On the True Cost of Obsolescence, as Measured in Dollars and Common Sense

Forgive me Lord for I have sinned... twice in as many days, three times if you count coveting my neighbor's bike.

Fear and Loathing in Tonopah

It's a "forced camp," scarcely 75 feet off Highway 6... twenty Godforsaken miles east of Tonopah, Nevada. Bobbie's one week and change into the Wally Virus, praying every morning that this will be the day she turns the proverbial "corner" back to wellness. This, from a woman who scoffs at colds and illness in general and gets at least 5 miles in. 

How "A-Fellow" Gets His Groove Back

This Mountain Biking Love-post comes to you in Real Time. My hair is still wet from the shower. Gone to the Grey-water tank is the grit, dust, and body stench that came as a result of this morning's glorious four hour tour to, through, and back from Klondike Bluffs. What a kaleidoscope of color and clouds and rocks, my friends. Oh, and I am "solo." My Bobbie App flew the coup to Lovely Ouray in order to find a little "Common Ground" and shed the last vestiges of the dreaded Wally Virus. Fear not, she will be back. At least that's what she said, driving off into the sunrise.

Absent No More…

The "Alabama Hills" camp was a sight for sore eyes, especially after the glaring sun, angularity, and austerity of Anza Borrego, Mohave Preserve, and, to some extent, Death Valley, back to back to back. Connecting those "dots" had taken weeks, and presented unexpected challenges in the form of soaring temperatures and loss of contact with the world. But now, Goldie is ensconced amid a maze of softly curved boulders with a snowcapped Sierra backdrop. Relief is at hand. The "internet," however, not so much. 

The Price of Oranges and Dates and Golf in Desert Places

During our naive, but glorious "newbie" days, Bobbie and I drifted through innumerable backwater towns throughout the west… from the Mexican border all the way to Canada. Fellow roamers know the kind of towns I speak of, charming, idyllic places that get under your skin and tug the heart. At long last we were free to move about, try on new towns like Imelda Marcos tried on shoes, looking for a good "fit." 

"You might as well be walkin' on the sun"

Anza Borrego State Park is 913 square miles of scorched earth desert. Most casual passers-through find it uninspiring, if not downright hostile. Nothing worth photographing. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to wax poetic over. Just a bleak, sunburnt, sparsely vegetated desert, something to squint at through tinted windshields of luxury SUVs and wonder if Govie was playing a little fast and loose with the word "Park."

Revelations: The Last Days in Yuma! or When the fear of dying is worse than death itself

"And in the morning It shall be foul weather, for the sky is red and lowering. O ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?"