Mountains, deserts, hot springs and Las Vegas?

The Alabama Hills at sunrise in March 2017. We didn't see quite this much glory in April 2019, but you can't go wrong with the Hills. 

Pool venue at the music fest.

We drove our fancy van in early April to a music event - the Bender Jamboree (bluegrass) at the Plaza Hotel in Las Vegas. Yes, Las Vegas. An absurd reality, perhaps the furthest possible place from the natural world.

Although we had an engaging four-day musical experience, the road trip from Southern Oregon to Las Vegas was rich with scenic routes and side trips. And, of course, a couple days in Reno to lavish love on the grands.

We were able to spend several of those scenic-routes and side-trips explorations with hometown friends Sue Orris and Ferron Mayfield, and their worried dog, Curry.

Yes, they brought Curry to Las Vegas, but it turned out OK, even though the dog was worried about staying in the van while his people were in a hotel a block away.

Maybe that was me who was worried. Anyway, the weather was cool and Curry was fine and very well attended. No worries!

Three places stand out: Alabama Hills near Lone Pine, CA, the Shoshone and Tecopa Hot Springs area bordering Death Valley, and Red Rock National Conservation Area about 17 miles west of Las Vegas, NV. 


ALABAMA HILLS - Not to Be Missed

The Alabama Hills was our first stop after meeting up with Sue and Ferron in Bishop, CA on Hwy. 395, which cuts a pretty path alongside the scenic Sierras. Truly, if you haven't driven that road, add it to your plans. And do not miss the Alabama Hills. Even for a quick drive-through.

The Hills are just outside the town of Lone Pine, the western gateway to Death Valley National Park. 

Our Class B vans are dwarfed (look for them) in
a perfect camp spot in the Alabama Hills.

Compared with nearby Death Valley's vast expanse, the Alabama Hills is a concentrated wonder. A jumble of giant buff-colored rocks is lorded over by the Sierra Nevada Mountains including 14,000 ft. Mt. Whitney. I used to think about climbing up there, but I got over that notion when, age-wise, I was already over the hill.

Lenticular clouds are common in the Alabama Hills. This dreamy color was fleeting during an otherwise dull sunset. 

If you've lived long enough, you've probably seen the Hills on the big screen. Over 150 movies (Some sources claim as many as 400 ) and numerous TV shows, mostly Westerns, were shot there in the days of Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, and their ilk. A film museum in Lone Pine is said to be worth a visit. We will get there next time.

Responsible campers carry it out.

Alabama Hills is managed by the BLM, which means, that in addition to one fee campground, the rest of the area is absolutely FREE for dispersed camping, AKA boondocking.

Campsite hunting is competitive, with tent campers, small trailers, and Class B and C RVs seeking the perfect place to settle in and enjoy the splendid views all around. 

Sue and Ferron were in their element. Mt. Whitney is circled. The Mobius Arch Trail begins behind us.

The loop trail to the arch is about a mile long. 

Ferron exults at the Mobius Arch. A sprite-like person,  Ferron usually doesn't travel without a kite, a blaring horn, or his dog. I was pleased that he left the horn behind. 

DEATH VALLEY - Blown away

Death Valley, where we had camping reservations for two nights, was devoid of spring blooms and spring crowds. Due to the unrelenting wind and dust, it was soon devoid of us.

Serendipity at SHOSHONE and TECOPA

Thus we took an unplanned one day/night side trip to the Tecopa Hot Springs.  Our experiences there hung me up for days in getting this post out. 

Honestly, the Shoshone/Tecopa hot springs area just outside Death Valley is such a quirky bit of Wild West Americana that I got all twisted about it. I wrote pages. None of them any good!


I've decided not to tackle it. There's too much to tell and way more to learn before I pretend to capture the spirit of this unusual place. We were there for fewer than 24 hours. 

It's worth a return trip and perhaps a few days .... or more. But I'd better be careful.

Seems that numerous people living in the area had been just passing through.....and the place took hold of them. On the surface, it's dry, dusty and decrepit with scant visual charm. But there's something juicy going on there.

I didn't get his name, but the bartender/brewmaster at Death Valley Brewing was justifiably proud of the 15 or so beers being served. No wine. No liquor. Just beer. Just pizza. Crust crafted in Italy. All good. I had pineapple beer. It was delicious. 

