down the steep backside of the Sierras and into Carson City.  Again, the dilemma, do I try for some local flavor and/or cheap meal at the Nugget in Carson City or somewhere downtown, or do we just stop and get a known quantity at one of the national chains that have proliferated in the desert south of town?  Grant says, "There's IHOP, I'm good with that."  Breakfast decided.

There were (to my surprise) no slot machines in the IHOP foyer, but still, it was my lucky day.  IHOP has a special part of the menu for those over 55.  Grant reminds me, "Dad, since you say 'you're all about value', you should totally take advantage of your geezer status and order from that page!"  Then he lamented, his own current youthful status was the worst of all possible worlds; "too young to buy beer, too old for the kiddie menu discounts".  I felt so bad for him at this stage of his life, that I considered ordering a mimosa for myself and not sharing - but that would be cruel.  So I had my OJ straight up along with the 2+2+2 "Over 55 Special".  My very first senior discount! - and I did not even get carded.

The Loneliest Road in America (apparently US 50 took on this name after a 1986 Life Magazine article) goes west to east across Nevada and follows the old Pony Express Route transecting the majestic Basin and Range province.  One travels up to the top of an alpine mountain range then drops down to dry desert lake beds and then back up another range before coming rhythmical back down to another valley floor.  This route fired my imagination with many signs hinting at off-the-beaten-path type of adventures: there were immense sand dunes piled up against a mountain outside Fallon, there were numerous historic Pony Express Stations, a gravel road that promised ichthyosaur fossils in situ and a ghost town or two just 52 miles off the highway, and to feed my ever curious 'enjoy the journey' creed, there were tantalizing signs that read "BLM Green Springs 11 miles", or "Petroglyphs 3 miles" that stimulated a strong urge in me to pull off and go see what was at the end of that dirt road.  Alas, we were making for home and had points to make in the small amount of time still allotted to this journey.  This time through, I did not stop, but the seed has been planted.  Now something else for my "To Do List"; someday I need to do a 10-day Desert Rat Adventure along US 50 from Moab, Utah to Lake Tahoe and take the time to experience the desert springs, the ichthyosaurs and the petroglyphs and sand dunes.

Of course I have had some adventures already along US 50, namely in Ely, Nevada.  As an undergraduate geology major, I had several Basin and Range field trips in my junior and senior years (middle 1970's) and we had set up camp a few miles outside Ely.  One evening, someone had the idea to go to the Green Lantern, a brothel on the outskirts (or as some would say offskirts) of town, where prostitution is legal; with the idea of buying T-shirts.  The original Green Lantern establishment had burned down recently and so the ladies would met us inside the big house trailer.  Our State University van had followed the innocuous green circles and arrows posted high on Ely's downtown light poles (city fathers did not want overt brothel advertising, but the initiated knew to follow these green circles to the brothel).  Guided by 24 eyeballs scanning each lamp post, we drove up to the place of business, a bar.  The Madam, clad in a black bustier and fishnet stocking met the eyes of the dozen young men or so, boiling out of the official California State vehicle; and she decided that I (an officer in Inter Varsity Christian Fellowship - mind you) was the leader of this pack, so she said to me, "Honey, first I need to see ID from everyone in your handsome group"; I am sure the Green Lantern was closely scrutinized, being the kind of highly regulated establishment it is, and she could not risk being shut down.  I stammered (in my most cool kind of way), "But we just came here to buy some T-shirts".  She seemed very disappointed with what I had just told her.  The madam then had one of the girls start asking for sizes as she pulled Green Lantern T-shirts from behind the bar and took our money.  The Madam then started to direct her attention to me once again, and cooed to me a suggestion that maybe me and some of my boys would also like a tour? [wink, wink]. My response [gulp, gulp] was something to the effect that "Oh, my dear Madam, that is so kind of you, but you see, we are all but poor college students, and most of our meager funds have just gone toward T-shirts".  She continued with a smile, "But surely, you boys can pool your money and then we can draw straws to see which of you handsome gents is a winner tonight."  At some point, I managed to back out gracefully with "me and my handsome gents" and get back to camp.  The next day we all took a series of group pictures in the Cherry Mountains wearing our Green Lantern T-shirts.

This time through Ely, I saw neither the "Green Circle" signs nor the highly rated Basque Restaurant.  I believe the Green Lantern was put out of business some years ago, but I still have my T-shirt (now too small) at the bottom of my sweater drawer plus a raft of geology field trip memories.

