For this post I’m making the grand assumption that you are using Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Raw. If you don’t have those two programs and have splurged on a Digital SLR and corresponding kit, you should seriously re-evaluate where you are spending your photography dollar. Like it or not, Photoshop will give you far more control over your final image than any other piece of hardware you can buy. If you don’t believe me, download a trial version here and see for yourself.

Exposure Compensation: RAW vs JPEG

I started off with an underexposed image that I shot last month on the Oregon coast. The image was composed on a Canon 5d with a 17-40L lens and was shot from the balcony of our hotel. Now that it’s 110 degrees here in Phoenix, I sure wish I was back on that balcony. The original photograph was underexposed to ensure I captured the highlight detail of the sky. The trouble is, I lost the beach detail.

Here is the original image and a 100% crop of the cloud detail with auto levels applied. I’m not suggesting you auto level your photos, but I can use this option to apply the same process over all images in my test group and get consistent results. Our goal here is not to make a perfect image, but rather illustrate how changing the exposure setting affects the overall image quality.

Since the shot is underexposed and I shot it in RAW, I have the luxury of correcting the exposure in Adobe RAW processing. I added 1.25 stops in the exposure setting and made no other changes. The following image is the RAW file after the 1.25+ stop adjustment and the corresponding crop with auto levels applied. As you can see in the crop, the clouds are starting to block up a bit, but there is still a lot of information to work with.

Often times I shoot RAW plus a large or medium JPEG for quick previewing. I opened the JPEG file in Photoshop and then selected the Exposure adjustment setting to apply the +1.25 stops. Notice how much detail was lost compared to the RAW image. Also notice the crop with auto levels applied lacks the information necessary to restore any real cloud detail. From this test alone I would not use the Exposure setting on JPEG files unless you have exhausted all other means or are making very small tweaks.

However, while testing different processing methods for this article, I discovered an alternative option for adjusting exposure in JPEG files. Like I said, I was planning to illustrate how much better RAW is, but I was shocked to see how much better Adobe RAW is at altering the exposure of a JPEG. Below I opened the same JPEG as before, the only difference being that the exposure was increased 1.25+ stops in Adobe RAW instead of from within Photoshop. You should notice a significant difference between the two JPEGs when comparing the crop detail. The depth is still nowhere near the quality of the RAW images, but is much better that the JPEG with Exposure compensation performed from within PhotoShop.

Sometimes it pays off to do some experimenting. I’m still going to show you how much better RAW is than JPEG, but I couldn’t help sharing this simple change in workflow that can make a big difference in your JPEG images. Stay tuned for more detail on RAW images.

Last October I was faced with one of my toughest challenges as a consumer - I was getting married and I needed to hire the photographer.  My now wife knew this would be an impossible task and was not going to touch it with a 10 foot pole - no, this one was mine.  Here’s how I went about hiring my photographer, the steps I took, and what I feel is important to know when hiring your own wedding (or any event) photographer.

The Process of Hiring a Photographer

Figure out what you want in a Photographer - My process started with a long period of procrastination.  Periodically I would scan local photographer’s websites, but was often underwhelmed by the stock poses and overwhelmed by the “packages.”  Not that it put my wife’s mind at ease, but all this waiting and perusing allowed me to get clear on what I wanted in a wedding photographer.

To me, wedding photography is all about image quality, style and story-telling.  Our venue was not the traditional pew lined isle of a church, but rather a pecan grove in central Phoenix.  Liz and I both love the outdoors, so it just made sense to make that a part of the ceremony.  We also didn’t have the traditional events such as dancing, garter toss, etc, but did incorporate a string quartette and many other small details.  This set up a great environment to mingle and enjoy the warm October evening, but it also introduced other options and complexities for whomever I hired as a photographer.  I wanted to make sure our photographer would be able to handle the unpredictability of weather, site changes, lighting, and whatever else happens on the day of the wedding.  In a word, flexible.       

Prioritize your list - I determined that our wedding photography needed to be all about image quality, style, flexibility and story-telling.   It’s important to point out that everyone’s list will look a little different.  I have photographed last minute weddings where photographer availability topped the list.  Maybe style or budget tops yours, but no matter the list, you need to be clear on what you want.  This will make a huge difference when negotiating your deal with a photographer.  Figure out what item in your list you can’t live without.  Move that one to the top and continue down your list for the second most important item.  It may help to jot down some notes next to each point that describes what each looks like.  Here is what my list ended up being:

Style - Photographer has a natural style that compliments my overall goals for the event. 

Flexibility - Photographer is willing to adapt their plans, behaviors, equipment, and style to meet the goals of the event.

Image Quality - Photographer has sufficient equipment and experience to obtain quality images.  (be sure to define “quality image” if you are not clear on what that means.)

Story Telling - Photographer’s natural style (see above) and journalistic approach is sufficient to capture all the critical moments from ceremony to toast.

After building my list, I procrastinated some more allowing myself time to change my mind and alter my list before I started shopping. If you have the luxury of time, I highly recommend walking away from your list for at least a week to make sure you are clear on what you want.

Pairing Your goals with a Photographer

Style of Photography - I started with style because that seems to be the most important to me.  I surfed endless websites and saved links to photographers who had an image style that I liked.  I’m not really into the whole staged photography thing; I would rather my photographer capture the events and emotion as they unfold.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted some group shots as well, but the need for group shots was a secondary driver for me. 

Eventually, I narrowed the list down to about 6 wedding photographers which had style and storytelling nailed in my opinion.  This is one area where people differ widely, so figure out what you like and don’t let people talk you out of that. 

The hard part for me was to identify who would be flexible and produce quality images.  Let’s break this down a little further.  

Hiring Flexible Photographers - To me flexibility meant that the photographer would not try and shoe-horn us into a pre-conceived package.  The notion that photographers sell event photography by the hour or number of shots is insane to me.  Can you imagine your photographer hitting the four hour mark and leaving before the cake cutting, toast, etc.?   It also drives me nuts that many photographers hold your images hostage.  They charge to shoot the image, then turn around and charge an exorbitant amount if you decide to use the image.  This is hotly debated within the photography community and there are good augments on both sides of the fence.  I just happen to fall on the side that dislikes this practice. 

Good photographers talk to you about your event and craft a package based on your needs and wants.    I however, was trying to hire a photographer in the purest sense.  I didn’t want wedding albums, prints, PhotoShop work, etc., I wanted a photographer who was willing to hang their credentials on their abilities with a camera.  Pure in-camera art - plain and simple. 



Hiring a Photographer for Image Quality - Image quality means different things to different people.  Believe it or not, some people still want film to be shot at their wedding.  I insisted on digital because of the flexibility that it provides, but it also introduces a lot of grey area into the image quality debate. 

Since I know camera gear, I specifically requested details about the kind of equipment each photographer used.  This can tell you a lot about a photographer and what they are willing to invest into capturing perfect images of your event.  It seems like everyone I know now has a digital SLR camera and a Flickr account, but that doesn’t mean they are qualified to photograph your big day.

I have found that a key discriminator between accomplished photographers and those less so is their ability to light a scene.  Ask your potential photographers to explain how they plan to supplement natural light.  You aren’t looking for a step by step on EV compensation, but simply a sense that they know more about lighting than how to slide a flash into the shoe of the camera and turn everything to auto.  If group shots are important to you, have them address how they will accommodate these particularly challenging staged shots.  Do they use studio strobes to get even lighting?  How do they address glare on glasses? 

The bottom line is the photographer should be able to talk simply about how they will prepare for the different lighting scenarios, the quality of their camera gear, backup gear, etc.  If they get defensive, you may want to keep looking. 

Making Contact with Potential Photographers -  Like I said earlier, I picked about six photographers to contact, each with a style that I liked (remember, style was on top of my list.) I emailed each one with the following message:

Hello,

 I recently stumbled across your website in my search for a wedding photographer and wondered if you could provide me additional details on your offerings.  Let me start by saying that I also am a photographer which is both a blessing and curse in this process.  The blessing is that I know exactly what I want, and that’s the curse as well.  I understand that my requirements may not fit into your business model and if that’s the case, just say so.  If you’re interested, here are the details of the event and what I’m looking for :

The wedding date is October 28th, 2007 at the Farm at South Mountain (Phoenix.)  Liz and I will be getting ready on site 1-2 hours prior to the event.   We will have 80 - 100 attendees and the ceremony will start at 4:30.  As you may have guessed from our venue, our setting will be an outdoor event with a garden theme.  The ceremony will be no longer that 30 minutes and the reception will end between 8 and 10.

