More Rodeo

Bareback bronc riding, my one photo of the team roping, and barrel racing.

Thunderhead Cloud

A thunderhead cloud building up over the Sandia Mountains for a rain shower in Albuquerque, New Mexico as seen from my house west of there.

Car Talk... Recollections of a Wilted Romance

Here is a confession: I feel guilty about my car - or rather, what used to be my car.My poor car, once so beloved! I received it as a gift from my family six years ago, after I earned my doctorate and was about to start a new job in a mountainous region of Northern New England. It was the most lavish gift I have received in my life by far, either before or since, and I was filled with gratitude and disbelief. The car was beautiful and impeccably tasteful and rugged, and my excitement knew no bounds. The exterior was a lovely shade of dark gray and the interior was beige suede (I still remember the texture and smell of the seats when the car was new). The 4WD, the optional manual mode, and the myriad of safety features would keep me protected on the treacherous terrain of the place I was to live (and commute for over 20 miles to work). I named the car, and loved it as if it were a puppy. And I delighted in my long commutes - through the valleys past idyllic farm scenes and along dangerous mountain cliffs through the clouds of thick fog that would rise in the mornings.




Everybody was relieved at my reaction to the car, because I had never been an enthusiastic driver in my previous attempts at car ownership. By my early twenties I had dispensed with cars altogether, living in urban areas where they weren't necessary. Interestingly, this was viewed by many as a lack of self-sufficiency on my part: By living in cities, not practicing driving, and allowing my already questionable motoring skills to deteriorate, I was making myself dependent on urban comforts and public transportation. This new job in a rural area demanded a re-adjustment.





My romance with the new car lasted into winter... until I got into a horrifying accident involving darkness, black ice,fresh snow,a cliff and a railing - into which I crashed head-on after losing control on a turn. Miraculously, I emerged unscathed. And though the front end of the car was totaled, my insurance company came through wonderfully and soon the car was good as new. According to the policemen on the scene, that stretch of the road was so bad that night, that "there was nothing anyone could have done different, except not be out on the road". Not an option of course, when commuting home from a long workday.



I cannot say that I began to dislike or fear cars after this event; it was nothing so dramatic or definite. And I continued to drive throughout that winter and the next, in the same dangerous snow and ice, with no further mishaps. But I no longer thought of my car anthropomorphically, no longer considered it cute. It had become just a thing - a necessary thing, but a dangerous one, too, as well as a stuffy and oppressive one at times. Somehow I no longer saw the charm in the beige suede interior or the beauty of the tasteful gray exterior. It was just a car - something that made sense to use only when the necessity outweighed the danger and the feeling of stuffiness, but not otherwise. It was an excellent car, to be sure - useful especially in rural areas, and great for hauling things in its roomy interior. But just a car.





Several years after I got married, we moved to Boston. Within a week, we decided that the Co-Habitant would sell his car and mine would be shared. This was in no way driven by "ideology" on our part; it was simply absurdly inconvenient to have two cars in Boston, and since his was larger than mine, it was the one to go.




When the decision was made to share my car, I hardly suspected that I would never drive it again, but that is exactly what happened. I have not been behind the wheel of it or any other motor vehicle since sometime in 2007, over three years ago now. I have no idea why, and it was never my intention to categorically stop driving. But soon I found that I would rather walk to my destination for an hour than drive there (which was exactly what I did before I started cycling). What used to be my car now pretty much belongs to the Co-Habitant; I experience no feelings of possession when I look at it or sit in the passenger's seat while traveling together.





Will I drive again? Realistically speaking, I probably will, though I don't know when that might be. I am not "anti-car" and consider cars to be useful and necessary in many circumstances. But I cannot imagine wanting to drive just for the sake of it, or loving a car in the same way as I do my bicycles.

Privite Allyway

This little allyway was blocked off by a big, heavy, iron gate so I assumed it was privite. We did go ahead and take a couple of photos anyway.

Welford - Canal - Hemplow Hills - Welford

Led by Barry, with Maureen, Gordon and me. Fine - dry underfoot. Just over 6 miles.



Covered some of yesterday's route as well.






We parked in Welford opposite this cottage. We took a path to the west north west and walked along a path in a field behind houses. This soon turned south west towards Hall Lane, which we crossed and turned right, along a path which diverged from the lane, slightly more to the west.