Highway 50 brought us into Delta, Utah at early evening.  We were about to leave the Loneliest Road and join I-70, but as I told Grant, there is not a whole lot along this stretch of I-70, I think an early dinner in Delta is the right call.  The steak I had in mind did not materialize, as it the place had gone out of business.  We found a pizza place two blocks off the highway and settled in to split a large pepperoni.

After dinner we crossed the Severe Fault that bounds the eastern extent of the Basin and Range Province and shortly thereafter we hooked up with I-70 for a push to a campsite at Goblin Valley State Park.  My idea was to cut cross country for about 20 miles on a BLM dirt road and come into Goblin Valley from the backside, it would be a nice adventure and a change from interstate highway driving.  Just as the sun dropped behind some of Utah's radiant red sandstone bluffs, I found the BLM road easily enough, and it was a good gravel road across the relatively flat desert floor.  As the off-road miles lengthened, so did the shadows, and about the time it became more dark than light, the road became more rock than dirt.  I slipped into 4WD, flipped on the high beams and barreled along while Grant was trying to get updates on the NBA Finals Game 7.  I would hit a bump, a rock or a rill, and we would be strongly jostled.  Grant was having a hard time navigating around the internet while I was navigating around mesas and outcrops.  One of us was enjoying the off-road adventure and one of us was not.  Exasperated to the max, Grant gruffly asked, "How much longer?"  I drove over another road rock in the dark and he growled in frustration. 

I said, "Hey, this is just like the Disneyland 'Indian Jones Temple of Doom' ride..." 
"I HATE that ride - you know that!" 
I thought we were having fun - I thought wrong.

I checked my odometer, 7 more miles to Goblin Valley.  But we had come up to Temple Butte Equestrian Camp.  I say, "Hey, this is Temple Butte, kind of a coincidence don't you think?  Indiana Jones 'Temple of Doom' and now we find ourselves at 'Temple Butte' - pretty cool?"

"Let's just stop here."  I agree, out of kindness I suppose.

We set up minimal camp (ground tarp, air mattresses, sleeping bags).  No matter what, Grant was going to have a bad night, but all negatives were exacerbated by the insects attracted by the nearby horse dung, and then Grant's mattress would not hold air.  He soon abandoned the outdoors and tried to sleep fitfully in the passenger seat of The Q - this, our last night of camping.

Grant's Last [miserable] Campsite
A New Day

Temple Butte Utah
Arriving like a real-life Indiana Jones at
Temple Butte of Doom Ride

Morning light brings a new perspective. 
We pack up camp quickly and are headed for Moab for a pancake breakfast.  We drive for maybe a mile or less on the rough road then we hit pavement, and then the turn off to Goblin Valley State Park.  We could have slept with the goblins rather than the pesky gnats - if only we had driven just a wee bit further.

Tales of Time and Travel v7.1: Tally-Ho to Tahoe

If we missed seeing Crater Lake, we'd make up for it by seeing Lake Tahoe that evening. 

We had a generous offer to stay at with my cousin Norman in South Lake Tahoe, but it fell to Norman to dash down the Sierras from his home just miles from the Nevada border to help his mother recover after a brief hospitalization on the other side of the state just miles from the Pacific.

Due to our detour to Crater Lake and unfamiliar travel times along the backroads of sparsely populated NE California, our 6 o'clock arrival to meet Natali and her daughters got pushed back to well past 8 o'clock.  Once we did arrive, we were announced by Barley, a good dog and then warmly greeted by Natali.  They had waited for us long past the girl's dinner time and as promised I was good for the dinner tab at a place of their choosing.  The first option was closing as we pulled in, so we opted for an Irish Pub a 1/4 mile down the road.  Lana, the youngest was not doing so well, having forgone a meal awaiting our delayed arrival, but once she got some food in her, she started to look and act a lot more chipper like her sister Melanie.  Natali grew up in southern Russia and was eager to know all about us, strange cousins appearing out of the woodwork.  We tried to fill her in on who we were and what we were about, all the while I was eager to hear her story.  Again, this was one of the many visits in this trip that offered much promise and pleasure, but was derailed by the clock and travel schedule.  Natali insisted that we must come back to Tahoe and ski or enjoy the Autumn or for some reason.  I do hope that it can happen.