We would like the traditional groups shots, ceremony, bride and groom prep, cake cutting, etc., but the rest we are looking for a creative photographer with a great eye to frame up the event in the way they see fit.  We will most likely carve out some time immediately following the ceremony for the family to do group shots; have a set time for cake, and then the rest would be photo journalistic.

 Here’s the hard part - the technical requirements:  

Cameras - I don’t care if you shoot Canon or Nikon digital; it just needs to be one of them.  That is unless you are shooting Hassy. If so, you’re my hero.   I only get excited about 4×5 and larger film now, but if that’s what you shoot and you are good enough to shoot weddings, you too are my hero.  I’m looking for something in the neighborhood of 10 plus mega pixels and I would like all the images to be shot in RAW (yes, I know how much room those take up on a compact flash card - I’m sorry.)  Glass needs to be sharp and should be clean - no feathers or foreign objects in the lens or on the sensor;-)  I know as a photographer you understand, so I won’t belabor the point. 

Lighting - Strangely, I’m less picky about lighting.  You just need to have enough of it to successfully light groups of up to 20 at dusk and capture candids later in the evening. 

Video - Uh, no. 

Editing and prints - none.  That’s right, I don’t want any editing or prints, just the RAW files.  My goal is to finds someone who is willing to charge a fair price for the event and not rely on the extras after the fact.  I realize that you may not make a practice of relinquishing the “negatives,” but I’m hoping to hire a talented photographer for the part of this I simply cannot do - capture the imagery of the event.  Besides, if you’re anything like me, the process of shooting the wedding is far more fun that the Photoshop workflow after the fact.  This is your chance to do the fun part, and then walk away with a check and free cake.  What else could be better?

All joking aside, I realize that what I’m looking to accomplish is out of the norm, but I hope that you would consider the opportunity and let me know one way or the other if you are interested in discussing the matter more.  If you can give me a ballpark price range and a quick thought or two on how you approach your wedding photography, it would go a long way.  

Thanks,

Scott Blackburn

My results were as follows: 

Photographer 1 - Booked on that day. 

Photographer 2 - This photographer had a novel approach.  I received a lecture of how I should “understand as a photographer that comparing work is not really like comparing apples to apples because each artists’ work is unique.” 6 Hours coverage $1295 + raw files $600 = $1895 or 7 Hours Coverage $1395 + raw files $600 = $1995.  Flexible?  I’m not guessing so.

Photographer 3 - Good detail of equipment and description of approach to photographing an event.  Unfortunately, the coverage fee was more than I could swallow.  How would you like to earn 4 grand per day ($500 per hour) just to show up and work?  Here is part of the response on the fees.  ”I have a standard price for my coverage and then usually a-la-carte everything else which sounds like it will fit you perfectly!  You will see that I included a PDF with my pricing for you. But to save you a few minutes I would tell you that my coverage fee is $4000 for 8 -10 hours. I charge $800 for the digital negatives unless you purchase an album in which case I cut that price in half.”

Probably very talented, but gave me the feeling that I was ordering off the rack instead of getting a custom suit (but paying custom suit prices.) 

Photographer 4 - Only shoots film.  This was a disappointment because I really liked her style.  Was very polite and offered to scan the negatives, but I had too many plans for the RAW digital files.

Photographer 5 - No Response - Actually, I was surprised this was the only one.

Photographer 6 - This photographer probably did the best job answering all my questions.  In fact, she fired back a list at me and really gave me a sense that my wedding mattered and was not just another payday or cookie cutter shoot.  We talked about lighting, laughed over sensor dust and eventually discussed price, but of all the photographers that responded, we liked Cindy the most.  She was professional and malleable and made sure that here offerings fit our needs.  In the end, we agreed on a fair price that was better than the other photographers and included an engagement session.  If you are in the Phoenix, AZ area and would like her contact information, shoot me an email and I’ll pass it your way.    

Conclusion

Hiring a photographer is never easy, especially if you are a photographer yourself.  I think the key to success is to get clear on what you want and then set out to find it.  Ask lots of questions and see who wants to work with you.  Look for the signs of an amateur photographer and steer clear.  Ultimately, my approach was a bit unconventional but produced good results.  Why not try a similar approach for your wedding or other big event.  Who knows, you may just hire a great photographer.   

I have long been a pursuer of the ancients.  Maybe because these relics of the past add complexity and rhythm to the landscape.  Be they old cars dissolving into the ground, a half collapsed hotel, or a sagging barn; my camera inevitably drifts towards the past. They gage our past and our progress, and serving as reminders of where we’ve come from.  They provide endless textures, muted colors, and forms that defy convention.   These modern day monuments tell stories of an ever mobile society carried on the winds of change. 

So in honor of these weather beaten-buildings and bullet ridden jalopies, I present the Decayed Earth Project.

Styles of Bellows

I started off my bellows journey with 50 era modified Pentax version.  This was about at basic as it gets; two knobs to adjust the camera and lens position and a lock knob.  Conversion to Canon EOS was simple as all I needed to get was a t-mount which is commonly used in astro photography.  Mounted with a 100mm Asahi lens, I was able to capture reasonably good images and gain respectable magnification, but the overall build quality of this system was just not very good.  With the weight of a Canon 20d and later a 5d, the system was just not stable enough for my liking.  After several months of looking, I settled on a bellow system made by Nikon - Model pb-4.  I know that some Nikon or Canon die hard is going to flame me for doing this, but I believe you should use whatever gear you need to get your images.  I like Canon’s gear better, but Nikon really hit a home run with this system. 



 
This system is well built. Strong rails and locks, geared adjustment, and the ability to tilt and Shift the lens.  This was a big plus for me since this will allow you precise control over the focal plane.  It did, however, require me to make a few more modifications to get it working.  the first thing you need to do is find the right lens adapter.  In my case, I was looking for an EOS to Nikon F mount.  It really doesn’t matter what you are shooting, just make sure you can locate the correct adapter before buying the bellows.  The second modification was to mount a lens.  I didn’t have any F mount lenses, so I picked up a $5 Nikon body cap and drilled a hole just big enough for a nice Schneider lens that I had.  this works pretty well and allows me to switch out the lens easily.  For slide duplication, the 55mm micro is the recommended lens and is still available from time to time in collector shops and on Ebay.  

Using the Bellows

Once you have all adapters finished, you should be able to start shooting.  I don’t mess with any double cable releases that are available.  These will stop down the lens at the same time you fire off a shot.  I find my self moving slowly when I shoot macro work, so speed is not as important.  I compose and focus wide open, stop down the lens as needed for depth of field, then take my picture.  Your camera is missing a lot of info that it normally would get from the lens, but this is all manual baby. Just ignore your meter and fire off a couple test shots and review the histogram.  If you are shooting film, use a handheld light meter or use your camera’s meter to get close.  Remember to bracket if you use the camera’s meter since I find it off as much as tow stops at times. Conclusion So far, this is the best bellow that I’ve tried.  I’m sure you could jump into the medium format space and find a better system, but for 35mm and APS size sensors, this is just fine.  Pick up a cheap one and give it a try.  You will be shocked at all the details you’re missing with your tubes.  But don’t toss the tubes, stick them in your back packing gear.  While the bellows system is flexible, it’s not light or particularly packable.  Great unit for in the studio, near the car, or on the patio, but you wont want to lug it very far.






Liz and I decided that it would be a good idea to go camping for my birthday.  We set out from Phoenix to do a loop through Prescott, AZ up through Ash Fork to Williams, then down the dirt roads from Williams into Jerome, AZ before heading home after this short two day, one night get away. Storm clouds threatened us nearly from our door step, but we felt good that we were finally getting the little M416 Jeep trailer on the trail.  This was a project that I took on just before the table saw incident and has been a long time to completion.  She ran perfect; straight, quiet, and took the harsh beating that Arizona roads are known for.  And, this trailer setup is so light, you hardly remember that you are dragging it along.