If you're traveling from Death Valley to Las Vegas, discover Shoshone/Tecopa for yourself. Be sure to visit the museum in Shoshone, where, if lucky, you'll be greeted by John.

A former big-city chef, John is eager to share info about a place he loves. After living in Tecopa for 13 years, he knows everything tourist.

Curry contemplates as he walks the labyrinth at the Tecopa Hot Springs Resort. What is life's meaning? Why is my tongue so long? He's quite the philosopher, that dog.

Typical Tecopa scene. Curry leads Ferron in exploration. Soon we reluctantly leave Tecopa. At least I was reluctant.

RED ROCK CANYON National Conservation Area - Great side trip from Las Vegas

In Nevada's Mojave Desert, Red Rock Canyon's primary attraction, aside from an excellent Visitor's Center, is a 13-mile scenic loop drive with numerous viewpoints and parking areas from which to hike, picnic, photograph, rock climb, or otherwise take pleasure in this beautiful place. 

Here's the not-red-rock part of the conservation area, but even if not red, it is imposing, dramatic, beautiful.

Two million people visit Red Rock Canyon each year, which might keep shy persons away. But after several visits, we've learned that it doesn't take much effort to hike a mile or so on one of the 26 trails and escape the crowds. The canyon is just 17 miles west of Las Vegas and is an antidote to the madness and mayhem of the city.

Cairns for Dummies is what we called the numerous (thank you) extravagant (thank you) trail markers.  Without them, we might still be there.

Is it an agave?  Curry is weighing in from a lower position. Or maybe that's his power position.

Sue was still recovering from knee surgery, so we chose a relatively short hike through the red rocks. See that cairn? 
Without it, we would not have chosen this skinny passage.

Then, I'm afraid, it was on to Las Vegas and the Plaza Hotel and wrapping our heads around living in a casino the next four days. 

But then, there was the 
    🎶MUSIC! 🎶


BENDER JAMBOREE -whoopee!

This is Billy Strings. Never heard of him? Neither had I, but the virtuoso guitarist/singer was my favorite.  Apparently, he's getting around. Check him out. 

Other artists to join my "listen" list: 

• Railroad Earth (not new to the list, but the primary reason we attended the Jamboree)
• Della Mae - all female. Kicked butt!
• Leftover Salmon
• The Hillbenders
• The Good Time Travelers
• Keller Williams Pettygrass (all Tom Petty covers)

Like many music festivals, this one was crazy with costumes, theme days/nights, gregarious music lovers, spontaneous celebrations, lots of dancing, and not too much casino. 

Della Mae's band stood out amidst a mostly male lineup.
Not just for being women, but for being good!

Ferron always brings a cute outfit.

On our way home to Oregon, we camped alone at a reservoir near Fallon, NV. Ahhh. Just what we needed.

Previous Posts

SW Road Trip Spring 2017 
Death Valley 1, Super Bloom
Death Valley 2  



A couple of posts about our winter Baja trip are below. A few more to come. Unless I decide to write about gardens and food for a while.

An Inglorious Day on the Road in Baja
On the Road in Baja - Part 1

Start it up! - SW Road Trip Spring 2017

Lenticular clouds shifted and slithered for hours entertaining us in the Alabama Hills outside Lone Pine, CA, early on our spring 2017 road trip. More photos below.

We're back from five weeks touring the Southwest and Texas, and, as usual, I have way too many photos and stories. I rarely have time to blog while traveling in our small  Roadtrek van, but I attempt to jot down a daily account of trip highlights. I'm looking at it now, and deciding how to start. How about at the beginning?

The real beginning, of course, is a belief that life is short and we need to forget about amassing material treasures and instead gather treasured moments while we're able. Travel is one way to become a collector of experiences, and it is good.

In mid-March we drove from our southern Oregon home to Beatty, NV stopping a couple nights in Reno to admire the grandchildren. We need a grandkid fix every couple months so their adorable selves don't disappear, in our absence, into children we hardly know, and who don't know us. Most of our road trips involve a night or two with them, coming or going. Ok. Just one photo. 

 Noah and Hadley sharing a secret. She may be asking him if he has bacon to share. 