I was so looking forward to sitting down with Norman, a fellow geologist, who makes a portion of his living as a consultant aboard research vessels around the Seven Seas, acquiring seafloor samples for contract oil and gas exploration programs - or that is what I think I understand.  I had long ago pegged Norman and having the unique spark of entrepreneurship, and as I suspected he has got a lot of projects going, including his business Tahoe Maps, where he annotates and prints satellite images of interesting locations and sells them as images suitable for hanging and decorating.  In fact we own one of the San Juan Islands off of Washington State, beautiful.  Natalie told of their experimentation with harvesting and processing pine nut for retail purposes, and how Melanie and Norman have researched and planned for the perfect restaurant for South Lake Tahoe.  All interesting people and ideas that deserved more of our time.

Natali and Norman live right next to the National Forest, and when we arrived on Wednesday, it was trash night.  Which also meant Bear Night.  The trash cans are placed in front of the residences and the bears know which neighborhoods have trash pick up on which mornings, so they make their scavenging circuit accordingly.  Natali said they resorted to a 'bear-proof' screw on lid for their garbage can, but it took the smarter than average bear, two weeks before Natali saw her sitting with the can held between her knees and using her paws, unscrewing the lid.  After the bear have picked through the refuse, the coyote packs follow and they scavenge the leaving and spread the trash across the entire neighborhood. 

Because of the coyote packs, Barley has to stray inside at night, but he stood watch at the front window looking for those bad guys, while Melanie created a board game for us all to play.  I was a beta tester, and ended up bouncing between a go back 7-spaces where I was instructed to move to the next red square.  Being caught in that eternal loop led me to concede the game and head for bed.

We left a note of great appreciation for the accommodations provided on the kitchen table and quickly showed and left early the next morning.

Tales of Time and Travel v.7.0: Flip Flop through Crater Lake

Turn Around Time.
Catch you on the flip-flop.
About Face.
Execute a 180.

We came and we saw what we came for: Graduation.  It was all over, even including the shouting.  It was time for the tide of reality to sweep back in and wash over our sandcastles of euphoria and shared good times in Eugene.

We checked out of the hotel and dropped Sue off at Inga's apartment in a typical dewy Willamette wet morning.  Inga was to drive Sue north to Portland to catch her plane back to Dallas, while Grant and I said bon voyage to all, and charted a course across the Cascades, down to the Northern California Lava Beds Country, and had plans to spend the night at Lake Tahoe with another of my lost cousins, Norman and his wife and two daughters.  However, Norman had to make a quick trip to look after his ailing mother and would not be at home when we came through Tahoe.  However, I was encouraged to keep my original plans and swing through Lake Tahoe and meet Natali and daughters Melanie and Lana.  I did, and I am glad I did.

As we climbed up out of the Willamette Valley and headed South by Southwest toward the Salt Creek Tunnel at the summit of the Cascade Range, I was awed by the lush beauty of western Oregon as the wetted pavement vanished into a thick palette of various shades of green; bright kelly green sun-lit leaves of the plants next to the road, grading into blue green of spruce set at the middle distance and then the highway was swallowed by a deep, almost black-green of the wooded mountainside ahead of us.  This rabbit hole of greens in which we were now traveling was gloriously highlighted with low clouds sifting through the tops of the forest.  The lowering soft fog was thick enough to diffuse the morning's light, but thin enough to lose all aspects of gray and in its place, become a radiant silver crown set upon the evergreens, dazzling to the eye and glowing with coolness of fluid silver.  I drove on into this contrast of deep green enfolding the road and blazing silver light above; the coincidence of the mundane forest with the mundane low clouds caught up in the every-day morning light that transform the landscape and my mood into something spectacular; it is for the opportunity to witness this confluence of light and landscape that I much prefer to travel along the byways of America.

Cresting the Cascade Range, we dropped down the backside and we were angling toward Klamath Falls when geology once again beckoned.  We are this close to Crater Lake.  A National Park dedicated to ancient geological earth forces that once built up a towering volcano, only to collapse inward, forming a bowl inside the now hollow volcano that filled with water.  I remember the steep rim, from which one can precariously peer 1,000 feet over the side and down into the deep blue waters, like a circular sapphire.  I have never regretted listening to the beckoning of spectacular geology that tells me stories of fantastic crustal upheavals, violent ash clouds spread across the continent and the onslaught of glowing magma that now stand frozen in its tracks as columnar basalt.  As I learned early on in my geologic studies: Subduction leads to Orogeny.  No better place to see the consequence of this than in the Cascades.