 Our day started early and we were in Prescott for Breakfast.  We hit the store for supplies, then headed north on 89 to the town of Ash Fork.  The skies were dark and as we approached I-40, they opened up and flooded the streets.  We slowly motored up the street through what seems to be a deserted town, then picked up interstate 40 and headed for Williams.  More to come.  (Jeep Project)
More Pictures of the Trip 

This trip was a long time coming and both Liz and I are excited to be on the road last. The road out of Payson travels up on top of the Mollogon Rim which reaches into the sky some 7000 feet. On our way up, we passed through a summer storm that dropped rain in front of us most of the way up. We were greeted at the top by a double rainbow and a bright orange sky that looked as though the surrounding pines were ablaze. Not a sight unfamiliar to this area as the surrounding hills are still charred from wildfires in recent years. Thankfully the BLM is wising up and cutting down the underbrush that fuels these fires and we saw plenty of evidence of that on the way here.

Tomorrow will be a mildly long day in the truck; traveling from Overgaard, through Showlow, St. Johns, Chambers, Gallup, Albuquerque, and finally into Taos New Mexico. I’m hoping to get some great photos in and around Taos, so keep your fingers crossed for me.

Saturday, August 5th.

Man that was a long drive. I don’t know what the programmers of Streets and Trips were thinking, but the drive up into Taos took almost 8 hours. Of course we did take the back roads, but we didn’t roll into town until about 4:00 p.m. Our drive took us though a handful of rainstorms and the skies boiled around us the whole way. Roadtrips in August rock.

Our first impression of Taos was nothing like the image I have pieced together from countless photo, stories, and ski brochures that I crossed over the years. Neither was Santa Fe for that matter. As we rolled along the Rio Grande for the last 60 miles into Taos, the beauty was repeatedly interrupted by sight of a rundown doublewide and the graffiti that seems to plague inner cities but also, oddly, this country side.

I guess in my mind the landscape would mirror that of Georgia O’Keefe’s painting and have a timeless quality. Massive territorial dwellings made of adobe, the brightly painted windows that we have come to know so well from just about any Taos advertisement, or the glowing hillsides that surround the town. Don’t get me wrong, these things are all still here and in mass, but you have be prepared to pickup the trash before you take the picture or get good at cropping to avoid the tagging on the side of the building. We figured that with this being such a tourist draw, the locals and the local officials would take a bit more pride in their town.  Enough on that!

Taos touts it’s very own micro brewery; Eske’s Brewery. Purely for Liz’s professional betterment, we decided sample their offerings. We sat on the patio and listened to live music, talked, and took a bit of interest in the local’s conversations. Not your mainstream Brewhouse, Eske’s laidback atmosphere and decent brews made for a nice a relaxing start to the evening. If you sit on the patio, be sure to take note of the cascade hops growing on the trellis over the patio.

After sampling the Nut brown and the Scottish, twice, we headed across the street for a nice sit down dinner; something we had not done since we left. We can’t seem to recall the name of the place, and yes the food was that unmemorable. It’s directly across the street from Eske’s; big two story building – you can’t miss it, but we recommend trying too.

From there we went back to the Casa Benevidas Inn where we were staying. Larger that we had originally thought, this Inn is a beautiful casa right on Kit Carson road which is a block or so from the Plaza. Here the traditional adobe, big beams, large rooms and bright trim come together to make for a great hang. The maze of rooms and corridors were adorned in paintings and antique regional furniture. The breakfast the next morning was amazing. Loads of fresh fruit, great homemade granola, and simple fruit muffins that leave you craving another for the rest of the day. And, when you are filled with all this good stuff, they come take your order for breakfast. We had a egg dish that was smoothed in green chile sauce.

After breakfast we took a drive through town where I got a few good shots. We saw some interesting parts of the outskirts of Taos, but left a lot for another trip. After a couple hours, we went back to the Casa and checked out before walking up to the Plaza and hitting a few galleries. We saw good a photographer and a few good paintings, but nothing that really jumped out at us. A local winemaker was selling wine there so we bought a couple bottles to remember the area. As we wrapped up the tour of the plaza, the skies began to darken and we headed for the truck in a light rain.

We headed north out of town as the rain really started and the whole valley socked in. Just after driving out of the storm, we paused to take a picture of Taos and the mountain getting swallowed by the rain. Most of the trip was uneventful. We stopped in the San Luis valley and hiked up to the shrine they have overlooking the town. The view was fantastic and the church was small but well built and the grounds were nicely kept. We stayed just long enough for it to start raining then headed down the hill to a little coffee shop where we warmed up before hitting the road once again.

We continued north through the San Luis valley and into Forth Garland. There the rain was pouring and the skies were dark. We followed a snowplow up the road which made us wonder what was in store for us when we reached the top of La Vita pass. We crested the top with no problem and as we started down the other side, we saw the need for the snow plow. The rain in one area had overcome the drainage plugging it with debris and covering the road with mud, sticks and other mountainside items. By the time we arrived, the runoff had slowed and we were able to sneak by before the state patrol shut the road and let the plow clean up the mess. We dropped down into Walsenburg where we stopped for fuel and a good stretch. It was still pouring rain.

Westcliffe lies northwest of Walsenburg 70 miles or so on highway 69. This twisting two lane highway is one of the best roads we’ve been down. Little traffic and great scenery as you head up into the wet mountain valley. Ranch after ranch pass by as you weave your way north into Westcliffe. In one spot you pass by a huge buffalo ranch where hundreds of buffalo dot a distant hillside and make you think back to distant times when these giant animals roamed the plains.

As we neared Westcliffe, we were greeted with the familiar chirp of the cell phone indicating we had a new voicemail. It was Liz’s Uncle Jim who thought we had come in the night before and wanted to know what time tonight we were coming out for dinner. It was nearing the 5 o’clock hour and we had not yet checked into our hotel, so Liz called Jim to let him know that we would do that first then head for the ranch. We learned quickly that the cell coverage here was spotty at best. It took three attempts to relay the plans to Jim with most of the calls starting and ending in “hello.”

The Alpine - Everything was booked in town, so this was the only place open. These are simple cabins that are out of town and up on the hillside. Our porch overlooks the valley and town and is a calm and relaxing place nestled into the trees. Our cabin came with two cats who hang out on our patio rain or shine. Liz named them Morris and Andy and they have been a source of entertainment as they stalk grasshoppers and wait by the door to the cabin.

We dropped our gear and headed for the ranch which was about ten mile out on the other side of town. We were the first one to Liz’s grandmother’s house which sits in a green valley and has the traditional ranch accoutrements. Uncle Jim and the rest of the family came up about 15 minutes after we got there and I got volunteered as the BBQ operator which I was happy to have a project to focus on. We noticed the gas grill had a leak in one of the fitting and the gas was blowing out enough that you could smell it in the house. Needless to say that we would have blown the house sky high if we would have lit a match. We shut it down and Allen and Lavern, Liz’s cousin and his friend, went to get the tank they had. Between the two of the hoses, we were able to piece together the right fittings and get the grill fired up without any mayhem. I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of the night, but everyone enjoyed catching up on current events and recent history.

Monday we woke up to more rain. So far we have yet to see a day without rain which is hurting my photography efforts. Today I had planned to ask Liz to marry me while we were on a hike. Now to find the perfect spot. We hike from the cabin up through a deserted camp grounds. It was a nice hike, but lacked any real vistas that seemed necessary in making the perfect moment. We took a couple shots, then headed back to the truck to find another trail. We drove along the base of the Sangre De Cristo mountains looking for a trail marker. Signs pointed out the presents of Taylor Creek so we decided to see what that was about. A four wheel drive trail lead us up the mountain to the Rainbow trail. The road was covered with rough boulders and looked like something from a jeep convention, but we motored up with ease and parked near the trailhead.

The rainbow trail drops immediately down to Taylor Creek which was flowing well due to all the rain. Once crossing the creek, it starts up the hill towards the summit of one of the peaks in the range. We hiked along through stands of Aspen and patches of wild flowers for around a mile and gaining elevation the whole time. We finely broke out of the trees and stood on a bend in the trail looking up at the massive peaks and down at the valley below. This was the spot (12:20).

