Do You Know How To Fly?

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Our tent shrinking from the wind that is pushing it about inside the Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Where to begin? Last night, we arrived at the nest with wind gusts of thirty to forty miles per hour. Caroline burrito’d herself deep into her sleeping bag while I stood an unwanted vigil to the flap flap flap of our tent fly. Whenever I thought it was getting worse and the mad flapping accelerated, a brief respite would momentarily offer an absolute calm. In a quick second, where I had just enough time to tell myself that the worst was over, the freight train would plow right back into my ears. Flap flap flap would drum at five six seven beats a second. All I needed was a thirty-second pause in the vitriol of the wind’s lament so I might taste sleep. But as soon as the quiet returned, up in the trees, a whooshing sound arose to announce the re-approaching roar and another round of flap flap flap. The nest sits about six feet from the edge of a steep cliffside next to two large trees. The rain fly is tied down and secure; it is stretched taught, and still, the onslaught from the southeast tearing over the ocean three hundred feet below and racing up the cliffs pounds our temporary cocoon. The flapping becomes a staccato of nylon tent slaps. After a half-hour of this, I rest an arm on Caroline and speak her name over the growing noise; during a lull I hear the familiar sound of her sleeping breaths. I let her sleep, and I rolled over.

There’s a remote likelihood I fell asleep, but it was for moments that collectively could not amount to more than ten to fifteen minutes per hour. Around 11:00 p.m., the pauses in the wind became less frequent; when there was a short break, I recognized how accustomed I was becoming to the constant vibrations affecting the nest. I asked Caroline if she was having trouble sleeping, but my words fell on deaf ears, buffeted by the roar, whoosh, flapping, and howl of a storm that was becoming a gale. With each successive wave of hostility blowing down on us I entertained thoughts of what would the repercussions of the nest falling over be. What if the direction of the wind suddenly changed and was blowing us toward the ocean? Could one of these trees topple, and its root system dislodge the foundation of this hopefully firmly cemented nest? Sadly, an engineering study of this structure’s stability wasn’t attached to the frame for quick middle-of-the-night reference. Maybe the nest’s entire superstructure will act as a parasail, taking us aloft for a ride from six feet above the cliff side’s crest to sea level for some midnight surfing on the angry ocean. My mind reels through endless scenarios that the wind is none too shy to help facilitate.

Caroline Wise outside the Nest on a rainy windy day at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

I grab my headlamp and start inspecting tie-downs to ensure they are still holding fast. Then, a thorough look once or twice over the fly, looking for signs of ripping. This opens the question of what would be the likely situation if the fly were to rip to shreds exposing the flimsy tent to the full force of the storm. The tent is holding up perfectly so far. Then the rain starts in earnest at 1:30. It stops after a brief twenty or thirty minutes, but as it does, the wind takes on a new ferocity. My feet at the south end of the tent are being lifted and slightly bounced around, not enough to startle me, but this is curious. The sound is deafening; how does Caroline sleep? The tent that should be a foot from my face starts to make contact, slapping me as it is pushed in repeatedly by the wind. I roll over. Great, now the bladder joins the chorus of things keeping me from sleep. The wind bears down with renewed threat; the nest is vibrating like a tuning fork. The woven branches click and make increasingly worrisome noises that play to the imagination that the worst could happen. Once again, I inspect the tent and fly for damage, certain we are near the shredding point.

Looking south from the Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

ROAR screams the blast of rushing air; we are in a gale. At 2:30, I reach out in earnest and stir Caroline from the depths of her sleeping bag to let her know I have to pee and that I’m having difficulties falling asleep. We agree we can’t open the tent and climb down the ladder into this maelstrom and dig in to try to sleep through this barrage – what else can we do? But now Caroline’s slumbering ignorance of the situation has been destroyed. After another half hour, Caroline reaches over, and with a near panic sound of urgency in her voice, she says, “We need to get out of here now,” and something about the Three Little Piggies and a Wolf at the fly. As quickly as she voiced her concern, a large gust pushed down so hard that our tent momentarily collapsed upon our faces, and for a second, I’m not sure if this was wind or the nest starting to break apart, the tent bounced back up as the wind-down throttles. I turned on our little hanging LED lantern, agreeing with emphasis that we needed to leave now. To be sure, there would be no doubt in our resolve; the wind pounded down a second time, wrapping us with a skin-tight layer of tent canvas and testing our fear of entanglement with a nylon straight jacket.