I made the decision to turn west off of Highway 97 to see Crater Lake while Grant was dozing in the front passenger's seat.  The tach on the dash of The Q told me she knew she was climbing a subtle grade toward the blown-off top of this ancient volcano.  The forest trees thinned as we gained elevation and the earth was definitely composed of volcanic cinders.  The wind whipped the boxy structure of our vehicle while the dash thermometer indicated a steady drop in temperature as we continued to climb; it was 52 when we turned toward Crater Lake, we were quickly dipping into the 40's and the weather was looking a bit more bleak.

We paid the ranger $10 to get in to see Crater Lake.  It was getting cold outside.  I turned to Grant a few miles past the ranger entrance station and asked, is that snow up on those hill tops?  Mind you, last week it was 102 when we went through Las Vegas.

I'll be, that is snow over there - and look here is a bunch more right up ahead!  I threw The Q into 4WD and slowed down as large wet flakes began to build up on my windshield.  It was an amazing sight.  Grant are you ready for this?  He was.  I slowly moved up the inclined road, which was still clear on the black top, but was rapidly accumulating snow off to the sides.  I peered over my sunglasses, and the bright light amidst the blowing snow made it look like white-out conditions.  I pulled up to a viewing area parking lot, and the two of us began riffling through our luggage to find some warm clothing before we ventured into this late June snow storm.

We dressed and zipped up in what passed for snow storm clothes and went to look over the lip of the crater to see the lake.  I paid $10, but we could not see the lake, only clouds that were dumping lots of snow upon us.  It was now 30 degrees and windy.


Grant & Mark Snow Blinded while looking to see Crater Lake -
We never did see the lake
(but it should be right behind us)



Grant grimaces as he poses in front of Crater Lake

We look over what is probably a 1,000; cliff, only to see the inside of a cloud. Nothing.  We slip and slide back to The Q and crank up the heater.  I say we drive on over to the Crater Lake Village and maybe they have a photo on display of what Crater Lake looks like.  We motor on courageously in 4WD and find a place among all of the tour buses hauling Germans, Dutch and Japanese tourists.  We tromp around in between snow banks and again lean up against the rail that warns of injury and death if you go beyond that point.  We see more clouds.  We toss a few late June snow balls and drop to lower elevations.  Grant will just have to take it on faith that there was actually a lake inside a collapsed and hollowed out volcano.

Grant waste-deep in
Crater lake snowbank

Incoming!
Grant hurls a fresh snowball

Crater Lake National Park
Our best view of Crater Lake

What we were supposed to see
Crater lake from Google Image

Tales of Time and Travel v.-6.66: A Hellish Night at Shilo Inn

All during my time of travel, day after day revealed another new pleasure under the sun.  Every day a blessing, every step of the journey to be enjoyed -- except...

Last year Inga had warned us to book a hotel in Eugene pretty soon, like I mean no later than November, to make sure we had a place to stay for graduation the coming June.  But, I am reluctant to nail down where I will be a year from now while on vacation.  Besides, we had to coordinate with Sue's busy summer schedule at work before we knew the actual dates of when we would need to make those hotel reservations.  As we eased into March, I was informed we could wait no longer, if we wanted a place to stay within 30 miles of Eugene, we'd better get our credit card out and make reservations for a multi-night stay near the University of Oregon.  I scouted on-line in March to find what was available three months hence in the Eugene-Springfield area.

Just as I had been told, there were not many vacancies.  However, I did find a room for Sue, Grant and me in Springfield, just 6 miles from the University at the Shiloh Inn.  So, you may ask, "Did you have reservations when you came to town?"  Let me answer that by saying, "If I did not have my reservations about staying at a Shiloh Inn before I came to town, let me emphasize I certainly have reservations now."