The Actual Trip

Beatty, NV on Hwy 95 is a gateway to Death Valley, and as such, has developed a quirky character. It's good to spend a night there, or nearby, if only to get an early start into the park, the entrance to which is just 32 miles west. Early morning light in Death Valley is not to be missed. Get up early!

During a road trip to the Southwest in 2007, we stopped at Rhyolite, a ghost town just a few miles outside Beatty en route to Death Valley.  It's well worth your time. We stopped again this year, for old time's sake, to discover that it's even better now. Something important we've learned after thousands of road miles; it isn't just the national parks and famous attractions that make traveling edifying....it's also Rhyolite and other roadside oddities, small surprises that you often enjoy in blissful solitude, as we did in Rhyolite, or a sparse crowd, as in the Alabama Hills. (Coming right up!)

These ghostly Last Supper sculptures in Rhyolite are eerie and evocative. 

Rhyolite sculptures appear to gang up on our van. Also at Rhyolite: a house made from glass bottles, a colorful stone mosaic sofa, and a huge labyrinth. 

The sofa had been brightened up since we last saw it.

We've explored Death Valley several times, including during the 2016 Super Bloom (many photos) so  we put on blinders and drove through. Without the blinders, the park's beauty may have sucked us in again. But we had other plans.

Climbing out of Death Valley over the Panamint Mountains into California, however, we stopped for a quick hike at a place we'd missed on earlier trips, Father Crowley Point Overlook. Surprise!

These photographers, plus a few more, were clearly waiting, but for what?  They seemed pleased at our interest, even offering us a cold beer, and told breathless tales about having seen fighter jets fly through the canyon below them several times, including earlier this same day. Once was not enough; these guys were hoping for a rare appearance by the Blue Angels. We hung around for an hour or so before our need to find a camp near Lone Pine, CA, became greater than our desire to see screaming fast jets make impossibly tight turns through the narrow canyon.

Imagine fighter jets flying below this canyon's rim. According to the photographers, they do so almost daily. Check it out, should you find yourself at Father Crowley Point.

Alabama Hills, Lone Pine, CA

Just outside Lone Pine, the Alabama Hills rest in the glory of their movie days —at least 150 films or TV productions since the 1920s—while most travelers scoot by on the ultra scenic Hwy. 395, not knowing what they're missing. Alabama Hills, managed by the BLM, is a jumble of impressive  puffy-looking rocks and formations with the Sierra Nevadas, including Mt. Whitney, as a backdrop. 

Sunrise as seen from our dispersed campsite in the Alabama Hills. The Sierra Nevada Mountains glow in the early light, including Mt. Whitney, with the Hills in the foreground. We didn't arrive until after 3 p.m. the previous day, and had to hunt for a camp. Not bad, since it was spring break. There an official campground, where we stayed on an earlier road trip, before we learned that we could just drive around and camp any place that wasn't blocked to preserve vegetation. I don't think there's a boring view in the Hills. A person could spend a few days exploring on foot, including a loop trail to a famous arch. This place is a gem. 

Photography bonanza

Since our trip to Africa in 2013,  during which my best travel day ever occurred, I've come to see the world through a camera lens. I don't think of photography as missing out on the moment, but an opportunity to see more closely, more clearly, to be more aware of how landscapes and people intersect, and how light, color and form create magic. The light on the mountains in the panoramic photo above lasted a minute or two, max. I caught this view shortly after I awakened in the van and peeked out of my mountainside window. The sky was pink! The mountains were golden!

I threw on pants and a jacket, leapt from the van, snapped the photo above and a couple more, then RAN to the nearby Mobious Arch, maybe a quarter mile away, the object of which was to frame the sunrise on the mountains through the window of the arch. I was carrying my Lumix Panasonic camera, which I purchased for that fabulous trip to Africa, but I mostly used an iPhone7Plus. Except for telephoto shots, I now prefer the phone to the Lumix.

I documented our location on the Earth before charging toward the Mobius Arch. The light had already changed. Still good, but lacked the glow present just a minute earlier.

By the time I got to the arch, the pink sky and golden light on the mountains had disappeared, but the sun now shone gold on the arch. How fleeting the moments of beauty, and how relative. Had I not seen the pink and intense gold a short time earlier, I would have thought this photo was great. Next time I'll set an alarm.

