Music of the Spheres

We stayed in Deadwood, South Dakota, at the end of our Rushmore/Crazy Horse/Badlands day, right in the midst of the Black Hills. The town was alive with gamblers. It is an aspect of Steve’s and my temperaments that we can flow from the rarefied arena of the nature tourist to sin city very easily. Did we play with the one armed bandits? Yes, but only for a few minutes, long enough to lose $7. This was in the bar that Wild Bill Hickok was murdered. It is also in our temperaments to enjoy slipping away from such a scene in the early dawn. And so we did, travel mugs filled with hot water, to which we added instant Starbucks.

The entrance to the west was heralded by a luminescent beauty: the turning colors of the cottonwoods. This last summer, Steve and I went to Fairbanks where the cottonwoods were “snowing”. To a home owner, a nuisance, I’m told. To a poet and a traveler, pure magic. The very air was alive with the lithesome floating seeds, dancing and soaring on every hint of breeze. Our travels and the seasons have been touched by these miraculous trees.

From the minute we entered Wyoming, I was spellbound. I have loved nearly every mile of this journey. But the West is Home. My blood surged and my senses rushed to meet the landscape like a long lost lover. I am an island woman these days, and the ocean is, and always has been, my foundation. But, oh how I have needed and dreamed about mountains and rivers.

Crimson rock, leaves shimmering golden, bottle green and auburn, snow capped mountains against an azure sky and framing indigo rivers. Our lips chapped, our eyes squinted against the bright light, our nostrils filled with the scent of sage. I took a million photos, some of which actually made it into the camera. The rest were snapped in my head as splendor poured through the windows. I re-read this now, thinking "oh she does go on...". But add in the aging eyes, as we fumble with glasses and count our days as finite to be doing such a thing and it seems okay to just recklessly go ahead and try to describe it.

We drove like this from Devils Tower to Cody, where we spent the night on the street, after making dinner in the Visitor Center parking lot. The encroaching storm came, dumped and was gone by the time we woke. Could it get any better? You must know the answer, since we were enroute to Yellowstone. Over the snowy pass, coming down into Yellowstone Lake, and on a day so sweet it hardly seemed real, we toured this amazing park. If you have never been . . . go. But wait until the Fall, where the cottonwoods will border the plumes of steam and the sun long in the sky lights the steaming breath of bison.

We snugged up to a creek outside of the park on a night cold enough to penetrate my two coats and vest, not to mention long johns. I tried not to be annoyed that Steve was as at home as he would be in our living room, legs stretched out and relaxed as Jack and I peered out into the dark night imagining grizzlies or whatever. The creek burbled next to the campfire and the stars seemed to actually sing along—music of the spheres I suppose, or maybe the voice of our glass of Scotch. One thing I have noticed over and over is the contrast between Steve and thoroughly modern humans who think nothing of seeing the world through their GPS or using up an entire tank of propane in an RV to stay warm on such a night. Even then, those who knew him “back when” would be amazed at his use of cell phone and computer. I count myself lucky (usually) to go on such adventures with him.

This day, we watched the rising sun bathe the Tetons with a pink glow, standing next our Coleman stove, heating up water for coffee. The journey is soon to end, and I will be both glad and sad.

Another sterling Chicago Embrace:

October 10

An afternoon in the warm—nearly hot-- autumn summer sun, at Warren Dunes State Park on the east flank of Lake Michigan. A lovely swim and walk along the beach with my four legged ‘doodle’ comrad, Jack. What a great traveler he is!. His twice daily feeding and a romp or two, his only real demands. We make sure he gets his aqua, which we keep handy in our two ubiquitous plastic milk jugs. Of course there are his two or three daily ‘constitutionals’, to toilet, sniff, chase squirrels, and greet his admiring public (“He’s sooo cute”). The rest of the time he lies content on his blankie and pillow, with his head tucked up between our front seats and available for the occasional ‘touchy feelie’s’ from his human companions, as we put in our 5 to 7 hour driving day.