View from inside the Birds Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

We put on what clothes we could and piled up everything else in the center of the tent, hoping to leave enough weight that we might still find the tent here in the light of day. Just this side of panic, we open the tent and brace ourselves as I start to open the rain fly. Ten wet steps down the ladder with only a headlamp lighting the blackness, thoughts that my rain gear will act as a kite are quickly put to rest as I reach terra firma. I need to focus my light on Caroline, who will climb down next; she attempts to zip up the tent, getting to the point of agitation as the wind whips the flapping materials, making finding the zippers difficult. She gets everything closed up and steps over the threshold and down a few steps before zipping shut the fly. We move as quickly as we can away from our cliffside adventure, feeling slightly defeated.

Ah, the discomfort of a cramped, cold car, yet we bask in the luxury of it. Even here, the wind continues to rattle us, but who cares? The heater is on, and I’m about to get some sleep.

Our guest book entry at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Four hours later, we crawl out of the car and head for the lobby where we stop at the guest book and leave them an impression of our visit.

Dining room at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Next up, breakfast and then our departure for the long drive back to Phoenix, Arizona. This will quite possibly stand out as one of the greatest New Year’s adventures of our lives, offering us great views, unique lodging, thrills a minute, all the beautiful landscapes one might dream of, and non-stop fun. Thanks, Treebones, for a great ride into 2011.

Morro Rock on the California coast

With nearly 11 hours of driving required today, do we really have time for a walk on the beach in Morro Bay? Of course, we do. We’re John and Caroline Wise, and our middle names are Ocean-Junkies.

Hello 2011

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Looking south down the California coast near Gorda

The tempest rolled in, dragging with it the bluster and fury needed to dispose of one year and usher in the next. Inside our oversized bird’s nest, we were cozy and protected from the elements, the expectation for some rain wasn’t going to deter us from our night outdoors. We were like two snuggling birds side by side, bringing in the new year. What we hadn’t anticipated was the wind, which came on well past the time we had crawled up the ladder to take shelter. Somewhere in the middle of the night and day, it started to howl, forcing us to tie down the rain fly in an attempt to stop it from flapping against the tent. While the wind would wake us with an occasional gust, it never rose to the point of dislodging us.

It would take the light of day to rattle us out of our cage and push us from our nest to perform ablutions. Finished with that, we fluttered over to the feeding grounds to hunt and peck out a morning meal. There were no worms offered to us highly evolved birds, although I will admit to a bit of a fetish for the seeds and nuts that were readily available in this spread laid out before us. Human beaks being what they are, we resorted to eating Treebone’s locally-made peanut granola with instruments and bowls. Grazing ain’t nothing if not taken seriously, so once done with the first course, it was on to the make-’em-yer-self-waffles. Throw on some banana and syrup, and we were in forager heaven. We lingered for a while near the fire with a cup of coffee and enjoyed watching the day come alive, with the rest of the flock joining us here on the hill over the ocean in this forest of Treebones.

Caroline Wise and John Wise on the California coast under a rainbow

When we do finally take off, we fly into rainbows. If I were to write a blog entry about the number of rainbows Caroline and I have seen on our various travels, I am certain that hundreds of rainbow photos would accompany the narrative.

A mist and cloud enshrouded California coast on the Pacific Coast Highway

Out of the band of color, back into the gray low cloud mist, hugging the coast and shortening the more typical long-distance views that are a major attraction of visiting the wild coast. Even this light, this dark, and for some dismal weather is beautiful to Caroline and me; it adds mystery to the environment and makes having the heater on in the car feel extra cozy.