As mentioned in the previous chapter, Grant and I picked Sue up in Portland when she landed on Friday at 11:35 PM.  We arrived at our hotel around 1:30 AM.  Knowing that we would get in late that night, I had stopped by to check in around 3 in the afternoon before driving to Portland.  This was apparently about time for a staff shift change, and the gal at the desk was answering a flurry of phone calls with an abrupt, "Hun, will you please hold!" -- click. While I waited patiently for the guy in front of me to make a complaint about the lack of a working phone in his room; I noticed the staff liked to indulge themselves by getting, what looked in my mind to be questionable, yet permanent graphics, inked into their skin along with a glamorous and decorous assortment of metal bars and hoops adorning their lips, nasal passages and eye brows (and who knows what else).  Now, I know my mere mention of the pierced and tattooed Shiloh Inn front desk staff sounds "judgemental" and intolerant.  But, I'm just saying, they choose the make a statement by looking this way; and as I have worked to earn curmudgeon status, I have found that my prejudices have not disappeared with my life experiences, they have only become refined.

Lydia, the tattooed lady at the front desk was nice enough to me (once she griped about all the people calling her for information), as she called up my reservation on a computer screen and said, "I see we have you for two nights".  I politely said, well, that is interesting because I have made reservations for 4 nights and have been charged for 4 nights already."

"Oh.  Ok, I see. Now I've got you for 4 nights hun.  Here you go!" as she handed me two brass keys for room 218.  I have not had a hotel with metal keys to the room in years; oh how quaint.  I thought every major hotel chain had the electronic card keys nowadays.  I guess I am wrong.

Grant and I checked in.  There were no base boards in the hallway, just carpet that probably looked OK in 1991 when I think it was installed, but now it was just threadbare and dirty and lapped against the hallway's amateurly painted white wall.  The door too showed signs of a quick dash of flat blue-gray paint that added to the dumpy ambiance of the whole interior, and I don't mean that in a good way.  It'll have to do.  We dropped our luggage and headed north to find my wife at the Portland airport.

The first night, I made sure that I put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside of the door, since we had gotten to bed so late and were intending to sleep in.

Returning later on the second day, I find that house keeping had not come to our room, and yes, I did take off the "Do Not Disturb" hanger before we left for Inga's place that morning.  So, I go down to the front desk and ask personally for extra towels for 218, since the soggy ones we had used are still on our bathroom floor.  The chief of housekeeping heard my request and promised that 218 would be taken care of the next day.  Thank you.

A long day with the graduate. Back to Shiloh Inn for bed.  I have gone to sleep and I am awakened in a confused state of mind: Am I dreaming? Is someone talking to me? Is this real? What is going on?  My head clears and I discover a strange man silhouetted against my opened hotel room door!  My heart pounds immediately up into my throat, I feel like I have squirrels inside my chest, adrenaline kicks in, I spring form beneath my covers and charge toward the strange man coming into where me and my family are sleeping.  He takes a few quick steps back across the threshold and I slam the door shut.  
I hear, "Excuse me sir, hotel security; are you checked into this room?"
I put on my "No Guff Aggressive Voice" and sand say to him, "What the H-E-double toothpicks are you doing inside my room with me and my family?!"
"I'm Baalzebub with hotel security sir, I didn't know if anybody was in this room or not."
"Damn you! Yes, I checked into this room yesterday!  That is how I got the keys!"
"OK, I am sorry, I did not know if any one was in here."

I made sure I threw the extra security latch across the inside of the door as clueless security slinks back down the cavernous, fluorescent lit white washed walls of this amateur, slip shod operation excuse for a hotel.  I slip back into bed to let the adrenaline drain out of my system.  I wish I had brought my bowie knife to place under my pillow.

I have unwound enough and have dozed back to catch the first elements of sleep, when the room phone rings at 5 minutes after midnight.
"Hi.  This is the front desk.  I just want to check to see if you are in room 218; because I don't show that you are in that room."
I can't believe this. 
"Yeah, we just had one of your morons walk into my room where me and my family were sleeping", I explain.
"Well, sir that is because we do not show that you have been assigned that room."
I am not so cool right now, "Damn you all!  That sounds very much like that is YOUR problem.  Because I checked in and was given keys to this room, my assigned room."
"Well sir, whoever checked you in did not..."
"Why are you calling me after midnight after you have already walked into my room in the middle of the night? This your problem and I do not like having my room invaded, nor do I like talking to you this late at night!"

I complained about the creepy encounter and poor manners at the front desk in the morning.  The gal offered me $20 and yeah this isn't the first time this has happened [!!]. I said, I'll take this up with your corporate office.

