Hello, readers!

Hello, readers!

I am not currently on the road. Please check back periodically later this year as I have no idea when I'll be traveling! August? September? October? Who knows!

Cheers,
Kelly

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

The Better Rim

8/12

I checked the trap this morning and sure enough, Mr. Mouse was hanging out in there munching on some sunflower seeds. He seemed pretty chilled out, so I opened the lid of the trap and slipped him a grape and an ice cube. I'm not a monster, you know, and Mr. Mouse was pretty cool once he got over his foot fetish.


I decided to name him Petri, as in "petri dish" - because everyone was telling me how he would likely give me every disease known to man. I figured that I probably already had all of his diseases from our interactions yesterday, so I didn't worry about it too much. Can't hide from everything in life, you know.

With Petri set for a ride in the passenger seat, well-provisioned with ice and a grape and sunflower seeds, Jane and I took off from St. George to head further south. Let me tell you, life is a lot less stressful when you're not expecting an imminent nibble.






The plan was to head to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon for a lazy afternoon of hiking and hanging out. But first, I needed to find Petri a new home! I figured that he probably wouldn't do so well in the super hot car ride through Texas, especially if he's from Reno. Higher elevation and cooler temps and all that.

Fortunately, I planned on camping for the night in Jacob Lake, which is just north of the Grand Canyon. It's a little town - well, more like a crossroads - situated up in the high country forests, which has the benefit of being about 20*F cooler than St. George. It's also far, far away from any of the normal summer tourism crowds, with the exception of those heading to the North Rim. In other words, an ideal place for me to camp and an even more ideal place for a little traveling deer mouse!

I stopped off at the Jacob Lake Campground and set up camp, reveling in the nice cool temperatures, the rustling of the trees, and the heady vanilla-pine scent of Ponderosa pines. Heaven! It's always a huge relief to get back into "the wilderness" (rather, anywhere that's not a city) after the insanity of Hot August Nights. The Jacob Lake campground is great because it features very large campsites so you're not cramped up against your neighbors.



With my campsite set up, it was time to let Petri free. I figured this would be a good spot for him - a nice combination of forest and grassland with plenty of cover and little nooks and crannies to hide in. Plus, the climate is approximately similar to Reno's, and I checked and deer mouse populations are pretty abundant around here. So I set the trap on the ground and pulled the lid off, ready to give Petri his freedom (and trusting that he wouldn't immediately re-ensconce himself in Jane).

Problem is that he didn't really... go. I kind of expected that even though he wasn't scared of me, he would still probably want to be out of the box, so he would bolt as soon as I pulled the lid off. But nope, apparently he didn't mind the box, and he wanted some extra time to wander around and lick grapes and chew on bits of seed shells. So I took the opportunity to take a million photos of him, of which this one is the best:


Fearless, cheeky little bugger! Eventually I decided it was time for me to head on, and there he was still sitting in his box. I kind of nudged him and he just looked at me, so eventually I had to resort to tipping the box most of the way over to spill him out. At that point he just kind of wandered around inspecting things close by, not even giving me a second look. What a bizarre little mouse.


Finally, he meandered off in the direction of a meadow, and I felt that my obligation to the plucky little guy was finished. I loaded Jane up with my pack and hiking boots and set off for the North Rim, a leisurely 45-minute drive away.

Mostly the road winds through mixed forests and beautiful vibrant meadows like this one.
I paused briefly at the Entrance Station to talk to the entry ranger and a random Romanian guy who was in the car behind me - they both wanted to chat with me about Jane, of course, and the strangeness of finding a vintage Mustang from Texas in rural northern Arizona - but for the most part just enjoyed a nice slow cruise. And in that, I would like to point out the first major difference between the North Rim and the South Rim: NO CROWDS.

Sure, there's plenty of tourists, but not an overwhelming number. It feels like a perfectly manageable number, in contrast to the dense (and quite frankly dangerous) hordes found at the South Rim. It makes for a much more enjoyable experience when you're not stuck bumper-to-bumper in a line of RVs and autos stretching the entire length of the road. And it's certainly much more enjoyable when you can get out of your car and take in the scenery without hearing the low roar of several hundred other tourists talking within a 50-foot radius of you, and without getting jostled by various people trying to get photos or... you know, whatever people are doing when they invade your personal space.