That's a relatively small photography vantage point that I asked permission to share with a pro photographer who beat me to the arch by a half hour! He was most gracious. When I started to leave after light faded on the mountains, he urged me to wait for the sun to light up the arch. The sun obliged in a minute or two. 

The Alabama Hills have set the scene for numerous film and TV

productions, many of them Westerns.The couple above are modeling

for an outdoor gear catalog. 

Sunset the previous night saw the lenticular clouds settling into the Sierra Nevadas.

We sipped wine in our camp chairs, grateful for the present moment and those still ahead of us on road, where many surprises awaited. 

Next up: Joshua Tree National Park

You don't have to be Christian to be a good person

My dear friend Laurie Gerloff shot this "God photo" during a foggy morning walk near Eugene, OR. Like countless other non-Christians, Laurie is a kind, thoughtful, principled person whose "church" is without walls or ceilings. 

The parking lot at my popular health club was packed and I was late for Zumba. I picked the only spot I could see.....it looked too tight, but having an unwarranted faith in my parking chops, I went for it.

The sickening sound of metal against metal was followed by a string of expletives. Mine.

A quick look confirmed that I'd dinged another vehicle, and my Subaru Outback had scratches. Such a stupid thing that could mean excessive repair costs, insurance hassles and inconveniencing an innocent stranger. I was kicking myself.

The car's owner was nowhere in sight. I wrote a note with my contact information and slid it under a windshield wiper. 

After my class, seeing that my note was still unread, I made a quick visit to an auto body shop for a damage estimate. The estimator guy took a peek at the scraped paint and the invisible, to me anyway, minor damage to the bumper.

"What's it going to cost me?" I asked, steeling for the worst.

"You could go to a Subaru dealership and buy some paint," he said. "Bring it back, and we'll apply the paint for nothing."

I restrained myself from hugging him as I expressed relief and gratitude.

I asked if I could send the victim of my errant parking to him as the damage to her vehicle was also minor.

Affirmative.

That afternoon I  got a call. The woman was cordial but miffed.

"Well, I guess I should get your insurance information so I can start dealing with this," she said.

I enjoyed telling the woman that she, too, could avoid insurance hassles. And, of course, I would pay for the paint.

She got right on it. Later the same day she called to report that the repair was done, and the local car dealer even had a sale on touch-up paint.

I mailed her a $10 bill and a friendly note

She called the next day when the note and money hit her mailbox.

The first thing she said: "You must be a Christian."

Silence on my part.

I was thinking of my friends and relatives, a few of them Christians, but most, not. 
All would have done the same thing I did. 

Well, no, I told her, when I gained control of my tongue. "I was raised a Lutheran, but it didn't take."

Silence on her end.

But, I continued, after the uncomfortable pause, "You don't have to be Christian to do the right thing. Or to be a good person."

The rest of our brief conversation was awkward. It was as if the idea that a non-Christian could be a good person had rendered her mute.

Like too many people in our sadly fractured culture, she's stuck in an us-versus-them, if-you're-not-a-believer-you-can't-be-a-decent-human-being-let-alone-be-my friend mindset.

Son Chris Korbulic captured this "God" image in the California redwoods. Another beautiful photo by a thoughtful man whose spiritual well is filled by the natural world.

On the other hand, I know people, good people, most of them friends and family, who have little if any tolerance for Christians, especially evangelical ones. They want nothing to do with them and have all kinds of preconceived notions that evangelicals are ignorant, bigoted, uneducated narrow-minded saps.

How do I know?

I learned the hard way during my thirties when I was immersed for three years in an evangelical church, an episode that shocked and/or dismayed most of my friends and family members.  

The majority of my people stuck with me, but one couple distanced themselves from my Christian self and no longer included me (us) in their monthly group discussions/potlucks.

How did I stumble into Pentecostalism?

This glowing lenticular cloud near Mt. Whitney looks inhabited by a UFO with a giant LED beacon on top. God is there, too, I think. Shot in the Alabama Hills just outside Lone Pine, CA in 2015. The Alabama Hills are magical and can't help but inspire thoughts about the greater picture - the Universe and our place in it. And God's place.

First a quick personal faith history. I was raised in the Midwest in a strict Lutheran church. Getting all dressed up and attending Sunday services was just what my family did. I did not question. But I did not enjoy. Every service included reciting the Nicene Creed, singing mostly joyless hymns, and enduring droning sermons that were too long.