I set up the camera as I often do and framed Liz against the backdrop of the peaks. I fired a test shot, then on the second click of the shutter, I set the timer and ran to where Liz was. With ring in hand, I turned to her and asked her to marry me. In her shock, she covered her mouth with her hands and I had to tell here to put them down until the camera fired. She did, then it did, then we kissed and hugged in celebration. She was speechless and danced around lacking the words to express the moment. In the rush of the moment and with all she said, I had missed the response to the question entirely. I asked her if she had said yes, she said she did, then we hugged some more. I then suggested that she break out the cell phone and give her parents a call since they were dying trying to keep this a secret. Liz called her mom and they talked as I photographed her in the moment. Needless to say, it was a total surprise.

I wish I could say I was surprised, but the ring didn’t fit. Once I picked it up, I questioned if it would fit, but I didn’t have the time before the trip to change sizes. We will need to get it resized, but at least she loves the ring. Plus, I can stop worrying about dealing with a long quite ride home.

The rest of the day was full of phone calls and miscellaneous tasks like getting groceries before we met one of Liz’s friends for dinner. Everyone had fun there catching up on the small town gossip and reminiscing about old stories.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Today is sunny. After a whole trip of rain, that sentence stands by itself. We are taking an easy morning before heading into town and getting some stuff done. Last night we saw signs for hi speed internet so that will be the first hot spot we have found outside of Bison Ranch on the first night of the trip.

Tomorrow will be the last day in Westcliffe and we will hit the road early Thursday morning for Ouray. This looks to be about 200 miles depending on our route, so it will be most of the morning in the truck. We have yet to look for property, but we will talk with a local realtor today and tomorrow to get a sense of the area and prices.

Thursday, August 10, 2006 We left Westcliffe today in route to Ouray. The drive up to highway 50 was spectacular. Two lanes, no traffic, and early morning light to make it all good. We made good time into Salida, CO where we stopped for some breakfast. The town was very cool and had a laid back atmosphere and lots of outdoor sport types. After breakfast, we cruised through the historical district with was not very large and then jumped back on the road to Ouray. We motored through Gunnison and had to stop for gas. 3.35 per gallon. We didn’t stay long and headed west again to the turn off to Lake City.

I had heard about Lake City from some reports people had left online. The road took us down along the river for about 30 miles until we entered this small town at the base of the mountains. Here several streams merge and form lakes and a larger river. We stopped at the local fly shop to ask what to use and see how the fishing was. We also asked about the cutoff road that was to take us over the mountains and drop us off in the town of Ouray. There also was good fishing along Henson creek which follows the cutoff road, Engineer Pass. We started up the road and no more than 5 miles in, it began to rain. Surprise, surprise.

The road starts out gradual and well maintained. We passed through state land with patches of private property, mostly old mining claims. There were a couple notable mine ruins along the road, so if you are into that sort of thing, it’s worth the trip. Since fishing in the rain was not going to be that much fun with the gear we brought, we decided to keep heading up the road and see if the rain would break. Engineer pass climbs up to 13,000 feet, but we didn’t know that at the time. All we knew is the guy at the fly shop said you needed four wheel drive and a steady hand.

As we passed jeeps coming down off the hillside covered in dirt and mud, we started to ask for more details on the road ahead. The first guy we stopped was a big Indian in a jeep with two passengers in raingear and he was wearing a blanket. He said there was no way I would make it without high centering. The guy at the fly shop suggested Cinnamon Pass would be a bit easier, but would dump us out in Silverton instead of Ouray. I asked about that route and the guy in the jeep seemed to think that was still going to be a challenge, but figured we could make it. Seemed like the more people we talked to, the worst I felt about what was ahead. But, we were starting to see some incredible alpine meadows, the skies were starting to part, and the only other way to Ouray was back down the pass followed by three and a half hours around the mountain through Montrose. We hit a few rough spots, but really the road was not that bad.

The afternoon rains were followed but waterfalls everywhere you look and as we climbed out of the tree line, the sun began to paint all hills with gold. We were in terrain like we had never seen. At about 12,000 feet, the entered the bottom of a caldera which was overlooked by the summit of the pass. I stopped to take a panoramic picture, and Liz walked ahead to stretch her legs; after all, we had been in the truck most of the day. I took my shots, they caught back up to Liz roughly half way up the caldera and was shocked to see hundreds of sheep grazing on the alpine flora. It looked like something out of the Alps and we stopped and watched in wonder how this would be a farmer’s grazing grounds. In fact, we were often surprised by what we saw on this road. Cabins built where you wouldn’t expect one could be built. One little cabin sat beside a gorge the owners gained access via a suspension bridge. It was very cool and we couldn’t stop talking about it the rest of the trip.

The summit of Engineer pass is just under 13,000 feet. You actually continue to climb if you take Cinnamon back down, which we did. So far the road was not too tough, but with all the tough talk from the jeepers, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop around every bend. As we started out decent on Cinnamon, our GPS read out 12, 996. That’s close enough for me to consider this the first 13,000 foot peak we had ever driven over. I’m going to fast forward down the mountain as it was beautiful, but uneventful. The road was narrow and rough, but I just put the truck in four wheel low and crawled along. If you don’t like driving along steep drop-offs, I would suggest choosing a different route. As we watched the altitude on the GPS, we grew more confident that the worst was behind us and we started talking about where to stay since rain was predicted, and neither one of us wanted to camp all that bad. We talked about how cool it would be to camp at 13,000 feet in one of the alpine meadows, or near one of the alpine lakes, but in the end we decided to see if we could get a room in Ouray.

The Animas forks is essentially the beginning of the Animas river and all the streams begin to feed one central channel. It also is where the Animas ghost town and mine remains are. Roughly ten buildings and the decayed remains of the mine, Animas Fork was booming near the turn of the century. It also marked the point where we started seeing much less equipped vehicles crawling over rocks and trashing the rental company’s paint job. When we saw our first mini van, we knew Silverton was near. Ouray is 22 miles from Silverton on paved roads, but they twist and turn so much that the speeds we traveled were under 30 mph most of the way. In Ouray we checked into a hotel and rushed out to get a bite to eat before everything closed. We ate at Billy Gruff’s which has good food and beer, then went back to the hotel to unpack the truck and relax for the night.

Friday, August 11, 2006

This morning we toured Ouray. We took our time moving through some of the shops and even watched a local glass blower for a while. A sign to a local art exhibit caught our eye so we spent some time waking though some good and some not so good art. Ouray is a quaint little town that sits in the crux of red mountain pass. If you are ever in the area, it’s worth a visit. We drove through Silverton on our way to Durango and picked up a map and some advise for fishing on the trip into Durango. Lime creek was the recommendation which is a 6 mile loop off the main road. Yes, it was rough and dirt. About two miles in the road drops to the creek and we geared up and hit it. I gave Liz a brief lesson on casting and we walked up the shallow stream. The fish were there and I go one bite, but caught none. We got frustrated with the tight casting lane which was not a good spot to teach Liz how to fly fish. We decided to hang it up about the time it started to rain and figured that we might give it another go in Durango on some more open water.

The drive back into Durango was wet.

Our trip started on Saturday and took us out through Globe and Superior, the later of which I think is a real estate investment boom waiting to happen.  We cruised up route 88 which is a lonely stretch of asphalt that traverses through the outer fringe of the Superstition Mountains before spitting us out at the top of Roosevelt Lake.  

The plan was to camp on top of a mesa overlooking the lake and with any luck, we would have the place all to ourselves.  The recent and abundant rains had lifted any chance of fire restrictions and we have a bed full of wood to burn - good old fashion camping. Eventually route 88 turns to 288 and with that came a gravel road. I think the last time I was on gravel was the Escalante trip in September of 2003, so it felt good to hit a little washboard and feel the back end break free every now and again. Save a few trucks with ATV down in the flats by Roosevelt, we seemed to be the only caretakers of this sprawling section of the superstitions. As we climbed out of the Roosevelt gorge, the landscape began to change with elevation. Scrub Mesquite and saguaros were slowly replaced with field grasses, pinion pines and the occasional blooming century plant.   

Eventually the canyon the road follows gave way to the first plateau and giving us our first really look at the valley and lake below.  How could it be that we had never been to this part of Arizona we wondered as we slowly meandered across the first 2000 foot tall shelf over looking the lake? Our goal was forest route 488 which came highly recommended for its vistas and dispersed camping that dotted it’s perimeter.