It's a problem that the majority of the National Park Service has to deal with these days. How can you deal with an overcrowding issue? On the one hand, overcrowding ruins the experience for everyone, and has the potential to ruin the very thing that the park was established to protect. But on the other hand, reducing visitation and increasing restrictions excludes a lot of people from parks - and that's not right either. These parks were established for every American to enjoy, to preserve the most valuable parts of the country for future generations to come. So how do you balance this? No one has arrived at a good answer yet, to my knowledge.

But as for myself, I've got it all figured out: the easiest way to avoid overcrowding on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon is to simply go to the North Rim instead. It feels like a well-kept secret, and maybe it is (and maybe I'm ruining the secret). But man, the Grand Canyon is so much nicer to visit when you don't feel like 50 people are about to jostle you right off the side of the canyon.

I parked down at the lodge and wandered through the trails there, waiting for sunset. One thing is always true, no matter which side of the Grand Canyon you're on: it is a truly awe-inspiring feature. For all that it is touted as "America's largest hole in the ground" - and yeah, technically, it is - I would be shocked to meet someone who could see it and not feel... something... in their soul. It is a place that evokes a kind of primal feeling that serves to both remind you how big the world is and how small you are.

Oh good, only 100 yards to go before I can see the Grand Canyon







It was while I was on one of these trails that my realtor called. Apparently there's cell phone service up here, for better or for worse. She informed me that a house I had been looking to buy (well, I hadn't seen it yet, but I had made an offer on it anyways on the basis that a friend liked it) had gone into multiple offers, and that the seller would decide on the best offer within the next hour. So, I modified my offer, put it in, and... I guess that's how, technically, I ended up buying a house from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

My view as I was sorting out the documents

Hot dog legs and the Grand Canyon
A kind of weird lizard that looked at me the whole time


Never a dull moment in my life!

I headed back to the lodge and wandered around for a while, checking out the facilities. It seems like there's something for everyone here, with accommodations ranging from camping to cabins to swanky hotel rooms, and food from pretzels to fancy high-end dishes. I guess the lodge aims to accommodate everything since the next closest facilities are at Jacob Lake.

Old school fire alarm system near the hotel

The more time I spent at the North Rim, the more convinced I became that it is truly the better rim. There's the sparser crowds, which are a critical factor to be sure. The facilities at the North Rim also retain less of a commercialized feel, with the lodge feeling more like a simple lodge in the mountains, a destination for those who want to get away from it all. And then there's the climate - at 2700 ft. higher than the South Rim, the North Rim enjoys substantially cooler weather, which is ideal for summer hiking. But most of all, the North Rim has a kind of gravity to it, a hushed feel that makes you hesitant to disturb the peace. It feels like a place where you can go to really learn something about yourself and your place in the world. It's not a tourist trap, it's a temple. And that is why the North Rim is the better rim.

The sun took its time setting, but it did finally get low enough on the horizon for me to snap a few shots of the canyon lit up in gold and red.




Unfortunately the clouds weren't right for a truly spectacular sunset, so I took off back for Jacob Lake before it got too much further. While my trip going to the North Rim had been leisurely and stress-free, the return trip was not so much! All of the deer and bison come out at dusk and they seem to have a nasty habit of standing directly next to the road, providing ample opportunities for hair-raising, heart-racing experiences. I white-knuckled it most of the way back, doing my best to not hit any four-legged beasts.

Further north, I ran into the smoke from a largish controlled fire that they were burning nearby. Even though it reduced visibility - and therefore should have been a little concerning to me - I found myself really enjoying the ambiance. The brilliant ruby and amber glow of the fire flooded across the horizon well after the sun had set, illuminating the skeletons of trees and lending an apocalyptic feel to the scenery. The smooth blacktop faded into the depths of the shadows on the side of the road, that velvety blackness only interrupted by the brilliant white orbs of deer's eyes as I passed. It was one of those moments that was best broken down into its component colors.


Jane and I made it back to Jacob Lake unscathed, and I tumbled into bed shortly thereafter. So until tomorrow... Kelly signing out.

