You know the BCB oft lags behind real time. While photos of this post come to you with love from the midst of Chiricahua's bouldered bliss, the text comes to you with anger, calming to frustration, calming to resignation, calming to indifference at the un-luck that rains on the just and the unjust... in a Red Rock boondock just south of the Village of Oak Creek, Arizona. You know you are having a spell of bad luck when it takes three cups of extra strong coffee and the words, "It could be worse" to jumpstart your morning mood (sigh).
"We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." C. Bukowski
NOTE: Open post and then Single Click On first Post Photo to view an album in a more detailed, larger format...
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Apaches and Mexicans had been fighting over land and settlements in the southwest for nearly a hundred years before Hughes Stafford pioneered a small ranch in Bonita Canyon in 1879. The canyon was remote, "Faraway" in the Chiricahua Mountains. Chiricahua means "wild turkeys," and while Maikel and I did see a raptor of twenty in the woods while on a mountain bike ride, I like what the Apache called the area much more; "the land of standing up rocks." It only takes one hike to realize why.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Agave masts seem more abundant here in the Sonoran Desert this year. They stand out almost forest like in knee deep grasslands around Sonoita. The agave is made up a rosette of succulent spear tipped wedges, its name derived from a Queen Agave that existed within the realm of Greek Mythology. When proper age intersects proper conditions, a fast growing mast sprouts from the center. It's similar to birthing a child, in that all of the plant's store of energy is spent pushing the seed mast, up, up, up, into a striking tower of reproductive pods. Unfortunately, the agave always dies in "childbirth."
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I can't believe we pulled out of Bisbee's only RV park without meeting the Wheeling It gang. I was in a Blog Fog Funk (it happens...) and hadn't checked in on them, or anyone else for that matter, for a while. Turns out we overlapped in Bisbee... probably a few feet from each other. Oh well... maybe next time. Nina did a terrific two part review of their Bisbee Experience, including some great photos. Have a look by clicking here.
Friday, March 22, 2013
In a perfect world, we wouldn't need inconvenient bordering-on-interferent legislations and regulations on everything from gun control, to birth control. But our "perfect world" went out the window "In the beginning," when Eve tempted Adam to take a bite out of her forbidden apple; if not then, then certainly a few years later when one of their offspring, Cain, slew his brother, Able. Look, I love free speech as much as my Macbook Pro and "Old Yeller," but I'm beginning to think that "SPAM" should fall under the same category as Telephone Solicitations, the one's that used to interrupt our evening hours. If we can have a reasonably successful "No Call List" regulation with penalties that are enforced, why can't we have a "No Spam List?" They are every bit as intrusive as phone solicitations, and beyond that, they are often foul in language and intent.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
What can I say about Bisbee? It gets ahold of you. Gee, it's been over a week now since we detached ourselves from its Velcro tentacles (rrrriiiiip!). Such Neon Dreaminess... psychedelic madness reminiscent of the good ole 60's. Bisbee's blueprint should be a model for burned out, falling down mining towns throughout the entire west... a place hippies and misfits can run to when their town get's Tubac'ed out from under them. You won't see new town home/condo developments ruining Bisbee proper because there's no place to put them, excluding the "Lavender Pit," a most colorful 300 acre, one thousand foot deep copper mine.
Friday, March 15, 2013
My daddy once told me that running away never solves problems... it only postpones solutions. So I wasn't too surprised when Missouri miseries caught up with me in Colorado. When you can't be happy living and playing in the Garden of Eden, something deeper is going on. Adam blamed Eve. I blamed Dad, or his death, at least. Heredity put a six gun to my stationary life; the sudden loss of Dad pulled the trigger. I came this close to putting beloved Colorado in the rearview mirror, to take up a wandering life far before I could appreciate it and for all the wrong reasons. Please indulge today's ramblings; it's Dad's birthday, and I am bound to honor him by remembering. He'd be 99 years old.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Admittedly, an emigrant bandying "Californication" sounds a tad sanctimonious. After all, I "fornicated" Colorado back in '76. My justification is that I didn't try to impose Missouri's mo-hill Ozark mores on my new found home. Hell, I didn't even like Missouri's mores, let alone its landscapes, cityscapes, and funnel cake mentality. I had to leave before I became one of them... certainly before I had children who most assuredly would be cursed with hillbilly speech impediments.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Always on time, Wandrin Lloyd was waiting in the parking lot of Sabino Canyon, while Sue Bee Subaru ran late (Note to the Wise: Speedway Blvd is a misnomer). Everyone in our group had hiked the popular Seven Falls ad nauseam; it's notorious for nuts to butts stop-n-gawkers and people filled photos. Unless it's raining, "Trickling Falls" would be a more honest moniker. Acting on a serendipitous tip from two ladies Susan engaged on our Wasson Peak hike, we had our sights on Hutch's Pools... just shy of 10 miles round trip and beauteous!
Friday, March 1, 2013
The full-time RV lifestyle allows wandering souls to live, travel and explore America's highways and back roads in every form and style imaginable. From a brand new quad-slide mini mansion motorhome with a Lexus SUV in-tow, to an old pickup on its last leg, belching smoke and buckling askew under the weight of a slide in camper that's seen better days.