Road Trip, Part 3: From Provo, Utah to Richland, Washington

Modern day "prairie schooners" make their way easily up and down hills and through mountain passes

I didn't take many photos as we made our way from Provo to Washington state, going across a little corner of Idaho and another little corner of Oregon, but I did notice every single speck of water. Back home in the desert of New Mexico, in the middle of a drought, we dash out after every tiny rainfall to take pictures of the teeniest puddles (New Mexican Facebook friends, you know who you are! We all do it).

These two water photos are all I have to show our progress for this part of our road trip. However, I was constantly aware that some of the routes we traveled were along the historic Oregon Trail. As we tired from a long day in the car, I couldn't help but think of those long-ago covered wagon travelers, inching across the map toward a new life in an unknown and strange land.

As a child, I was always fascinated by the idea of a family packing a Conestoga wagon and heading west. In our neighborhood in San Francisco I got my friends to play covered wagon; one child would sit on a gate pretending to be the driver holding the reins of the pretend oxen; the other kids would sit behind and would be the family.

Here is a photo of the interior of one of the wagons that might have traveled the Oregon Trail. I've borrowed it from the website for the National Oregon/California Trail Center at Montpelier, Idaho. According to the Center, a wagon needed to be strong enough to carry a load and passengers for the five month journey, yet light enough not to exhaust the oxen pulling it. The wagons had no springs: I thought about that as we comfortably and safely drove over smoothly paved highways, up and down mountains, and over rivers.

According to the Wikipedia article on the Oregon Trail, the main Oregon Trail was 2000 miles long, an east-west large-wheeled wagon route that ran through the present-day states of Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon. Again, from the Wikipedia article: From the early to mid-1830s and particularly through the epoch years 1846–1869, the Oregon Trail and its many offshoots were used by about 400,000 settlers, ranchers, farmers, miners, and businessmen and their families. 

If bouncing along unpaved, rutted trails for months at a time wasn't difficult enough, the dangers were many: River crossings were most dangerous, but folks traveling this way were also at risk of being run over by the heavy wagons or shot when loaded firearms were accidentally discharged. Weather, diseases, stampeding animals, snakebite--the list of hazards goes on. See the article, Trail Basics: Dangers for more.

Traveling in our little Prius, by contrast, was quiet and comfortable. We had an adjustable cabin temperature, comfy seats, GPS apps to guide our way, access to constant weather and news reports, and even an altimeter to figure out the height of the mountain passes. We could stop to admire the view or to get a snack whenever we wanted. I wish we might have invited one of those travelers from the past to ride along with us.

Road Trip; Old School Style

Family vacations were a big deal when I was a kid. My father often used his two weeks off all at once and we traveled in the family car that whole time. We bought new clothes before hitting the road; we called them our vacation outfits. For some reason they always included a hat, although we rarely wore casual hats in the other parts of our lives.

Here are my Aunt Nellie, little me, my mother, and littler Bucksnort, while on a visit to Jerry and Jimmy's Grandpa, who also appears elsewhere on this blog. He's the guy with the boots and jeans and for-real cowboy hat; the one who is grinning and no doubt cooking up another trick to make his San Francisco visitors remember their trip to his Arizona ranch forever. He isn't wearing his vacation clothes, but the rest of us are. My dad and Uncle Jack were off branding cattle, much to their dismay, so they didn't appear in this photo. You can tell that these are vacation clothes that we are wearing because they are matching outfits, and because we kids are wearing hats with our names stitched on them.

And here we are, much later, back in civilization. That's our neighbor's house and car in the background; and Bucksnort, my dad, and me in the foreground. We are not wearing vacation clothes, although they might have been road trip outfits at some time in the past. You can tell that we are no longer on vacation because we are not wearing hats. In spite of the fact that we have no labels stitched anywhere, revealing our names, my dad seems pretty certain that he has hold of the right girls.

Taking Another Look at California

The little Sunset Distric house in San Francisco

My parents moved our little family of three (Bucksnort came along a little later) to California from Maine when I was an infant. I grew up in San Francisco, just a block from the beach in a little house they sold in 1955 for $11,000; then in Marin County, in one of the suburbs that were springing up in those post-World War II decades, in a house they bought for exactly, I remember, $19,950. In recent years, either house was valued in the six hundred thousands, although prices have fallen a bit lately, even in these expensive areas.