A rainbow over the Big Sur coast in California

Not satisfied with a singular rainbow, we are so lucky to enjoy rainbows! An hour and a half up the road and not very far from the first and easily assumable only rainbow we’d likely see this day, the surprise of surprise happens, and we see another rainbow. Peaks of blue sky escaped the hold of the gray shroud of weather, wishing to be bad. Onward and upward, we fly against the instinct that commands us to go south for the winter. We are determined to follow rainbows and continue on this northerly trek. With this commitment, we flew hard, covering almost 60 miles in little more than 2 hours.

Jellyfish at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

The prospect of a rainy windy day at the seaside made the warm shelter of an old favorite hangout shine sunny enthusiasm upon us for our return to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. We couldn’t swim with the fishies, but we could enjoy watching them doing their swimmy thing. For hours, we walked along and took great pauses to revisit the jellyfish, silver dollars, the octopus, the giant kelp forest, a sea cucumber that needed petting, and even the good old chiton. More fish than you can shake an eel at are here at the aquarium.

Seahorse at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

So are screaming little shits. This could have been a perfect day, but it seems that parents forgot that parenting in some small way implies a minimum of guidance, and a sense of decorum should be instilled in their charges. But these parents were having none of that, or maybe New Year’s Day is scream-your-head-off-day, and no one told us. Enough of these cackling chicks and hens; time to face facts and fly south.

A little fishy at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Okay, but just one more fish or two, and then we’ll be ready to go.

Turtle at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

But wait, there’s more, such as this green sea turtle that came right up to the glass posing for us.

Inside the kelp forest at the Monterey Bay Aquarium

Just a final glance at the Kelp Forest, and then we’ll leave, so says Caroline the Aquarium Addict.

The Big Sur coast in California

En route south for our return to the Birds Nest, we stopped at “Our Beach,” a.k.a. Garrapata State Park, which had been skipped on the way up due to the little ground covered during the meander north. Too many of those, “OH stop, this spot is even more beautiful than the last” moments lend themselves to those two-hour travel times to go but miles taking forever to get somewhere – this is not a complaint; it is a fortunate happenstance we imbibe at all too often. If we were to stop nowhere else this afternoon, it would be here at our beach.

Crashing waves and blowing spray on a beach in Big Sur, California

A small amount of sun graced our presence with a poke through clouds here and there. It sparkled on water and waves, borrowing some of the glitter from the stars far overhead. The waves are roaring as they typically do on this beach. On previous visits, we have seen that the ocean churns so ferociously here that the sand levels rise and fall, changing the character of the beach with dramatic effect.

Late afternoon on the Big Sur coast in California

The walk from the roadside to the beach, as seen in the two photos above, is one of the more dramatic views up the coast; it never fails to impress us. Directly in front of us while on the beach, the waves tower and stack up to roll in with one after the other in rapid succession. And then to the south, as seen right here, the sun lights the beach and rocks with golden repose. We melt into this landscape every time, making us one with our beach.

A bit of sun and blue sky on an otherwise rainy day on the Big Sur coast in California

We now must race against the setting sun to return to our perch, as we don’t want to find ourselves squatting in some random nest on an unfamiliar branch. We arrive in the nick of time to the last embers of available light. The wind is howling here near Cape San Martin; a quick check of our nest and the tent inside assures us that nothing has blown away yet. Time for dinner, and a wonderful one at that. A bread basket and dipping oil were brought with glasses of water from their own well. The olive oil was infused with herbs grown right here at Treebones garden plot including lemon thyme, sweet marjoram, dill, parsley, chives, and tarragon. Next up was the homemade butternut squash soup with roasted pumpkin seeds, followed by a beet salad with orange wedges and mixed greens; both the beets and greens were grown right here in the garden. Caroline opted for the butternut squash ravioli with sage sauce and, for me, the pot roast with roasted winter veggies atop blue cheese potatoes au gratin – both meals were the perfect comfort foods for a chilly winter night.

A dip in the jacuzzi with the wind and cold rain beating at our faces was on order before returning to the fire-warmed dining room for a shared dessert of sticky date cake with caramel drizzle and a homemade hot chocolate chai. By 9:00 p.m., the wind still rips at the trees outside; we will try to fall asleep in a flapping wind tunnel and dream of the best New Year’s.