We pulled into down town Chicago around 6pm, with the expected heavy traffic and the discovery that we had just passed into our 2^nd time zone change since leaving Cape Briton. Yet another ‘angel of the road’ embraced us and helped to diffuse the tension of the traffic and the uncertainty of where we would be sleeping as the night was coming on fast. Shann pulled into the Chicago Yacht Club per my instructions and in spite of her consternation, and I got out to introduce myself to the Hispanic gatekeeper. He had never heard of the Friday Harbor Yacht Club, but reckoned that reciprocity to other yachties was in order and allowed us to park our B150 in next to the members BMW’s, for the 2 or so hours that we needed for a quick taste of downtown and to sooth our ruffled feathers.

After a quick feed and watering for Jack, and leaving him in charge of his traveling kennel, we walked across Lake Shore Blvd., through Centennial Park and straight into an “occupy Wall Street’, Chicago style rally with half a dozen helicopters overhead and bicycle and beat cops galore. We hung with, chanted with, photographed, and ‘high fived’ many of the 3 or 4 hundred activists (of all ages and colors) that had gathered to picket outside the Chicago Art Institute, which was hosting a derivatives and brokers convention. “We are the 99%”—“No More Bailouts!” “Make the Rich Pay Their Share” read some of the placards.

Our next ‘road angel’ who was more or less our age, appeared to me under the ‘L’ (elevated rapid transit) with bike helmet on and in the midst of texting. She took several minutes to think through and direct us to a local eatery and gin mill, and then talked politics, social activism as she exuded her pride in being a Chicagoan. Seated at the bar in Millers Tavern soon thereafter and being well served by Kevin our barman, set us up for a great experience with a sauerbraten and beer dinner. Bar gossip and Monday night football (Chicago vs. Detroit—a classic regional rivalry) was the perfect backdrop.

After a quick check-in and another gracias to our gatekeeper, we headed west in the dark through the Gold Coast of the ritzy side of the Windy City. Providence (for want of a better term) delivered us onto the urban campus of North Western University, where we found accommodations in the full moon suite (parking lot) on the shore of Lake Michigan. Hot steamed milk at the student union, put a nice finish to a lovely day on the road.

steve

This American Life

We left Wisconsin with surprise and great memories. Sheboygan was a treasure, who knew? A visit with cousins AnaPaula, Jose Luis and Luli took us to the Sheboygan Art Institute where we visited the Forget Memory exhibit http://forgetmemory.org/. If you were losing your memory, what if you were encouraged to use imagination instead? I highly encourage you to check this link out ...so much to take in.

My friend, Marta has written the following: "You know I am an optimist - political - an artist - an activist. You know I am prone to my enthusiasms. But in the past two weeks I have sensed a change washing across America. People I've been talking with are waking up to the terror that we all face should this current generation "let democracy die".

And in fact, that seems to be what we are watching these days as our governments are in stale-mate and as corporate interests and the wealthy take full control of what they have created.

But there are cracks in the armor. The civic disobedience that started three weeks back is not going away, as much as the mainstream media wishes it were so. In my little place in the world, I know three people who have stepped forward into public service because they do not believe in ceding control to either the tea party or to the mainstream Ds or Rs.

I believe the next 12 months will be a year that we will point back to and say, "We lived through the year when everything changed." I can feel myself evolving at a cellular level. Those who see a positive path into the future are stepping forward in ways I could not have imagined last year."

These thoughts nourish me for many miles. So much original thinking not captured at all by our media. Thank you, Marta.

Tonight, in Deadwood, South Dakota, I think I will not tax my tired mind to write. The beauty and strength of our country is manyfold. I will just let the photos speak for themselves. Driving along, listening to Ira Glass, and PBS, with This American Life playing on the radio, listening to the stories of American people, drinking in the American landscape makes me feel about as rich as I can be.
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/

On the road again

Fuel pump fixed. Off we go again. Sparta will be remembered fondly.