Lock your doors and close your mind - those folks with piercings and ink are just about as competent as you think they are.  Probably real good at parties and magic mushrooms, but not too good at service.  Shiloh of course is the Hebrew word for peace, but I think it has lost something in translation.

You can find Shiloh Inn in Springfield at the first exit as you enter hell.
Sweet dreams.

Tales of Time and Travel v6.0: Reunion with Kin

Reunion Time.  Actually I now realize it was past reunion time.



Dinner reunion in Portland with the Maher clan.
Around the table, (L to R): Michael and Carolyn, Mark and Grant
Ian, Warren and Cherie

 With Inga graduating from the University of Oregon in a matter of days, I realized that my long-time (and unfulfilled) intentions, to reconnect with cousins Carolyn and Warren, now residing in Portland, were about to go for naught.  This trip was my last, best hope to enjoy an evening with fine and interesting kin folk.

Sue was scheduled to fly into Portland from Dallas on Friday at 11:35 PM.  Grant and I were going to pick her up at PDX, but we left Eugene in the afternoon in order to get to Warren and Cherie's house, where Warren would fill us in on the arrangements to meet with Carolyn and Michael.  With Grant doing yeoman's work with the map app on his iPhone, we were able to navigate Portland's unfamiliar streets as Grant called out our GPS position as I drove and overshot Multnomah Blvd and then reclibrated and announced the next likely intersection that would get us to where we were going.  We arrived on time (barely) and were greeted warmly by Warren and his wife Cherie.  We were ushered to the backyard where we quickly fell into conversation in an attempt to fill in the last 30 years.  We did what we could to catch up, until it became time to go and meet Carolyn and Michael at Gustav's, a German restaurant with a NW twist.  Good choice.  Warren and Cherie's son, Ian, of course joined us, and we were able to meet daughter Willa at the end of the evening after she got off from work.

Once seated, the conversation flew back to family stories and the sharing of current endeavors among us all.  It was like some of the Thanksgiving gatherings of yore - only no one had to sit at the 'little table' this time around.  It was revealed to me the origin of the invocation of "Ying Behavior", the code word, once uttered, that meant that the bar for public comportment was now set at the highest level.  Carolyn (my only cousin that out ranks me in seniority) spoke about some of what she is doing with her private psychiatric practice, including the recommendation and use of open spaces surrounded by the natural world to help in balancing one's perspective and helping in developing a healthy being.  I heartily concur with this concept, as I too felt the restoritive powers of open spaces while on this journey; exploring, seeing and experiencing the unfettered existence of the open road.

The evening was over all too soon, as I was having a blast and regretting I had not made this happen earlier in my trips out west.  But I had a wife to go find at PDX, and all the others had their own schedules and obligations the next day as well.  Before we left, Warren gave me a treasured memento that had belong to our grandfather, Warren Wilkin, who commanded submarines and ships in the Pacific Theater during World War II.  The momento was a money clip presented by his submarine crew to their Commander, it is inscribed:

CAPT. W.D. WILKIN

COM "WOLF" PACK

U.S.S. TILEFISH

With a much appreciated memento from the past in my pocket, it was time to reconnect with my wife and prepare to celebrate the bright future of our daughter with her coming commencement ceremonies.

Sue walked off the Southwest flight and down the concourse carrying a box of peaches plucked from our backyard tree that very morning as a gift for Inga.  Inga does miss peaches off our tree when she is not in town in the first half of June.  After snagging her new purple-passion luggage off the carousel, we headed back to our motel about 140 miles south, arriving into our beds at 1:35 AM.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Reunion Time from another Time

It is interesting to sometimes realize the circles in which life and circumstances are carried.  Such is the case with some of the work Sue has been doing in researching her ancestry.  Now, come to discover, that Inga's Great Great Great Grandfather, William Gossler, being recently widowed, moved to Oregon from Iowa.  He is buried in the Eugene Pioneer Cemetery, yards from campus.  Inga lives across the street from campus, but her ancester William Gossler is at rest even closer to campus than Inga.  And actually Inga would frequently walk within yards of Grandpa Gossler's final resting place on her way to class. 

So, you think a young girl moving from Dallas, Texas way out to the University of Oregon is a new thing for the family?  It is all really a mysterious circle, there is nothing new under the sun.