I abandoned what passed for faith soon after leaving home to attend college and didn't revisit it until I was 33 years old, a newspaper reporter, wife, and mother of a two-year-old. A cooperative childcare situation brought me into contact with evangelical Christianity, and I attended a service out of curiosity. What the hell were these people doing attending church three times a week?!

I was blown away at a Pentecostal hands-waving-in-the-air, speaking-in-tongues, being-slain-in the-spirit, foot-washing kind of church.  This was in the tiny town of Rogue River, Oregon, where I still live. This was not the dull and dusty church I'd experienced as a kid, but a worship experience that flowed with emotion and fervor. There was not a dull moment, and the openness of the congregants with one another dazzled me.

I attended this church for three years, participated in a pastor-led Bible study, which I found enormously interesting, and joined the choir. I studied the Bible in classes and on my own. After about a year, I finally went forward during a Sunday service to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

Yes, I did that.

My come-to-Jesus moment elicited much excitement. People hugged and congratulated me. I was embarrassed by the undeserved attention. The pastor, however, was not impressed.

"You came forward" he acknowledged, as I was leaving the church. "But... do you believe?"

He guessed I didn't. He was right.

But I wanted to. So I continued to lift my hands and sing praises to God and to witness actions and interactions among the congregants that touched and astounded me.

I was stirred by Jesus. I ignored all the fierce, mean, judgemental jealous God stuff in the Old Testament and focused on Jesus's teachings.

He was harping always about love and forgiveness. Snippets of Bible verses: (Don't skip!)

• Love your neighbor as yourself.
• God hath not given us the spirit of fear - but of love.
• Love by serving one another.
• It is good not to do anything whereby thy brother stumbleth or is offended, or made weak.
• Love suffereth long, and is kind.
• Be ye kind, tenderhearted, forgiving one another.
• Let us not love in word only but in deed and faith.
• Forgive, be merciful. Let not mercy and truth forsake thee; Write them upon the table of thine heart.

Imagine what the world might be like if those professing to be Christian, as well as those who don't, took these teachings to heart.  I know many who are and do. I love my Christian friends.

On the other hand, my beloved friends who are NOT Christian? They are also kind, forgiving, generous, loving people.

Some, however, do have a blind spot when it comes to Christians, again, the evangelicals especially. I wish they would get over it. We're all trying to the right thing. Aren't we?

The Sierra Nevada mountains near Mt. Whitney as seen through the Mobius Arch
 in the Alabama Hills. God is there, all over the place.

So back there in the 1980s I was reading the Bible and thinking about Jesus and how I might be a better person.

Forgive. Love. Be kind. Write these words on the table of your heart, Jesus instructed.

I tried inscribing the ticker without worrying so much about whether Jesus was God. He did not need to be God for me to believe that being kinder, more forgiving and loving was an all-around good idea.

Then along came Jerry Falwell, Jim and Tammy Faye Baker, Pat Robertson, and other revolting and corrupt televangelists. Sleaze, fleas, and blasphemies.

They were as far removed from most of the Christians in my lively little church as teddy bears are from grizzlies.

But some locals had contracted the Moral Majority fever being spread in the 1980s by Falwell, an activist preacher.

Falwell founded the Moral Majority, which helped establish the Republican fundamentalist Christian right as a political force. The organization opposed civil rights, women's rights and gay rights among other things. Sound familiar?

During the Moral Majority's heyday, a traveling preacher came to deliver messages to young people in my community at the church I attended. Somehow, the church was packed, and many of the youth were whipped up by the traveling preacher's rhetoric. Dozens of young people came forward to accept Jesus as their savior, even after the preacher bellowed about the immoral nature of popular music.

The next night, at his exhortation, teens brought their sinful CDs to be tossed into a bonfire built for that purpose on the edge of the church parking lot.

Yes. It was an air-and-spirit-polluting music-burning night in Rogue River, OR.  No different from burning books.

I was disgusted. I couldn't jibe the words and deeds of the Moral Majority crowd with the love and caring I witnessed and received in church.

Now, nearly 40 years later, I still love deeply the friend whose example made me curious enough to attend church in the first place. I appreciate the structure for doing good that churches provide and the love wattage that can blaze through a congregation, for God and for one another. And maybe even us heathens.