By the time I was 21, I was anxious to leave California, finding fault with the traffic and ever-increasing development. After leaving, I lived in British Columbia, Washington state, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Connecticut, then New Hampshire and New Mexico once again.

I still see those things when I go back to California for a visit--crowded highways and the resulting smog, and endless developments that fill up the farm and ranch land that I remember from my childhood. But I was surprised, on this trip, to find that I was enchanted by the other parts of the landscape--the deserts, the mountains, and most of all, the beautiful rolling foothills, grassy and studded with bay trees and live oaks, still festooned with the mistletoe I remember from my childhood. I had brought along lots of knitting to work on during the many hours of riding in the car, but found that it sat there in my lap while I admired the scenery.

Northern California foothills

Road Trip Reading

California palms, always fascinating to road trippers


Lost Continent, by Bill Bryson (1989)


While on our recent trip to California, I read a fine road trip book by Bill Bryson. It was his first book from way back in 1989, Lost Continent, and I could sense from the start that he was a) very young (I checked--37 or so counts as young to me), b) very grumpy about his country of birth, and c) so grumpy and critical that he had left to live in another country altogether. I recognized the signs, having followed the same path myself, although I had once gone to live in Canada and Bryson had left for England.

As he wrote about the 38 states he traveled through, he put down town after town in such a way that pretty much indicated that nothing here was going to please him. I was understanding of his malaise, and hopeful that as he got older that he might begin to appreciate the finer points of America. Indeed, I discovered on his web site that he had brought his family back from England when he was in his mid-forties, just as I had eventually returned to my country. Of course, he left again to live in England within the decade, but that might have been because of the rootlessness one finds after trying to go home again. Who knows?

Parts of this book were hysterically and overtly funny; other parts were sly and trickily humorous, as when Bryson dryly tells us that "Booker T. Washington...was a remarkable man. A freed slave, he taught himself to read and write, secured an education and eventually founded the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, the first college in America for blacks. Then, as if that were not achievement enough, he finished his career as a soul musician, churning out a series of hits in the 1960s on the Stax record label with the backup group the MGs." Or, when he sneaks in this one: "Lancaster County is the home of the Pennsylvania Dutch, the Amish and Mennonites. The Mennonites are named after a well-known brand of speed stick deodorant." Honestly, this stuff reminds me of some of the more ambitious conversations between Auntie Bucksnort and myself.

Something that especially struck me was when the youthful Bryson was grumbling about the late 80s' suburban sprawl and the way that people, after visiting a tidy and picturesque Colonial Williamsburg, didn't just return home to restore their old buildings and to beautify their towns with trees and flowers. It occurred to me that almost thirty years later, this very thing has been happening with great results. A good many of the northern California cities and towns that we visited had well-preserved central "old towns," in addition to their more modern (and sprawly) shopping areas. Here are some links that will get you started on an old town tour.

Grass Valley (very walkable, dog friendly with dog water dishes set outside shops)
Gridley (has a small old town area)
Old Sacramento
Placerville

Road Trip: Bisbee, Arizona, Part 2

After the mining industry left town, Bisbee became an artists' colony. Houses were cheap, the scenery was beautiful, ditto the weather. Eventually, the baby boomers came and added gourmet restaurants and updated the little houses, driving property prices up. There are bed and breakfasts to stay in, restaurants ranging from funky to elegant, and lots and lots of art.

For instance, in the little park near the elegant 1902 Copper Queen Hotel, the rest room doors look like this:

You will see "art cars" parked around town:

And you mustn't miss the copper-clad 1930's Iron Man statue up in Tombstone Canyon, with his hammer and spike. It's tricky to get him from the right angle, as you will see.

Road Trip: Cerrillos

Cerrillos is located along the Turquoise Trail between Santa Fe and Albuquerque. Gold, lead, turquoise, silver, and zinc have been mined in this area and it is said that some of the turquoise from Cerrillos made its way into the Spanish crown jewels.

As we neared the town we passed by the ruins of an old miner's shack.

I had to stop to get a picture of the gate for Kickin' Ass Ranch. Too bad I didn't get in a little closer. We walked along the old main street of the town. The church was especially beautiful, with its walls, nichos, sculptures, and its birdhouses.