As we approached the turn onto 488, we locked in the hubs so we can crawl around the vehicle parked at the intersection.  Almost immediately after turning onto FR488 you are greeted by oversized cottonwoods, a creek (Spencer I believe,) and a couple nice camping spots.  If you don’t have the ground clearance and don’t mind being only 50 meters or so from the less that busy main road, this spot’s for you.  We continued on, passing the hikers and traveling down the sometimes muddy and rutted road until we reached the end of the trail.  I must say, we were not all that impressed with the site.  Essentially a gravel cul-de-sac with little else for landscape.  We stretch our legs, looked over the cliff for a couple minutes, then spotted another mesa that looked like it was covered in field grasses and pinion pines.

We set out to find access to these golden fields and after a mile or so of backtracking, we entered mesa number two. The unmarked road was about the same as 488 with the exception of following a creek.  We twisted and turned up the road until we came to a stop at the point of the mesa overlooking the lake, valley, and a majestic view of Four Peaks. This would be home for the night.

Shasta, our dog, was happy to get out of the truck.  Clearly all the new smells overwhelmed her as she ran from edge to edge sniffing everything in between.  We unloaded the truck then sat on what seemed to be the edge of the world overlooking the ancient scenery that was so new to us.

After sunset we built a fire and began cooking in the Dutch oven. I have yet to master this process, but was able to produce some tasty salsa chicken on a bed of potatoes, carrots, and onions.  We ate, sat back, and watched the nearly full moon rise over our heads while pondering how to do this more often.  Eventually the wind picked up and we decided it was time to crash.

The next morning, we took a short hike and shot some pictures.  Pecan french toast was next on the list and after a short while with the stove, we were back on our perches eating breakfast and ease-dropping on the new day settling into the valley below.

We broke camp and made the decision to head up the mountain instead of down.  Up takes you into the town of Young and if you continue on, to the Mogollon Rim East of Payson. We actually just wanted to make a stop at Workman Creek Falls where there was supposed to be a spectacular falls. As we climbed, the arid landscape once again gave way to the new flora of tall pines, cottonwoods, and oaks.  After about 30 minutes of climbing, we crested the mountain and began to descend into a forest that was like none I’ve seen in Arizona.  Thick and lush with deep green firs, we realized this was not the typical ponderosa pine forests of the northern part of the state.  

Workman creek was deserted as we pulled up. Just us and the creek and what appeared to be the absence of a trail.  We packed up the camera gear and headed cross country to find the falls.  After a bit of tough hiking across the steep slope of the canyon, we arrived at a series of small waterfall. I shot pictures and Liz made a snowman in a section of melting snow - evidence of the last storm. After a little while, we hiked back, jumped in the truck, and continued up across four more peaks, through the town of Young, beside the aftermath of a past fire season and eventually to the terminus of route 288. 

Route 288 intersects highway 260 which cuts across the Mogollon Rim and connects Payson and Snowflake. We were tired and still a long way from home, but at least we had asphalt the rest of the way. We stopped for grub on the way out of Payson and made great time back to the valley; arriving just in time to watch the sun set over South Mountain.   

Sometimes you just need to get away to process life, gain perspective, and see something new.  You might as well get out there, because if you wait, you’ll only be one year older when you do.

I left Phoenix about 7:30 am and was in Flagstaff by 9:30.  There I did some chores before moving on the Page/Lake Powell area.  I arrived at the horse shoe bend of the Colorado around 2:00 pm and loaded up the camera gear for the short hike over the hill.  I struggled to get the whole scene in with my wide angle lens and was shocked to find out that you practically need to shoot strait down over a cliff to get the shot.  I think the right lens would be a 8 – 10 mm fisheye if you are shooting digital.  I may stop on the way back and shoot the film body to make sure I get it. 

I’m sitting on a cliff that must be 2000 feet above Lake Powell watching the sun set over my shoulder and lighting afire the canyon walls before me.  This was a nice surprise with today’s flat skies.  Water is extremely low exposing much of the low level shoreline. It’s pretty clear that we are suffering from a wide scale drought.    My lookout is known as Alstrom Point and proved a difficult find even with the modern technology of GPS.  I learned really fast that none of the trails are marked, blowing 40 minutes past the turn towards my eventual camp.  The trail twisted up and over the crest of the badlands in the Escalante Staircase making for a spectacular vista and the first opportunity to use the four wheel drive. 

It’s dark now and the stars are waking up to overpower the glow from the laptop.  The milky-way is straight overhead and paints a path from horizon to horizon.  Tonight, I will sleep under this blanket of stars and rise early to make the two plus hour off-road trip to the Paria Canyon ranger station in efforts to be chosen for a permit to the Coyote Buttes area for the following day.  My plan is to hike Paria Canyon and the intersecting Buckskin Wash which is said to have ample photo ops.   

I count six houseboats beneath me and their glow is the only reference to the lake now.  Temperatures peaked in the mid 80’s today and now it’s cooling off nicely with a slight breeze.  It’s 8:45 pm mountain time.  Good thing the ranger at the BLM station pointed out that they were an hour ahead or I would have missed the permit process tomorrow.   

Tonight’s chores consist of load the 4×5 film backs because I forgot to do this last night before I left.  Could be worse, I could have forgot the film.  Tomorrow night I hope to capture some long exposures, or who knows, maybe I’ll do some tonight.

9/22/2003

Today started early.  Got up before the sun and stopped the star trail shot that I began around 9 pm the night before after loading the film backs.  Looks like the moon rose straight up in the middle of the picture which will cause a big white stripe along its path.   

Loading went faster than expected, but the static under the sleeping bag looked like a small electrical storm.  I hope that I didn’t expose the film.  I will try the star trails again tonight, this time facing away from the moon, which is rising at about 1 in the morning. 

Got lost four wheeling in the dark on the edge of Alstrom Point in route to the ranger station for my lucky permit.  I figured as long as I kept left, I would stay out of Lake Powell. 

Made the Paria station in time for the permit lottery, but as it would turn out, roughly 25 people showed up and I did not get a permit.  Should have been here yesterday they said.  Oh well, I’m on vacation and have the time to try again, so tomorrow we’ll do it all over.  I think I will set camp a little closer this time.

I could have picked up a permit to Coyote Buttes south, but the ranger at the BLM strongly recommended a place called Buckskin Wash since I had never been.  Wow!  The pictures should speak for themselves.  The slot was so tight in spots that you had to turn sideways to pass.  The

stone layers and formations in the slot did not disappoint.  I even took the 4×5 in a pack and shot a couple frames, wasted one (I think the film was loaded wrong).  The hike was around 4 miles each direction and for the most part flat.  The 90 degree temperatures dipped into the 70 within the slot and made for a nice 5 hour excursion.  My shoulders are killing me from lugging that 4×5 camera that far.  Let’s hope the pictures turn out. 

So my new plan is to wait out a permit for the Coyote Buttes area, or at least give it one more try.  If I get the permit tomorrow, I will probably do the south Coyote Buttes area just to stay close.  Maybe a little Paria Canyon too.  The choices in this area seem endless, so I won’t be bored.

So where am I now?  Well I drove about 70 miles east to pick up a cell signal and upload this report. I figured that I could connect in Kanab, but no dice so I drove on.  It’s really incredible country; red rock mesas parallel the road all the way to where I sit now.  It’s 6:30 pm Utah time and the sun is still reasonably high in the sky, maybe leaving me enough time to catch some shots of sunset. 

9/23/2003

So I guess I need to catch you up.  I’ve been in the back country for the past couple days.  Yesterday I attended the second drawing for the Coyote Buttes permit.  Having to be at the rangers office at 9:00 just kills the morning light, but I woke up late anyway.  After driving back from the St George area where I uploaded the last post, I four wheeled up above the ranger station off the Cottonwood Canyon road.  It was close, but remote due to the trail I took to get there.  No Import trucks on this road:)

I arrived at the ranger’s office around 8:45 and they started the drawing at 9:00.  The first winner was a solo hiker and then there were nine left.  The second name drawn was for a party of four, followed by another party of four.  That only leaves one!!  I think I was getting a lesson in faith.  The good news is that parties who had two or more hikers pulled out since they could only get one permit.  The next name drawn was not me and my stomach sank.  But wait, he was not there, so they drew another name and it was very familiar.  I was going to Coyote Buttes on Wednesday. Woo hoo!!