Sunday, August 25, 2019

If You Give A Mouse a Mustang

8/11

Reno's vibrancy bled away as hot rods trickled out of the city Sunday morning. Jane and I became part of the mass exodus, briefly, though we split off in a different direction than most, heading east instead of west or south.

Back-up transportation?

It didn't take too long to settle into the rhythm of the road, the asphalt sliding past quickly even as the distant hills appeared to stay still. Jane grumbled along, seeming happy to stretch her legs after a few days of slow city driving.







We had a long drive ahead of us as I planned on driving all the way to St. George, UT, a 9 hour long trip if you account for stops for gas. Nevada is plagued by much the same problem as Texas: it takes a concentrated effort to leave, and that always seems to involve one long day of driving. I planned on taking a new route though, winding down in a southeasterly direction on a series of smaller state highways (US 6, 375, 93, and 168). My friend Mike had recommended the drive to me, saying that it was "really super beautiful for Nevada".

Well, he wasn't lying! The flat plains that make Nevada so... Nevada-y... were punctuated with awesome uplifted strata. Clearly visible alternating white, gray, and brown bands made it easy to check out faulting and folding in the area, even from miles away from the outcrops.










Unfortunately I had no information about the age or lithology of the uplifted sections, so I was left to make up my own stories about them. But the awesome outcrops did make the time seem to fly a lot faster.

About three hours into my blissful drive across the wide-open, empty highways, I suddenly felt a nudge at my left foot. I figured a large fly or something had gotten in so I shifted my foot a bit, not thinking much of it. But about thirty seconds later, I felt a very definite NIBBLE. I looked down into the footwell and lo and behold, there was A MOUSE holding onto my flip flop, nibbling on my foot!!

My blissful, serene drive suddenly became not-so-serene.

Fortunately, I'm not one to spook easily, and I've trained all of the "sudden jerk" type of startle out of myself since Jane's steering is so responsive. So outwardly, a bystander would have noticed nothing - no swerving, no scrambling around in the car, no change in speed. But inwardly I assure you that I was about as startled as I ever have been! There is nothing quite like having something suddenly bite your foot when you are driving 80 MPH in the middle of nowhere.

I stomped my foot and it skittered away to who-knows-where, and I was left to continue driving while silently panicking. There was really nowhere to stop, so I just kept on, figuring I would sort myself out at the next gas station.

Twenty minutes passed without a single sign of the mouse, and I began to wonder if maybe I had just imagined it somehow.

After twenty-two minutes, the mouse grabbed my pinky toe and gave it a few licks.

Cue the same muted-panic reaction - all I could do was wave my foot around in the air while trying desperately not to lose focus on the road. Oh, god, a mouse was attacking my foot. Or, really, kind of just bothering my foot, since it wasn't being very vicious about it.

Over the next thirty minutes I concluded that my left foot must be exceptionally tasty. The only way I could get the damn mouse to leave me alone was if I stretched my foot up under the dash, as the mouse had taken up residence under my seat and seemed fully prepared to go for my foot anytime it was within a 12-inch radius of the seat.

It is a long, LONG drive to Tonopah when there is a mouse after your foot, let me tell you that!

Once I got into Tonopah I pulled off at a gas station, filled Jane up, and prepared for war against the mouse. I got the brightest flashlight I had (for inspecting) and a screwdriver (for poking) and went through Jane's interior, looking in all of the nooks and crannies that I know of. And yet... no mouse! I convinced myself that it had hopped out of the door when I got out to get gas.

Back on the road, it took another two hours before the mouse made a reappearance. At least this time he settled for just licking my flip flop. And you know, when you spend more than a few hours dealing with something stressful like a mouse actively nibbling on you while driving a classic car at high speeds... I guess you kind of just get used to it. I didn't mind so much if he was only going to lick my flip flop. So the new solution  I came up with was to put the flip flop next to the seat as a sacrifice, and drive with my left foot bare.

Well, that worked just fine, and I resumed enjoying the scenery while Mr. Mouse enjoyed the delicious scent of my stinky flip flop.

A really cool mural in the middle of nowhere on the Extraterrestrial Highway. 
More neato rocks in the Golden Hour.