I have no regrets that I spent nearly three years immersed in the evangelical world. Instead, I am grateful to have some insight.

But I wish that Christian leaders would stick to preaching and steer away from politicizing.  It can be done.

And I have to admit that I am perplexed that so many Christians appear to be Trump groupies. Seriously folks, what would Jesus do?

I can't picture Jesus in a red ball cap railing at the desperate and dispossessed at the US/Mexican border.

"God" is in the vibrant leaves, the clear rushing water, the pristine
  air on the Upper Rogue River. 

Most Thursdays during cold wet months, a handful from the local congregation, people I met all those years ago, can be found dispensing homemade soups, sandwiches and Christian love to the homeless in our community.

Like me, they're getting old now, and some have serious health issues. Still, they're making vats of soup, loaves of bread, hauling it all to a parking lot, setting up a shelter, unloading everything onto tables, and going all out to do what Jesus commanded:

Love your neighbor as yourself.

                    Love by serving one another. 

Let us not love in word only but in deed and faith.

That's what real Christians do.

And, by the way, what many good-hearted non-believers do as well.

Too Many Photos!

Baby Noah displaying his outrageous independence at almost nine months.  No cuddling, please!
Just feed me and give me toys and space. And can I pull your hair?

I lost my camera the first day of our March vacation to Death Valley and other places in California and Nevada. Fortunately, I managed to keep track of it while in Reno with grand baby Noah, and fired off a shot worthy of archiving, if not for technical proficiency, at least for recording the reality of  a baby who is not at all interested in being cuddled. Grandpa Paul enjoyed the hair pulling as he provided sustenance.

This is Death Valley as seen from the gravel parking lot-type camp at Stovepipe Wells. It is my last vacation photo before my camera  disappeared.  This was also before I determined to take only photos that might mean something to me in 10 years .... or more. Or to someone else. This shot, while pleasing, would not make the cut.

This is how our bikes look hanging off the back of our little Four Wheel camper.

Exciting, right? This is what can happen when you have a camera and feel compelled to use it and SHARE the photos.

This does not make the 10-year cut, and is for demonstration only. Others may be interested in your children, your pets, your vegetables,  your toenails. But your bikes, probably not.

Traveling sans camera was a revelation. First I realized that not taking photos is a vacation in itself. How many pictures does the world need? How many do I need? Pictures of Noah and other family members have a small but appreciative audience. Pictures of Death Valley and the Sierra Mountains, however, have been well documented by photographers who are a million times more skilled and better equipped than I am. We discovered Galen Rowell in a Bishop, California gallery. Wow! It's clear that my landscape photos are not needed. I secretly like some of my own shots, but I can keep them to myself. Maybe.

What happened to my camera? I thought it was stolen, or even worse, that I had left it by the sink in the campground restroom. Paul discovered it soon after we returned home beneath the bench cushion in our cozy camper. I was disappointed, as I had already selected a replacement. My pocket Nikon Coolpix has been obsoleted over the past three (four?)years with much-upgraded compact cameras. Why I need sharper, brighter images, and even more foolproof technology, I do not know. But I want them. I would have shot hundreds of photos. I'm not kidding. I would have snapped my way through Death Valley, then captured myriad scenes along the incredibly beautiful highway 395 skirting the eastern edge of the magnificent Sierra Mountains through Lone Pine and the Alabama Hills and Bishop and Mammoth Lakes and then onto South Lake Tahoe and our fabulous day of bluebird skiing with vast, crisp, magnificent views of the lake. Post trip I would have been overwhelmed with  images, editing like crazy to decide which shots were worth salvaging. And who cares? Key question.

Of course after Paul found my camera, I gradually resumed photography, but with more retrospection. I was once a "professional", shooting to illustrate articles for small newspapers and a statewide business magazine. That was when 35mm film came in rolls of 20 or 36 frames, and you had to think and frame and anticipate to use those few shots judiciously. It was a discipline that I, for one, have almost forgotten with digital photography. Temporarily losing my camera brought me back to something I'd all but forgotten: pre-editing. Think before you shoot. So here follow some recent random photos that mean something to me, and why.

Chris, the professional photographer, and I, took turns at the magnificent cactus in  our solarium.

What Chris saw. This could be enlarged 100 X and still look great.

What I saw. Don't make it any bigger, please.