Sue and I spent a portion of the afternoon roaming the Pioneer Cemetery looking for the Gossler headstone, but seemed to be having no luck.  I noticed there was a map of designated rows and plot numbers showing how the cemetery was laid out.  With that in mind, Sue searched on her iPhone, came up with a website for the Eugene Historical Society and found a link to the Pioneer Cemetery that listed those interred and their location.  William Gossler, has been at rest in Row 18, Plot 2 since 1918.  And sure enough, there he was, in a nice shady spot overlooking one of the University's indoor pools - which was formerly the Women's Residence Hall.



Headstone of Sue's Great Great Grandfather
William Gossler (1836-1918)
At Rest in the Eugene Pioneer Cemetery
[Coincidentally across the street from his Great Great Great Grandaughter's residence]

Tales of Time and Travel v.5.3: Final Graduation

Diploma Time.

After three preceding graduation ceremonies held by the departments, Honors College and then the University Class of 2013 ceremony; the final ceremony was staged by the distinct schools within the university, this is where the diplomas were handed out (actually just a rolled piece of paper tied with a nice ribbon), the actual diploma comes weeks later in the mail (once they have checked to make sure you've paid all of your parking tickets and lab fees).

The first departmental ceremony on the agenda was to join with Sean and his mom for Sean's Sociology diploma ceremony.  Sean plans to get his EMT (Emergency Medical) certification and apply to become a fireman.  We applauded wildly as Sean crossed the stage to receive his diploma after the speaker (retiring Professor) told everybody these were the worse of times and the environment and social fabric of the world are about to disintegrate in the most calamitous way. So, good luck to yougraduates [I've got a state pension].  This is from a professor who cut his sociology teeth blowing up University buildings in Wisconsin with the Weather Underground.  I'd say times have changed for the better, but they did not offer me a microphone.

Annie, Sean and Inga
Sean's Sociology Department Graduation

Sean and his Mom, Annie
Proud Graduate with a degree

The Lunch Bunch
Grant, Inga, Sean & Annie
grab a bite before moving on to Inga's final ceremony

Inga dramatically melts in Sean's arms.
She insists on sustenance
before trapezing to her
departmental ceremony

Sean receives an Oregon Duck Blanket
from Tom (best friend of his late father)

Inga receives a
Duck's Cookbook
as a graduation gift
(I hope there are plenty of meat recipes -
you can forget about Inga making a salad)

Inga's department, Public Policy, Planning and Management (3PM) was lumped with the Allied Arts and Architecture (Triple A) school (supposedly due to an accounting scandal from a decade or two ago); though 3PM has little to do with the AAA.  Besides, the Triple-A's have [ugly] brown tassels, while Inga was delighted and insistent that she get to wear a sky blue tassel, a relevant distinction from the architects and brown clay-throwers.

We arrived on the lawn behind the student center for the Triple-A school's ceremony.  The biodegradable gowns were rumored to melt in a moderate rain and the organic green dye would wash right onto one's skin and clothing beneath; so it was a mixed blessing to get to the final ceremony with a cloudless sky.  It was actually hot (for Oregon), and Inga, now far removed from Texas summers (an unclimatized to the 'heat') was waterless and wilting, waiting, wondering, when will one get my diploma?  After an award to a Chinese architect (Oregon alum) and then a tedious speech by the department chair reading a painfully long list of projects from poets, painters, preservationists and polemicist; they then begin to read through the 300 names of those who are to receive diplomas.

On the [shaded] Grassy Knoll
Suneson and Battee Family and Friends
Wait and watch for Inga to receive her diploma
[Note: Grant gets devil horns from Cees]

Once we arrived, we took note of the strong sun where the folding chairs for spectators were arranged; and Grant and I promptly scooped up 6 chairs and carried them away, where we arrayed them on the backside of the lawn under the trees where we could sit in shaded comfort.  When the chairwoman announced the number of diplomas to be awarded, Grant and I simultaneously began calculating that they were awarding a diploma every 11 seconds, and at this rate we would be there for another 2 hours 42 minutes.

The 3PM folks (odd appendages to the Triple-A school as they were), were given the hind end of the event.  So we waited, and I got a few vinegar comments going as the day droned to a close.  But close it did - eventually.  Inga was one of the last to walk across the platform to receive her diploma and we cheered, took a few photos and then dragged the poor little graduate home.  We arranged for a steak dinner out, joined by Sean, Annie and friend Cees.  Inga and I both ordered a margarita.