I had a bit of a chuckle when I remembered an old favorite children's book of mine: "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie". I felt like I should add on my own sequel: "If You Give a Mouse a Mustang". I think it would go something like this:

If you give a mouse a Mustang, he's going to ask for somewhere to sit.
When you give him somewhere to sit, he's going to go exploring
When he goes exploring, he's going to find your foot
When he finds your foot, he's going to take a nibble
When he takes a nibble, you're going to yell at him
When you yell at him, he's just going to go find something else to nibble
When he goes looking for something else to nibble, he'll find all kinds of cool hiding places
When he finds these hiding places, he'll decide that Mustangs are pretty cool to live in
When he finds that out, he'll decide to stay
And when he decides to stay, chances are he'll nibble your foot again

I think it has the potential to be a best-seller, really.

Anyways, Mr. Mouse and I were getting along just fine as the Golden Hour came and went. As the sun began to set, it suddenly occurred to me: mice are most active at night. I did not want this mouse to be active. But I knew it was inevitable.

All I could hope for was that it would not climb inside my clothes or really develop a taste for human flesh or, worse, develop a hankering for tasty classic car wiring harness. Mice are horrible in that they love to eat the insulation on wires in cars, causing shorts and all kinds of terrible stuff. Fortunately, my mouse seemed to mostly be interested in flip flops instead. I just hoped that would remain the case.

It seemed like only a couple of minutes after the sun set when I suddenly felt a scampering on my arm. In the darkness, I yelled at the mouse like a lunatic, lecturing it about the dangers of classic cars and messing with me and climbing on people in the dark or climbing on anything in the dark, really. I didn't feel the feet on me again, so maybe he heeded my warning.

Finally, FINALLY I arrived in St. George, where I made a beeline for the nearest 24-hour Walmart. I parked and flipped on my lights to see if I could see the mouse.

Oh, I saw him alright.


That CHEEKY little bugger was sitting right in my sunflower seed cup, having himself a nice feast! He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed or even a little bit bothered as I took a few photos. I was incredulous. But I'll admit it, it was hilarious. The full absurdity of the situation - that I had been driving a 50+ year old car, across the entire state of Nevada, for 9 hours, with a tiny mouse nibbling on my foot, and to find that the thing wasn't even scared of me - was just too much.

After laughing for a good five minutes straight - which probably made me one of the stranger people parked in the Walmart parking lot at that hour - I decided that I liked this little mouse. I liked his guts. And he was pretty cute to boot.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do with him, but I knew that he needed to be contained at least because I really didn't want him to eat Jane's wiring, cute or not. So I bought a nice humane trap from Walmart and set it up with a bunch of sunflower seeds and peanut butter inside. Then I left it on the floor and retired for the night. If this trap doesn't catch him... well, I just hope it does, or I might have to get used to having a mouse attached to my foot while driving, I guess. I guess that wouldn't be that bad.

Until tomorrow, Kelly signing out.

Saturday, August 24, 2019

Earthshakers

8/8 to 8/11 (Hot August Nights Post)

Every year, somewhere around the first week of August, a cacophony of sound and lights and colors descends on Reno. One might think that Reno is already filled with such things - being a town abundant with glitzy casinos - but these things are usually tucked away inside buildings, only assaulting your senses when you choose to enter.

But during Hot August Nights, you have no choice but to experience the overwhelming swell of sound and lights and colors as a myriad of classic cars flood the streets. The bright beacons of the casinos dull in comparison to the full spectrum of vibrant colors splashed across the streets and the glitter of thousands of pieces of chrome. At night, the very air vibrates with the rumble of hundreds of cars cruising the strip, each mighty and proud, growling to be heard over the roar of the gathered crowds and to assert dominance over the rest. It's a feeling that gets right inside you, tickling your lungs and demanding the synchronization of your heartbeat to a new beat. During Hot August Nights, Reno is a land dominated by earthshakers.


 


I spent four whirlwind days bouncing around town, soaking up all of the sights and sounds, knowing that my return to the empty road and my solitary classic car was eminent. I won't bore you with all of the details - just enough to give you a sense of the scope and scale of this event.