Seeya 2010

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

California coast north of Santa Barbara

A perfect last day of the year will lead us into a perfect tomorrow. A beautiful sky over a gorgeous landscape was the road we traveled on our way up the central California coast. Stops took us to beaches, cliffside overhangs offering panoramas of the Pacific, and tide pools where plenty of rocks and marine life are found. Should you find yourself meandering along at fifteen miles per hour where the posted speed is thirty-five, forty-five, and sometimes fifty-five, but you are occupied to near distraction craning your neck and pulling over every five hundred feet for a closer look, well then you must be in one of a few places; Hawaii, Yellowstone, or the Pacific Coast Highway. For Caroline and me this New Year’s weekend, it was the latter, although we have plenty of rubbernecking experience in the other locations, too. Treebones Resort is the destination we are aiming to take up our perch for welcoming in 2011 later today.

On the beach near San Simeon, California

From Santa Barbara, we got underway on Highway 101 north towards San Luis Obispo and then Morro Bay, where we would hug the coast for the rest of our long weekend. The next sixty miles will take something close to forever to traverse; how is anyone supposed to drive this road and not want to stop everywhere to look at everything?

Flock of seagulls in California

We’ve seen this section of the coast countless times by now. Still, it holds endless fascination. We pass through the beautiful little village of Cambria, where we’ll live in some future reincarnated life, but keep driving to make our check-in with Treebones before 4:00 pm. We spot great-view number who-knows-which and decide this must be our next stop as memory can’t be sure if we have actually been to this particular 1000-foot stretch of coast before. Seems familiar but I don’t recognize any of these birds.

Piedras Blancas lighthouse in California

Just the other side of San Simeon, we miss taking the tour of Hearst Castle yet again, but that’s fine with us because we spot some Elephant Seals on a beach where we hadn’t seen them before, anyway; we can guess with this being a holiday weekend there will be hundreds of people crowding the boardwalk at the designated observation point. From this beach, we have a fantastic view of the Piedras Blancas lighthouse and know we are nearing the now-closed old blue-and-white motel we spent New Year’s Eve at back in 2002 – fond memories indeed.

Elephant Seal near Piedras Blancas, California

At the mothballed, crumbling motel, we walk over the property remembering the first time we stopped here with Caroline’s mother during Jutta’s first visit to America back in 1997. In the gift shop, someone asked if we had stopped at the beach about a mile or two behind us and checked out the Elephant Seals; we had not. Back then, there was no boardwalk and fenced area, which in turn let us approach probably too close for what was safe but we still tried to be calm and unobtrusive. Today, we have the opportunity to be respectful, quiet, and alone with a large male who is napping on the beach we are visiting.

California coast north of Piedras Blancas

The further north we travel, the more the weather tells us to be prepared. We knew when leaving Arizona that we were facing a good chance of having it rain on us, but we weren’t going to stay home and lose the money we paid in advance for our “room.”

The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A giant bird’s nest with a commanding view of the ocean would be how a real estate listing might start for where we are staying. But it’s not for sale, although it is available to rent for a night or two. The folks at Treebones in the far south of Big Sur have elevated the idea of roughing it into a luxury yurt resort. Well, yurts are mighty fine. We have stayed in more than one on many an occasion in Oregon’s state parks, but we have never, and I doubt you have either, climbed a ladder, passing through a circular entrance to enter a human nest. If birds stood six feet tall and had sixteen-foot wingspans, maybe this would be the kind of place they would weave and call home, minus the futon.

Inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

A night in Kokopelli’s Cave, another in a Hogan at Monument Valley, the house Herman Melville stayed at in New Bedford, camping next to the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, and now a bird nest built for people next to the Pacific, this surely fits in as one of the more unique lodgings we have found ourselves in. Hey, Cedar Creek Treehouse near Mt. Rainier, we have you in our focus.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in front of The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

Yes, we tweeted and chirped upon our arrival at the nest; no, we didn’t soil it. I failed to convince my ladybird to try the morsel I wanted to regurgitate for her. After getting comfy up here, we found it difficult to leave the nest, pathetic for two people in their forties, although not totally out of the ordinary during these difficult economic times.