Cheers to the Graduate!
Cheers to getting our first through College!

Inga and classmate Alyssia show [What?] -
"Hook 'em Horns" sign (University of Texas)
an homage to Inga's parents?




Enough about Texas
Inga and classmate give the "O"
Go Ducks!

 

And finally!  The moment you all have been waiting for:

Graduating with Honors

Inga Marin Suneson





Hey, Mom & Dad;
I think I just did it.
Did you see me?



I got it.
Photo please!



Everybody just say: Whoa!
Oh, Oh, Oh, "O"

Brother Grant give an energetic Two Thumbs Up!!

Inga show amazement at his energy



Sean and Inga
It is finished!
Inga is ready to cool her jets - and sleep



Tales of Time and Travel v5.2: Big Graduation

Commencement Time.

The whole University of Oregon, Class of 2013 coalesced outside of the Mathew Knight Basketball Arena to be separated into approximate groupings according to their respective schools.  Once the sorting was accomplished, the Duck Walk begins, the graduates file past a video camera outside and the images of each graduate is telecast onto the Jumbotron Videoscreen Scoreboard at center court for all of the audience seated inside to watch - up close and personal, as they used to say.  Some of it was a bit more personal than than we paid for; one coed (unaware of the camera and its intent) was filmed adjusting her bra and then her skirt as she filed past the video camera.

As the graduating class entered the arena, they had cameras focusing in on a number of individuals, especially those who had made an effort to become photogenically appealing, with flowered leis and decorated mortar board hats.
Some mortar boards had rubber duckies attached, some a flock of duckies, plenty of custom glitter all around and some had written statements atop their heads.  There were more than a few "Thanks Mom & Dad", a couple of "Hire me" signs, a sign that read "History Majors are Never without a Date", and a "Peace, Love and Accounting" salute from a business major.

Videoscreen showing
enthusiastic Ducks

Inga, as a graduating member of the Honors College, was afforded a place at the very front of the Duck Walk, and so she got a front row seat on the floor of the auditorium.  She beckoned Sean to join her at the front of the line, rather than schlep in with the Sociology majors in the middle of the Duck flock, so he did.  We sat with Sean's Mom, Annie and a couple of close family friends of the Battee family, Tom and Cecilia (Cees).  I was expecting a rather dry and formal stretch of time for this Grand Graduation event, but my expectations were far exceeded, as I thoroughly enjoyed the festive and frivolous (though not out of decorum) infused atmosphere under which the event was conducted.  It was fun to see the graduates 'march' in, their hamming in front of the camera and, as mentioned, some of the messages written atop their mortar board hats.  The Commencement speaker was outstanding, a Duck herself (Oregon always invites a speaker connected with the University) who was run over by a drunk while she was student, who went on to play (and metal) in paraolympic basketball and work internationally for the disabled.  She now walks again, despite advice throughout her life that she had no chance of playing basketball, walking, or even at one point, surviving.  She had done it all - despite poor advice from many experts that she could not accomplish her goals.  Don't believe the bastards! Go Ducks!
Once a Duck, Always a Duck.

Sunesons catch a shuttle bus at Autzen Stadium
across the river to take us to the Graduation Ceremony

Knight Basketball Arena
Videoscreen Scoreboard
Broadcasting images of the Class of 2013

After the degrees were awarded by acclamation by the President of the University, and the the cheers raised the rafters.  The videoscreen played the famous 'Toga Party with Otis Day and the Knights' clip from the classic comedy, Animal House (1978).  As all Ducks know, the movie was set a the fictional Faber College, but was filmed on the Oregon campus.  A fact that was much underplayed by the Oregon administration at the time, but is now embraced.

John Belushi as Brother Bluto of the Delta House
Dancing in toga to the music of
Otis Day and the Knights

Animal House movie clip plays on the video screen

following Oregon commencement ceremony

A little bit louder now. SHOUT!
A little bit louder now. SHOUT!
YEAH ,YEAH, YEAH ,YEAH!

GO DUCKS

Inga is immortalized on photographic mural
mounted inside Knight Arean Duck Store.
Inga - Never a wall flower, but now
Inga - Wallpaper
Inga as a freshman as part of Student Cheering Section
Ducks basketball game vs. USC