My days were filled with sightseeing at numerous classic car shows in Reno and Sparks, as well as ogling at swap meets, auctions, and even trailer shows. Every type of classic car you could possibly imagine was represented - even some cars that never existed to begin with, born from the sheer audacity of a hot rodder armed with a welder and a dream. Every condition was in attendance, too: from jury-rigged, barely-held-together beaters pulled out of a field and pressed back into service after decades of rest, to high end, completely custom cars costing hundreds of thousands of dollars and arriving in posh air conditioned trailers. There's something for everyone, here.




Jane attracting attention as usual


Which of these is not like the other? (hint: it's red)









I will never not take a picture of this car - it is my absolute favorite recurring car at Hot August Nights with a paint job to die for.




An outrageous hood scoop meants for capturing large quantities of air, moderately sized birds, small rodents, branches, and lots of stray vegetation to feed to the motor


I laughed, a lot


"Ricky Bobby, you sold the windshield?!"

Two survivors - a Superbird and a Daytona. This photo contains upwards of $500,000 worth of car!





Though they are giant land whales, the Skyliners are some of my favorites 


An ingenious hose hanger... a men's long sock.
The best looking Maverick I've ever seen

What in the redneck hell is this



You can practically smell the interior through the photo

THE most impressive car that I saw at the entire show: A 1964 Pontiac Acadian (a car little-known, and certainly not revered), completely custom-built with a 2500+HP motor. I loved the designwork, I loved the grunt that they gave the car, but most of all I loved that they took something that you would never think to build... and built it.


My nights were filled with the rumbling of big V8s, the flash of chrome in headlights, the scent of race gas and unburned hydrocarbons floating on the cool evening breeze. By day, you can see all of the cars laid bare in the sunlight, really get a sense of the spectrum of cars represented, the colors and shapes and all of the little details. You can pop your head into engine bays and interiors, figure out how they're put together and what makes them tick. That's all well and good, but I have to admit that nighttime is my favorite. I like the way the setting sun illuminates the curves and sharp edges of these cars, giving a suggestion of something beautiful waiting in the twilight just out of view. I like the way the crowds blend back into the background, becoming shadows of secondary importance to the cars. I like how the edges of the world soften even while the harsh, garish lights of the casinos flicker on, running counterpoint to one another. I like the way the cars transform from stationary pieces of art into primal mechanical beasts, moving along the asphalt avenues with immense gravity, each demanding recognition as a force to be reckoned with. The reality of the day is replaced with an ephemeral feeling of art in motion. Nighttime is when Hot August Nights truly comes alive.




I cruised a couple of nights, happy to sit in stop-and-go traffic for hours to get my chance to join the not-so-stately - more raucous - procession under the Reno arch.


Broken down on the main drag - embarrassing!

The world's most unflappable police horses
But most of the time, I sat out in the parking lot in my folding chair with a circle of dear friends that I've been lucky enough to accumulate over the years. It's kind of funny, knowing that I really only see these people once or twice a year but feeling very close to them anyways. But I always look forward to plopping my chair down in the circle, joining them in enjoying each others' company and watching the cars pass by. Most nights there's a concert nearby, so we can catch strains of various bands - including, this year, the Temptations (yes, really) - weaving in through the general uproar.


This is when I love Hot August Nights best. It's wonderful being around a group of friends that really know and share in your passion. But it's even more wonderful, in a way, knowing that you are part of the background, part of what makes this event great. You're surrounded by thousands of "car people" who are doing the same thing as you: hanging out with old friends, meeting new friends, checking out cars, planning new ventures, discussing new ideas. Thousands of voices unified into a low roar, making a mighty effort to squeeze the most enjoyment possible out of every last golden minute.

And yet, all good things must come to an end. Sunday morning rolled around all too soon and my friends - new and old - trickled away, going back to their lives. As always, I lingered til the end, letting the closing events drag me down back to earth. I've found that if I leave when things are in full swing, it's too jarring and puts my head in a weird place. This way, I can let the raw energy drain off a bit before I have to return to my solitary life with Jane on the open road. When everyone else is gone and scattered, it's easier to leave and be happy about it.

My four days of "hot rod heaven" at an end, I was ready to turn my eyes back to seeing more amazing sights of the road. Until then... Kelly signing out.