Broke down: Spartan in Sparta, Wisconsin

We are in Sparta, Wisconsin. Looks like we might be here awhile. Fuel pump went out, probably due to ethanol. If you've never heard of it, here is a bit of info.

Welcome to Sparta, Wisconsin

Sparta is the county seat of Monroe County, nestled in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Once known for the healing powers of the local artesian springs, Sparta is now most recognized as the junction of the Elroy-Sparta and La Crosse River bike trails. Sparta's claim as the "Bicycling Capital of America" is based upon the first rail bed in Wisconsin to be converted to bike trails between Sparta and Elroy.

Seems significant that it is Sparta.
Definition: Spar·tan (spärtn)

1. Of or relating to Sparta or its people.

2. also spartan

a. Rigorously self-disciplined or self-restrained.

b. Simple, frugal, or austere: a Spartan diet; a spartan lifestyle.

c. Marked by brevity of speech; laconic.

d. Courageous in the face of pain, danger, or adversity.

n.

1. A citizen of Sparta.

2. One of Spartan character.

As the days unfold, and we wait and try our best to get going again, we will need all of these characteristics.

A Hundred Thousand Awesome Things

Sometimes, the sentence or title says it all. I immediately identified with the blogger of A Hundred Thousand Awesome Things http://1000awesomethings.com/ on the radio. Free of distraction, traveling is a meditation on exactly that. We are no strangers to beauty but the Beginner’s Mind http://mindfulnessclasses.com/beginnersmind.htm is an exceptionally clear lens to see the world, and all that surrounds us all of the time.

Our New York state of mind brightened with the delicious meals, good conversation, music and fraternal/familial comradeship of our stops along the way, not to mention the sky and the days turned warm. Farmstands everywhere, bright rivers and lakes and historic towns. The bright orange of pumpkins and the tang of apples and pears, the last of the sweet corn, and baskets full of scarlet red tomatoes. Quiet hardwood forests; colors blooming steadily.

And then, the Niagara Falls Parade and international hullabaloo. Wow. I will not describe the incredible Coney Island-style array of casinos, hotels and amusement park attractions on both sides. But if you have seen the Ken Burns series National Parks; America’s Best Idea http://www.pbs.org/nationalparks/ and article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_National_Parks:_America%27s_Best_Idea (which partially inspired our journey), you know that Niagara Falls was the model of what we didn’t want the National Parks to be. Good old private enterprise isn’t the best steward of our precious and scared places.

We crossed to the Canadian side and bellied up to the guard rail, shoulder to shoulder with the full gamut of humanity, snapping photos with people of every race and age and size. As often as not, we cross in front of each other and accidentally wind up in each others’ portraits.

When we were in Chile and Argentina, I had the same holographic experience. We are all in each other’s photos. As a metaphor, that concept hits me deep. Add to that, the roar and power and beauty of the Falls facing us, watching us, if you will—silently witnessing the ephemeral life of humans as we turn our faces to the spray and take our photos.

Thankfully, I had chided enough tourists for watching orcas through their camera lens to remind myself to put the camera away and just let myself be baptized and mesmerized by this big and thoroughly “Awesome Thing”.

That could be and should be enough. But yesterday, again re-directed by those Great Lakes, we abruptly realized we would be hitting Chicago at rush hour. Further, that there was a protest/march downtown. http://www.globaltimes.cn/NEWS/tabid/99/ID/678171/Occupy-Chicago-protest-enters-10th-day.aspx Avoid or go forth? You may know us well enough to figure the answer. Thus we found ourselves parked at the Chicago Yacht Club, courtesy of Steve’s gregarious ways and ability to ask the impossible, at sundown right next to Chicago’s Millennium Park and the protest. The people at the protest, and its peaceful energy, another of the hundred thousand awesome things. Later that evening, the moon rising over Lake Michigan, Chicago skyline in the distance, a parking lot complete with gleaming porta-potties at Northwestern University. A view we could never afford. Free.