After reveling in my little victory, I decided to head for Harris Wash for a long day hike to the Zebra slot canyon and the tunnel.  I drove north on the cottonwood road two hours to Cannonville and on to Escalante where I stopped in at the BLM office to get any tips for the area.  The ranger suggested that both Zebra and the tunnel were flooded from the last rain storm.  So I changed plans and went to lower Calf Creek falls.  The hike was 3 miles each way and a lot of it in sand which I’m getting use to hiking through (most of the trails are through sand at one point or another.)  the picture will give you an idea of the falls.

 I smoked the return trip of the Calf canyon hike to get back to a lookout West of Escalante for sunset.  I drove, I set up the camera, I waited, and waited, then this haze rolled in with the wind and my picture would have been crap - so I loaded back up and set a land speed record back to Cannonville and into Kodachrome Basin where I enjoyed the luxury of a campground with running water, showers, and someplace to throw away the trash.  Is this what being homeless feels like?  I opened the cooler only to find that the film for the 4×5 camera had a leak in the ziplock and the bag and the film cases were soaked.  It was the unused film and the shots that I took when I backpacked the camera down Buckskin wash.  I guess it wasn’t meant to be.  I had my star trail shots in my camera bag, so they were safe, and I had three film backs that may or may not have taken on water.  I guess I’ll only know in processing.

 9/24/2003

9/26/2003

 I figured that there was no way I could get a 30 second exposure without someone walking into the frame, so I threw my gear over my shoulder and left Antelope Canyon for another day. 

Off to Monument Valley.  This was roughly an hour and a half trip from Antelope and through some barren and lonely desert.  I arrived in Monument and scoped out the camp sites, which were meager at best, but came equipped with great views.  I then took the drive down through the valley which is a dirt road full of tour jeeps and rented RVs.  Not as bad as Antelope, but I would not be surprised if one day, the only way to see monument is in a guided tour.  The money’s not in the entrance fee, it’s in the shuttle and the guide.  I tried to acquire a private guide to take me to a couple of places off the beaten path, but the only guides were the jeep tours where you and 20 of your closest strangers can rid along and ooh and ahh at the same things.  No thanks.   

I did the loop at about 4 pm or two hours before sunset.  I was amazed by how these monuments to time stood tall amidst the clear remnants of their fallen brothers.  The formations were similar to what I had seen all week, but in their own way, different – independent.   There is no doubt that Monument Valley has the kings of buttes and mesas which is highlighted by there isolation from one another.  I shot 60 – 70 frames and returned to the camp site to begin setting up the 4×5 to capture the two mittens at sunset.  I selected the camp site for this purpose and labored over the camera to get both buttes in focus, which is quite a challenge with a 4×5 camera.  Now all I had to do is wait for sunset… and wait… and wait.  Finally it’s getting to be just about time to shoot my picture, and a group of 20 or so people pile out of a van in began to set up camp right in the way.  There was a couple that walked out onto a point and into my scene, so I walked over and asked if I could get them to move for a second.  They did and I started to set up the shot.  They walked over and we started talking, and before we knew it, the rest of the group had pitched tents in the way.  Oh well, not my shot I guess.  Nice couple from Germany.  I’m not sure, but I think the whole country gets the month of September off to tour the Southwest.  I met one couple the whole trip that did not speak with a German accent.  Must be some fascination with the southwest.  They were all having a blast so more power to them.   

I shot stars that night and got up early to shoot sunrise over the Mittens before doing a morning light circuit of the valley.  The road through the valley runs west to east, so the evening light is opposite of the morning.  For this reason, I would recommend two trips through the valley; one in the evening and again the next morning. 

 After the morning loop, I packed up camp and began the four hour trip to Sedona where I was suppose to meet some friends for a weekend campout.  (read with guilt – you know who you are :-)  Arrived in Flagstaff around 11 and checked voicemail which indicated that the camping was off.  After 6 days on the road, I didn’t shed a tear to come home and sleep in my bed.  I would have been nice to stay in Flagstaff for the night since the leaves are beginning to change colors, but I made the two hour trip south to Phoenix. 

It’s probably a good thing that I have the weekend to recover as I’ve been running pretty hard this past week.  I’ve watched the sun rise and set each of the past five days hoping to capture the perfect image. I don’t know if that exists, but to try is most of the fun.  I’ve logged 1,377 miles which is roughly the distance from Phoenix to Seattle or half way to Boston - All while staying in Arizona and Utah.  Many of the miles were off road, and some I ran like I was racing in the Baja.  Ever heard of a controlled four wheel slide?  I’m still amazed that I didn’t flat on some these roads and the Ford took everything I threw at her.  I even got airborne a couple times.  No I mean airborne – going back and picking up your stuff airborne.  Running 50 mph into that whoop that you didn’t see and watching all of your gear defy the laws of gravity is priceless.  I just turned 30,000 miles on this trip so I guess it’s time for a little warranty work.  Hmm, I think I hear a knock in the chassis and I’m not sure, but the alignment may be off…

I guess the answer to that is “plenty.” It started with the trailer assembly, which was no small feat since it came in a box of about a thousand pieces and had more hardware than the audience at a Puffy Daddy concert. After a couple days working with another friend piecing together the trailer, I stood back to marvel at the beauty of a 4’ x 4’ x 8’ plywood box on wheels. Hook it up, time to move.

As always, packing took considerably longer and more space that originally calculated. Why can’t guys do anything that doesn’t take at least fours longer than their most conservative estimate? After staying up most of Sunday night packing, we managed to shoe horn most of my things into the trailer and hatchback of the Datsun.

Monday, June 15, 1992 – The plan was quite simple. Head to B.C.C. to take a final in business and admire Karlie one last time. That was nice From there, head to Totem Lake to say bye to my Mom and sister, and then hit the road for a 1,437 mile tour that would turn into quite the journey.

Yet the troubles were manifesting themselves prior to leaving. One phone call about a week prior to leaving, “My car is leaking oil like a plastic bag with the bottom removed. Can I bring it to your place so we can take a closer look at it?”. “Sure, I am a renound mechanic,(NOT) and its only 9pm, bring it by, I am sure it’s nothing serious.” The car and driver arrive sometime later and the trouble light is brought out. “Uh….it looks like the oil is coming from that easily accessible spot where the engine and transmission are happily joined.”

“Man, I do not want to pull the tranny”

“Me neither, we need a third opinion, after all, we don’t want to get in over our heads, do we”

“No”

So what do two intrepid travellers do in times of a potential mechanical crisis?

“Dad, could you take a look at this? We think there is a problem.”

The problem turned out to be a minor external oil leak, so after a quick fix, we were off. The plan was to cut across the Cascades in to Eastern Washington, through Yakima, Sunnyside, down into Pendleton Oregon, over the Blue Mountains and into Boise before turning south into Utah and on to our first scheduled stop at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. But, like I said, that was the “plan.”

The wheels came off at nearly 5:00 p.m. on Monday just outside Sunnyside Washington – literally. The trailer had a blowout at high speeds, but we were able to coax the car and trailer to the side of the road without much excitement. After pondering the situation (no spare for the trailer), we decided to drop the trailer on the side of the road and head into Sunnyside to test our fate with a tire shop. We got to the only tire shop just before closing and bought two new tires; one on the rim, one as a spare. After a quick backtrack, we remounted the wheel and were back on the road heading towards Idaho as the sun began to set. It must have be about one in the morning just outside Boise when suddenly I was staring out of the passenger side window puzzled by the sudden shift in direction. The second tire had blown at around 80 mph and violently whipped the car and trailer sideways, snapping the co-pilot out of his deep sleep.

The co-pilot woke with sudden jerk. All he could hear was the sound of tire debris showering the backside of the car. That sound and the fact that the pilot was recovering the car & trailer from almost jacknifing on the highway indicated that, yes, the other trailer tire had blown. So there we were, grinding to a stop alongside HWY 26, just outside of Boise, Idaho.

“Well, at least we have a spare”

“but its not on the rim”

“we can go to a tire shop, they can put it on the rim for us.”

“The sun’s not even up yet, I don’t think any shops are open yet”

“Well, we’ll just have to kill some time until one opens”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know, lets get the rim off, leave the trailer by the side of the highway, and head into town. I’m sure a solution will present itself”

Now, the tire is off, the trailer disconnected, and we were speeding down the highway.