The view from inside The Nest at Treebones Resort in Big Sur, California

This was our view from the portal of the nest to the bigger world outside. I would guess that some of you might understand why Treebones Resort will now be on our permanent list of places we must return to frequently. I’m thinking April would be nice, or after the summer fog in the early fall.

Sea urchin shell found on the beach in Big Sur, California

After setting up our tent inside the nest, as the forecast called for a ten percent chance of rain, we went up the road to Willow Creek to scour some tide pools and examine rocks and waves. We crawled over boulders to the water’s edge and took a good long time to linger, searching for whatever might catch our eye. Small crabs crawled about, anemones withered where the water level had exposed them, and not a single starfish was to be seen, although Caroline scored a sea urchin shell.

Surfer riding a wave in Big Sur, California

Two guys also determined to spend the last day of the year doing something rather than sitting at home were sealed up tight in their wetsuits before paddling out for some surfing. The waves seemed a bit small to us for good surfing, but luck was with these intrepid dudes who, once in a while, had a good swell pop-up for both of them to get a few good rides in.

Creek running into the Pacific ocean near Big Sur, California

Leaving this first signed vista point north of Gorda, the way back to the car took us past a small creek flowing into the ocean. With the storms of late, we would notice that all the creeks and waterfalls along the coast were running with a goodly amount of runoff. While the weather wasn’t cooperating with snapping off any magnificent dramatically lit landscapes, it was possible to grab a few intimate shots that didn’t rely on direct sunlight or sweeping skies.

Rock side in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Then, it was time to fly up the coast for an overlook of Pacific Valley. Over the fence, we ventured down a trail through a thicket to a cliffside to enjoy the late-day views. This was one of those rare spots we had never stopped at before. With little roadside parking, it would be an easy location to drive right by. Lucky for us, we opted to make this pullout or final roadside stop for the day.

Rocks and ocean in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

The sky was dull, cold, and gray but with a character and charm that kept us happy to have given our time to explore this outcropping. As beautiful as it is here, I may never understand why we aren’t sharing this trail with thousands of others, but for whatever reason it is, I suppose we can thank our lucky stars that the majority of humanity is watching the New Year happen on television. This fine rock and ocean view is all the TV I need.

Sea birds sitting cliffside in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Below us, with their backs to the wind on a giant sheltering rock, a couple of dozen birds have taken up a roost on some near-vertical rock ledges, defying our idea of just how they may be glued to such a precarious perch. We scan the horizon as we have all day for those migrating whales of winter but spot not a one, and try as we might this weekend, not a sign of them will be found.

Looking south in Pacific Valley near Big Sur, California

Like many birds, we weren’t about to be caught flying about after dark and pointed our beaks in the direction of our nest. Jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, jacuzzi, pool, and then a final warming dip in the jacuzzi before heading back to our perch high above the ocean for some stargazing. Dinner came late, this being New Year’s Eve, no need to rush things when trying to stay up late after a long day of fun. Treebones Resort was having a small party for us guests and anyone else who wanted to join the festivities in their restaurant at the center of the yurt village. On the buffet menu, we were offered all-you-can-eat sushi, frog legs, filet mignon sliders, cheese plate, bruschetta, tapenade, blackberries, raspberries, dried apricots, and a dessert of either apple or pecan pie. We spent the hours before the old year turned over to the new one near the fireplace, listening to Darren Delmore sing, play guitar, and his harmonica.

Not this nor any other of these travels, hobbies, concerts, festivals, good meals, or the many opportunities we enjoy are taken for granted. We pinch ourselves at the good fortune of it all and are grateful that we have the wherewithal to follow through and do what we have planned to do. There is no sense of entitlement, and so often, we feel a tad out of place, standing in awe that we have ended up where we are. But that’s ok, we’d rather be excited, thrilled, and tickled that each new adventure and journey is like the first of everything all wrapped up in one. As midnight approached, a Happy New Year and Welcome to 2011 cheer went up with a toast of champagne and a kiss shared between Caroline and me.