The path crossed several fields before reaching the Grand Union Canal - a quiet stretch here. At first the canal was on our right, thenwe crossed to take the towpath with the canal on our left as we headed more or less south-west.








We followed the canal round a fairly large loop for a good two and half miles as far as Bridge 31.

The Old Union Canals Societyplants living milestones along the Leicester Line of the Grand Union. You know the ones, the trees with black painted steel plaques next to them. Thank you to jakepithf and his blog

The path goes uphill through a field of growing crops, then into the woods of Hemplow Hills.

A snack-stop with a great view - Wood Cottage in the background.

Another 'permissive path'

Through the woods, - after the steep climb!

The tower-adorned gatehouses of West Hill Farm.

From Hemplow Hills we walk past West Hill Farm, and along Hemplow Drive. At the crossroads, straight on into West End and back to Welford.




We saw terns diving into the canal, a heron, and a hare in the field going up to Hemplow Hills.

Little pretty streets of Honfleur and some Cider please

After savouring the beauty of Honfleur’s magnetic harbour, I went exploring the narrow alleyways. I found them very charming and inviting.

Calvados regional products and bottles of cider are sold in every liquor shop.

At the back of the beautiful buildings that adorned the harbour is the Saint Catherine Church that is made of wood. The Church has a very catchy design. I sat inside the church here for a while watching people go in and pray, some take pictures of the interior while others were lighting candles.

Sainte-Catherine's Bell Tower beside the hotel covered in moss. The Bell Tower is separate from the church which is located right across the street. The church is all made of wood.

The little narrow streets of Honfleur is filled with beautiful houses and I saw this really cool atelier selling stools pimped with shells, plastic trinkets and what have you. There are also so many delightful specialty and gastronomic shops selling locally produced products from the region.

I stopped by a wine and liquor store and bought a bottle of the famous drink in the Calvados region, Cider. Give me wine anytime! Er, mojitos, caipirinha, straight shots of tequila, whiskey and rum, I take them too =). But, I am in Normandy, in the Calvados region where cider reigns as the king of all alcoholic beverages, thus in order to get the most of this travel experience, I am sticking to local for now. Good call in buying the cider!

Here are the fotos of Honfleur town:



Here is the Saint Catherine Church in wood and the hotel covered in green:



More fotos of Honfleur:

Rockslide

This is on the road to Jemez Springs. A few weeks ago there was a rockslide from this ridge. You can see the lighter color where the rocks slide down the ridge. There is the house on the left and another hid in the trees at the bottom of the ridge. I took photos from a parking lot across the road where a small store is. That must have been a lot of noise and very scarey for those living there. On the left side of the photo on the second layer of rock ledge there was a small slide about 20 years ago. We noticed it when we drove up one day and the scar was still fresh then.

Stormy sunset over southern Utah

As we continued down Cottonwood Road after finishing the Yellow Rock hike, the clouds were continuing to build and soon we were hearing thunder. Driving the last few miles approaching Highway 89 we could see rain falling from the clouds all around us, but only a few drops fell where we were. Soon after reaching the highway and heading west towards Kanab, Utah we did drive through some heavier rain and also the wind got pretty fierce for a while. Sunset was fast approaching and soon we crested a hill and were treated to an AMAZING view of the storm clouds just as the sun was going down. I couldn't resist... I had to pull over and take some pictures :-)

Rough Roads

the roads going up Mt. Taylor are rough. From just past the outskirts of Grants the pavement stops and it is dirt roads all the rest of the way. Here are a few photos I took leaning out the window as we drove. As you can guess we were glad to have 4-wheel drive in our little Chevy pickup. Sorry if the photos are a bit blurry but we were moving as you don't stop on this kind of road unless it is a real have too. Of course some of the road is graveled which really doesn't make it any better as it seems to make the road slick even without being wet. In the winter with snow on the gravel it can really be bad if I remember right. We used to bring snowmobiles up here to play in the snow. Of course the fact that the mountain is a lava bed since it was a volcano doesn't help. When you get close to the top (the last 4 miles or so) it is nothing but bump, bump, bump over the lava rocks embedded in the road. We didn't do the last four miles to the top where the firetower is. What a great job it must have been to be the fire lookout on top of a volcano mountain. That is except during a lightning storm.