“Wow, I didn’t know your car had a Hemi in it”

“No, but it sure seems like it when we aren’t pulling a trailer that weighs more than the car.”

“Good point. By the way, what is your cars trailering capacity?”

“Not sure, probably about 1000lbs”

“What do you think the trailer weighs?”

“Probably 3 times that”

“No wonder the tires blew”

“That and the fact that the original tires were made of recycled trash bags”

*laughter

“I guess we should have noticed that”

“Except for the fact that we assembled the trailer in the dark”

“Well, at least the worst is behind us”

…at least, thats what they thought….

So with tire and rim shrapnel in hand, we headed into a sleeping Boise Idaho looking for some signs of life. After a few miles, beaming through the darkness was the familiar sign of a Flying J truck stop. These had become a favorite pause in the journey for food, fuel and a never-ending supply of coffee. My best guess is that it was roughly one o’clock in the morning on Tuesday , June 16th. As we entered the truck stop, we decided that an attempt to mount the tire we bought in Sunnyside to the rim was in order. After struggling with the mess for the better part of an hour, we gave up and headed into the restaurant for another shot of joe and to make tactical changes to the itinerary. See, what we haven’t mentioned until now is that our stop at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon was to meet my parents, Aunt and Uncle for a ride down on the mules as a sort of welcome to Arizona gift. With that said, I must revise an earlier statement; guys can’t do anything that doesn’t take at least six hours longer than their most conservative estimate. Let me explain. Seattle is about 500 miles from Boise or 8.5 hours driving at 60 mph. We left town around 11:00 a.m. on Monday, and now It’s 2:00 a.m. the following day.

There we sat, with our maps, a bottomless cup of coffee, and about 5 hours to kill before any tire shop opened. After a couple hours in the diner, we figured it was a good idea to try for some sleep as unlikely as that seemed. We were road weary and wire on countless cups of coffee, but rocked back the seats in the Datsun and crashed out for a couple hours until it was starting to get light and it was, well, coffee time. Can’t hit the road without a cup of joe – really. We situated the car and set off across town to the local Les Schwab to ensure we were the first in line. We figured 7:10 well be back at the trailer about ready to re-embark on the 5.5 hour journey to Salt Lake.

The guy at the tire shop mounted the tire so fast that we questioned how we couldn’t have done that just a few hours earlier. We chalked it up to high pressure air and the all mighty power tool and were off to see if the trailer was still sitting along side the highway. It was. We mounted the tire and slowly motored up to cruising speed as the clock rounded eight.

Salt Lake - The land of world class skiing, high speed autos, Mormons, and traffic jams which sucked us into a two hour delay. Seemed a guy driving a new t-bird was drafting a semi and may have trusted his depth perception more that he should have. Needless to say, the whole freeway had to stop to see who the moron was (I said moron, not Mormon.)

At this point, we had been on the road for nearly 28 hours and I had driven most of it, so what happened next is a bit foggy. Seems like we wanted to clear Salt Lake before stopping, for food, or coffee, or something. All I know is it wasn’t sleep - we were now a full eight hours behind schedule. Doctor! Caffeine IV, stat!

by thewog on Tuesday, December 09 @ 22:53:52 PST

The copilot, after determining the exact location of the two travellers on the map, made one of the crucial decisions to direct the next phase of the trip. It was time to turn off interstate 15 on to state highway 14. A rual two lanes of blacktop winding through the southern foothills of the Utah rockies. They left behind the security of the six lanes of blacktop, with the neverending string of gas stations, motel 6’s, and of course, the ever convienient tire store.

“Wow! this road is alot rougher than the interstate.”

“No doubt. Alot narrower and deserted to. If we crash, no one would find us for days. The only auto I’ve seen is those huge 3 trailer tractor trucks. Think hauling a load of goods like that is safe?”

“Probably alot safer than the rig we are in. Do you realize that if we had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an animal, the brake linings would disintergrate before the rotors melted, sending molten parts of auto through the floor, possibly igniting the gas in the tank, and launching us into desert?”

“Yep, I discovered that when I drove.”

“But you only have driven for 2 hours or so.”

“I know, the car scared me.”

“How could the car possibly scare you?”

“It handles funny.”

“I know it handles funny! Everything I own is in this car or in the trailer!”

“Except what we left for Mark to clean up in Mukilteo.”

*laughter “It was only a few inflatable water toys and some odds and ends. I’m sure he will take care of it. Its not that big of a deal.”

‘You think he’ll make a dump run?”

“Sure, it will only take him a few hours to take care of, less if he gets Tim to help him out.”

“Not to change the subject, you think we should check the oil?”

“Good idea. I’ll pull over.”

The two intrepid travellers pull to the side of the road. The kind of pullout used by aging RV’ers that want to take some photos of the landscape. It was quite impressive. This part of the country was a small winding canyon. Red cliffs on one side sprinkled with small pines and underbrush, then the road, a guard rail, and then a smallish river. For the time being, we were alone. Just us, the river, the wind, and a case of motor oil, buried somewhere in the pilots belongings.

“Ummm..wheres the oil?”

“In the hatchback of the car. I moved it while we were packing.”

“Ok, here it is, how many quarts do you want?”

“Three, and while you are getting it out, is there any more coffee left?”

“Yep, its cold though.”

“At this point I don’t care, I need the caffeine.”

We were now on highway 89, and possibly in some of most amazing scenery that these two boys from Monroe, Washington had ever scene. If you have never driven from the Northwest, over the cascades, into the Rockies, through the badlands, and across the high deserts near the Arizona/Utah border, you don’t fully grasp the change in landscape. Wooded hills give way to grassy plains followed by stretches of terrain that seem incredibly barren and lifeless. All we knew is that we were now in the unknown with only a case of oil, cold coffee, and no spare. As we approach the intersection to Long Valley, we quickly checked the map to get our bearings and see just how long we were talking. Let me just say that long, construction ahead, expect delays, 6 percent grade, curves, falling rocks, nails in roadway, and no service next 200 miles are not words you want to see after 33 hours towing a trailer with no spare. It makes for a classic case of road rage.

As it turned out, Long valley was anything but. Before we knew it, we have traversed the 50 miles past the Bryce and Zion National Parks and into Kanab, Utah, which is situated on the Utah/Arizona border. I should point out that the stretch of highway 89 between Richfield and Kanab is absolutely incredible. The final pass is flanked with a flowing river that springs from the desert floor and is host to what seemed like the only abundant plant life since the Oregon border. Given the chance, make this drive – you won’t forget it.

We stop in Kanab for fuel, food, and something else – what was that… oh yeah, coffee. We check the map which placed us about 90 miles from the Grand Canyon, our final destination for the day. We took a deep breath, glanced around at what could only be described very interesting locals, and jumped back in the car for the final leg. We were so close we could taste it. “90 miles, that’s child’s play. We’ll knock this out in our sleep.” Ha! I think that those last miles were longer that the sum of the trip thus far.

The road from Kanab falls off the Escalante shelf into what can only be considered a barren wasteland; the high desert of Arizona that leads to the North rim of the Grand Canyon. Roads are strait, flat and seemingly endless for the first 70 miles or so and then you hit a steep series of switchbacks to rise to the altitude of the North Rim – 7,800 feet. To put this into perspective, we skied in Washington at around 4,000 feet, and the Datsun was challenged by that. Now, climbing to nearly twice that, we rocketed along at an amazing 20 mph. I was mashing the pedal to the floor so hard that I had to switch feet from time to time to give my leg a break. We climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Paul woke up and said, “are those trees?” in astonishment since his last sight was just outside Kanab in an area the area that he termed a barren wasteland. We talked until, with the engine screaming, we crested the hill and turned towards the rim for our final run to the Canyon. At this point, I have been out of coffee for a couple hours, we are out of food, and I am hanging over the steering wheel with my eyeballs nearly touching the windshield. I’m on the verge of driving off the road from exhaustion when we approach a sign saying, “Grand Canyon, 7 miles.” Yeeeeeehaaaaaa!! We were almost there. I floored the pedal again only to experience the longest seven miles of our lives.