The Photo I Cannot Take

JWise Moments

Noise

Are we being conditioned with beeps, bleeps, clicks, rings, jingles, engines, and buzzes of an artificial soundscape that is acting to destroy our relationship to the sounds of the natural world, further alienating us from the nature of Earth?

The espresso machine hisses, the GPS speaks its directions, and the cell phone plays a little song telling you someone must talk to you. The French fry cooker bleats incessantly; the keyboard clicks and the fasten your seat belt alarm beeps to annoyance. We park our car to music played in the lot, music blares at us while shopping, TV’s in restaurants remind us of things we are missing in our attempt to have a moment for ourselves. The microwave sounds the alarm that the meal within its innards is ready to be consumed, the electronic box next to your pillow rattles you awake, and your computer starts up with a bleeping symphony.

How long before your shirt warns you that your deodorant is failing or your glasses alert you with a snappy ad from your optometrist that your vision has deteriorated since your last checkup 14 months ago? Will chirping skin sensors let us know to step in the sun to replenish our vitamin D. Dddrrrinng, dddrrrinng….oh excuse me, my bladder is texting me that I need to drink more water.

Geminids

JWise Photo of the Day

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona

Shooting stars streak overhead, more wishes to be made. A crescent moon dips below the horizon turning off the brightness of night allowing darkness to take over the sky. With the heavens now blackened the milky way with its ribbon of far-off suns has become the stage, tempting us with the unknown. While the day is the domain of finding familiarity with geography, plants, and animals, it is during the wee hours that the stars, pulling our gaze upwards, have intrigued the imaginations of peoples across time. How many nights over how many years did our ancestors keep vigil with a dedicated eye on the position of these points in the sky? Were they divorced from the day as they scouted patterns, paths, and a return of a meteor or comet that might portend new mysteries?

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona looking towards Phoenix

In the dryness of the desert, our view of the scintillating magic is only obscured by some fast-moving thin clouds and the city light pollution in the distance. High above we look at the red flicker, the blinking speck, and the pulsing distant suns while bright silvery stars hold steady. And although it is winter and we are approaching one o’clock in the morning, the cold found out here is a reasonable chill kept at bay with a good bundling of layers and the snuggle of warm arms and a soft cheek. All around us, stars drop from above, some glide sideways, others aim for the horizon. A celestial rain is outpacing our ability to find wishes needed to be made when so many have already been granted.

The night sky from Badger Springs exit off the Black Canyon highway in Arizona

There is sadness in the stars. Their audience has left them, exchanging unknown mysteries of the universe for certainty in finding a winner watching a favorite team in competition or tuning in to witness the drama of a human tragedy that is sure to grip the viewer and explain any loose ends within the hour. On occasion, there are moments when the stars will find the random fan who has ventured into one of the few remaining dark corners of the earth to make communion. Maybe they spot a couple out at sea on a moonless night taking in the brilliance of a calm and glassy ocean reflecting starlight that traveled many a year to be there. And maybe it is the invisible stardust that is the glue where after sharing unspeakable beauty the love of two people is further cemented and the stars are still able to celebrate their magic.

Tucson Again

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Hotel Congress in Tucson, Arizona

Hotel Congress is the place to be.
Criminal livin’ is the life for me.
Jail spreadin’ out so far and wide.
Keep that freedom; just give me John Dillinger.

So it doesn’t much rhyme, so what? It was the first jingle that came to mind, and I’m not about to give any considerable time to writing the opening to a blog entry that really just needs to tell you that we stayed at Hotel Congress, where John Dillinger was arrested along with his gang and sent back to Indiana. Eventually, he broke out of jail there and continued his crime spree, never to return to Tucson.

Cup of Coffee

The day started with coffee, from the same cup John Dillinger drank coffee from back in 1934. We sat at the same table Dillinger ate breakfast at before shooting the place up. I had my eggs, bacon, and toast the same way Dillinger had them fixed, and then I took a much-needed leak in the same toilet Dillinger did before he shot it, too. I went back for more coffee and decided to shoot up the place myself, then left for a bank and robbed it – Dillinger style. After returning to the hotel, it caught fire, I leapt from the window, but the coppers nabbed me and sent me back to Indiana, where I escaped from jail to grab a coffee at a local coffee shop at a nearby hotel before shooting my cup of coffee while eating breakfast, pissing, shooting, and robbing in a cycle that had the feeling of a déjà vu. Then I had a coffee.