The road to the canyon seems to be a series of sweeping turns follow by straight stretches through meadows where the deer and antelope play. After about two miles, I come into a turn with deer on the road at about 70 mph. I looked down at the speedo and start laughing uncontrollably to the point that Paul wakes up and wonders what’s so funny. I said “Why am I doing 70 with a trailer and a Datsun and a road full of deer.” We know it’s not funny now, but we sure thought it was back then. Needless to say, I slowed down and we clocked off the 5 remaining miles, then 14, and finally reached the canyon at 22 miles. We were ready to kill the sign painter by then. Seems seven miles was to the park entrance, not the lodge.

The canyon seemed deserted by our expectations as we drove the loop looking for our rendezvous party. Couldn’t find anyone so we found a parking lot that was away from everything and proceeded to ignore the signs that said no sleeping in cars. Paul rocked back his seat, but mine would not go back because of all the stuff packed behind it. I decided to open the hatch and dive in across all the boxes and bags. The hatch slammed shut on top of me and I was out. I remember I was dreaming and I kept hearing this thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump! I woke up and looked out the small back window to see someone standing outside the car, banging on the door. “Crap, it’s a ranger” I said to Paul. “Don’t move and maybe he wont see us.” Thump, thump, thump! Thump, thump, thump! I look out the window again and realize it’s my dad who had just pulled up.

We got out, exchanged greetings, and left the Datsun and trailer there for the comforts of a cabin. It was now well past midnight, but we had made it – we were officially in Arizona, my new home.

So like couple of zombies who have had waaaaaaay to much windshield time, we staggered toward the cabin. “Have a good sleep, boys” Entering the cabin was a shock to the senses. Two clean beds, a shower and the comfort of knowing that there were no tires attached. One thing I remember while slipping into bed. “Brrr, these sheets are cold.”

The next morning was picture perfect. Blue sky, in the 80’s, huge pine trees and the knowledge that we had a brief respite before returning to the open road. This morning was supposed to be an “adventure of a lifetime” Like we hadn’t had enough of those in the last couple of days. His dad had scheduled us for a morning mule ride a few miles into the canyon. Sounded ok. We were both from Monroe, WA, and figured since we had both at least “seen a horse” riding a mule couldn’t be that difficult. As we walk up to the staging area with the rest of the tourists, we are intro introduced to the ranch-hand who will lead us on this ride down the hill.

As he’s asking the group where they were from, ect ect. He turns to us at last and says… “You two look as though you need an adventure today. Either of you ever ridden a horse?” We nod our heads yes. We were after all from Monroe and had spend the last several dozen hours wrestling with matters that made spending some time on a pokey old mule seem, well, rather tame. “Good, you guys get my favorite two mules of the whole pack”
He gestures towards a couple of grey and brown mules, muching on hay and being saddled by another mule skinner.
“Okay” we reply. “What are their names?” “Nightmare and Jitterbug. Now boys don’t look so worried, these mules are just a little skittish by nature. They usually calm down about halfway back up the trail”
This was not sounding so good and we briefly debated skipping the ride, and hiking down the trail ourselves. But in the end, the foreman convinced us that he was only kidding. That merry twinkle in his eye didn’t fool us for a second. We were sure that our bones would be picked over by buzzards and coyotes by nightfall.

In the end, it was an uneventful but beutiful ride that morning. As we were approaching the rim on the return leg of the trip, both of us were anxious to get back on the road and onto the final destination. Pheonix.

One thing we had forgotten in our travel weary state the night before. We had parallel parked across 5 or 6 parking stalls. We returned to the car, ready to check the oil (and tires) fire it up and hit the road. Coming up to the car and trailer, we found that the flood of tourists that morning had parked their cars in front, back and beside us. We could not drive the car and trailer out. How would we get going? Would we get a ticket for parallel parking in across spaces with a sign clearly saying “No parallel parking, head in parking only. No trailers.” Would we completely lose it mentally and start creating big showers of broken glass with the first rocks to become airborne missles? Yes, the final leg of the trip was rearing its ugly head.

So the lesson learned is that if you double park, don’t do it along the curb. Pull in all the way out by the end of the stripes. That way, the morons that don’t understand the geometry of two objects hinged in the center can’t block you in. Lesson learned. After hosting several devious thoughts on retaliation, a tourist approached one of the vehicles blocking us in. After an explanation, they refused to move their vehicle for fear they would loose their spot. Absolutely ridiculous, but I now chalk it up to a language barrier, not the “I want to get my ass kicked attitude” I did back then.

As it turned out, Houdini and a gaggle of engineers could not have devised a better escape route from our impossible situation. It seemed that the median offered a small escape route, so long as we could get the trailer detached and muscled around the corner. We did, and after a thousand point turn with the deprived Datsun, we managed to reconnect of the other side avoiding tickets, confrontation, and any charges of vandalism. So, said our goodbyes for the time being, and were off for the final six hours jaunt into Phoenix.

Hard to believe that in just 6 short hours, we will have arrived at our destination.  It seemed like childs play, a piece of cake, nothin’ to it.  It was just 6 hours.  First we had to wind our way east instead of south to avoid the worlds largest hole in the ground.  After crossing the canyon at its narrowest point, the real desert began.

“Man, is it always this hot here?”

“I don’t know, I have never been here before, but I believe I am turning into a puddle.  It there any ice left in the cooler?”

“We have ice in the cooler?”

“We should, could you check?  I just dumped a half bag my parents had in so we could keep some drinks cold.”

“Sure…..Ummm how about a cup of warm water?  Or a warm Pepsi?  In fact every beverage we have is warm.  The good news is the thermos of coffee from this morning is still steaming. Want a cup?”

“Yep, I am sure sweating more will cool me off.”

Our two weary travellers were serenely crusing through the desert, admiring the red rocks, saguaro catus, and the occasional road runner keeping pace with them on the uphill streches. 

“When I get on my feet down here, I am going to sell the Datsun and get something new and fast.  Maybe a Grand Prix.  Those are pretty cool.

“Yeah, hey, whats that ahead? 

It was a truck, pulling a smoldering trailer used for patching holes in asphalt.  But not just any truck.  It was a early 80’s Ford F-250 that had seen better days.  Better days being before the current driver bought it.  It was white, covered by a layer of red dirt and mud so thick, you could have planted mesquite on the fender.  Both bumpers looked as though they were the primary source of braking. So many dents, this truck went from being classified as a “project” to a “career”. The driver of this canidate for the crusher was a perfect match.  Unshaven, sunburned, western hat, pretty much the quisessential Arizona redneck.  I could here “Dueling Banjos” begin playing in my head.  The best thing about this guy and his ride…he was in the right lane, AND GOING SLOWER THAN US!  Finally, one vehical on this whole trip that we could pass, going uphill none the less.

“Punch it, lets get past this guy”

“Its been punched since Oregon, but okay.”

The Datsun swung out into the passing lane in an attempt to take the pole position.  Slowly but surely, they began inching past the Ford on the uphill slope.  Knuckles gripped vinyl, sweat was pouring from their bodies, the engine was roaring like a beast out of hell.  The tension of it was tremendous.  Then an incredulous thing happend.  The driver of the Ford noticed us creeping past in the fast lane and did the predictable thing.  He “punched” it.  The race was on.

“He’s trying to race us!”

“I see that, and hear it.  It sounds like his exaust rotted off the engine block.  I’ve heard commercial jets that were quieter!”

Now imagine this scene, the travellers red Datsun pulling a plywood trailer, “racing” some redneck in his delapidated pickup pulling a smoking tar trailer, up a 10% grade for several miles, in over 100 degree heat, at a blistering 30 miles per hour.  With engines howling and muscles tense, the slow crawl up the hill continued.  The driver of the pickup started grinning like a maniac at them as the slope got just a bit steeper and he began to inch ahead.  A squealing untertone began eminating from the ford.  Growing louder and louder with every foot of elevation being gained, when..BANG!!!  Steam began pouring out from under the hood of the truck in great big white clouds.  The drivers face changed from a triumphant smile to a frustrated grimace as he began to limp his truck to the shoulder.  The Datsun pulled ahead in victory.  The last the two travellers saw of their competitor, was in the mirrors, stopping his great steaming truck, and getting out to open the hood, in over 100 degree heat.

“hahahaha!!!!!!!hahahahaha!!!!”

“That was to funny!!”

The great race was over, the two travellers won by default, the sun was begining to set, and it was only a couple of hours to the city limits.  Life was perfect.