Tattooed man on 4th Avenue in Tucson, Arizona

Lenny…a guy who should inspire us in our dumber moments to not make characterizations of people we have no idea of who exactly they are.

Scene from the 4th Avenue Winter Street Fair in Tucson, Arizona

Free hugs, now there’s something we need more of. Suppose I wouldn’t have had to turn to a life of bank robbery hanging out with people like Pete had I known more hugs, but today is not a day for hugs. I’m fueled up on coffee and ready to look into the eye of mankind and tackle issues larger than the petty emotional needs of love and acceptance. I’m on a quest to answer questions that take things to the next level.

Angry cigar smoking Santa Claus in Tucson, Arizona

I’m in Alternative-Ville Tucson, and this is Biker Claus chilling while his stable of Harleys gets outfitted with his sleigh before delivering spark plugs to all the good bikers on his naughty list.

A blur of people

Back to my quest. I have been looking for that thing, that essence, that characteristic of non-conformity called real character. Its appearance is fleeting and rarely found. The 1980s gave way to generic Wal-Mart, and Republicans defined total conformity. The majority of people around me are little more than reflections of some popular TV show, their favorite sports team, and the vernacular of idiots created by media to be used by morons little equipped to find their own voice. Defining one’s style is out. Finding your mind, the meaning of life, or exploring new frontiers is the domain of 60’s sci-fi reruns but not of any interest to the current age. I often find myself lamenting the American people’s rapid trajectory to nowhere and asking, “What happened to individuality?” But today, I figured it out; it is dead, and that’s really no problem. Months ago, I may have found this troubling, turns out that my trip to the Grand Canyon helped provide sense to the tragedy. You see, what was wrong with my search for signs of the individual looking for unique self-expression is that this was a nostalgic desire from a guy who has never had much patience for all that nostalgic stuff. I was looking for the inspiration that I felt when I was much younger – today, it just does not exist for me anymore. Here’s where the Grand Canyon comes into play: people are like individual grains of sand, and instead of these folks growing and evolving to form new sandcastles, they have, in a sense – become extinct. They are becoming part of a new layer of sandstone, a part of a fossilizing conglomerate where an individual grain is of no real interest. Each grain is part of the bigger object needing to be seen as a whole that is being eroded, weathered, aged, stained, and reformed as a monolithic representation of a time past lost in the historical record. So I am now left with the task of changing my focus to learn how to see anew, to not search for life in stone, or to expect the petrified remains of what was, to find reanimation.

Caroline Wise eating on the street in Tucson, Arizona

As I shared my newfound vision with Caroline she doubled over nauseous that I should see myself so elevated above the mass of humanity. Retching uncontrollably, my wife stuck her fingers down her throat, and like a priest of a whacky backwoods religion who reaches into the body to remove a tumor, she began to pull out god-knows-what from her mouth. WTF! Oh, wait, this might be the picture of her eating a burrito, my bad.

Joe Cunningham and Rainy Heath in Tucson, Arizona

This is Joe Cunningham, who was smart enough not to be shoving food into his mouth when I was hovering with the camera just inches from his face. The same cannot be said for Ms. Rainy Heath, who knows how to slurp and gobble like a surly wench – as she’s doing in the background. Of course, these three had totally different experiences than my much cooler adventures. They did things like shop for stuff, browse the arts and crafts from the vendors of the 4th Avenue Winter Street Fair, talk with the sellers, and drink Whoopass while I had all the fun.

Sunset on Interstate Ten between Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona

And then there was sunset. We drove home. Night came. Rainy and Joe retired to their respective homes that are not ours. Caroline and I then teleported to a galaxy where we sought out alien life, explored, and traveled where no man had gone before. It was the final frontier and Caroline’s 43rd birthday.