These hollyhocks were easily eight feet tall. Some of the old buildings had been made into shops; others were undergoing repairs and reconstruction.

We saw an old miner who had stopped in at Mary's Bar for a cool drink in the shade. Parked out front was his vehicle, an old converted pickup truck drawn by six or eight little burros, with a spare burro tied at the back. I would give anything if I had taken his picture, but I was too shy to intrude. Ah, well, I have the memory of the scene.

Road Trip: The Valley of Fires

Looking across the valley

In the big landscape that is New Mexico your eyes constantly sweep the horizon, looking for what is next. Miles before you get to White Sands, for example, you will see a stretch of blinding white way off in the distance. As you drive west of Carrizozo on Route 380, on the other hand, you will see what seems to be a huge black shadow cast by a cloud. As you get nearer you will see that it is the ground itself, far blacker than the surrounding valley land. You have arrived at the Valley of Fires, which is one of the youngest and most pristine lava flows in the U.S.

Between 1500 and 2000 years ago, the vents of Little Black Peak started pouring out lava, which oozed across the land until it cooled and solidified. It is thought that the lava flows lasted over a period of thirty years. Two and a half miles across at its widest point, 125 square miles in all, the flow is an amazing 165 feet deep at its thickest point. The area, also known as the Carrizozo Malpais, is alive with vegetation and wildlife, and there is a walking trail and camping area.

You can see a video of a walking tour of the area at http://www.teachertube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=f2ff029a833cccc778fd.

For some great aerial photographs of the area, see http://geoinfo.nmt.edu/tour/landmarks/carrizozo/how_formed.html

Road Trip: Capitan, Home of Smokey Bear

After I get my knee fixed and can walk again, I'd like to spend some time in Capitan, located in the heart of Lincoln County, right up there in the Lincoln National Forest at 6530 ft. There's a nice little side road we always stop on to get out and stretch and to give the dogs a little R & R. It smells like pines and there is the tantalizing sound of trickling water nearby.


Capitan is the home town of Smokey Bear (also known as Smokey the Bear from a song that was written about him), a little cub who was found in a tree after a forest fire. After being treated for his burns, he became the national symbol of forest fire awareness, spending his life in the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. When he died at age 26, his remains were returned to Capitan, where he was buried in what is now Smokey Bear Historical Park.



You can find out more about the village of Capitan at its website, and at its Chamber of Commerce website. For a further glimpse of life among the pines, see Taste of Capitan and Capitan Farmer's Market.

Road Trip: Billy the Kid in Lincoln

The old Murphy-Dolan Store, which was built in 1874, later became the Lincoln County Courthouse. In 1881, Billy the Kid was being held prisoner there. He stole a gun, killed the guards and escaped. According to some versions, he made his departure even more spectacular by hanging around town for an hour or so chatting to acquaintances. Although you can't make out the sign in my photo, the Sheriff's Office is located upstairs.
So much has been written about Billy the Kid that I will leave you with some links to get started so that you can explore his life as much as you want.

About Billy the Kid includes little known facts, a biography, a filmography, maps, letters, interviews, a gallery of photos and art work, and more.

Billy the Kid, Quien Es? Great video from New Mexico Public Broadcasting, originally broadcast by KNME: Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3

The Lincoln County War is a well-documented account of what happened in Lincoln County during 1878-1879.

Pirate Dogs

If you would like to read an account of our recent road trip from an entirely different point of view, go to Beez's blog, Pirate Dogs & Pilgrims, and see Driving 580 Miles for a Burger.

Road Trip: Old Lincoln, Part 2

Lincoln has been called "one of the last historic yet uncommercialized 19th century towns remaining in the American West."*



Exhibits in the Historical Center, which is run by Lincoln County Heritage Trust, exhibits "explain the role in Lincoln's history of Apaches, Hispanics, Anglo Cowboys, and the black Buffalo Soldiers, and detail the Lincoln County War."*

Note the sign and the rope on the gate (above). I liked the collision of old and new cultures.
Adobe building remains.
There is a self-guided walking tour booklet available at the Historical Center.

*All quotes in this post are from Frommer's Comprehensive Travel Guide: New Mexico, 3rd edition.

Road Trip: Old Lincoln, New Mexico

The town of Lincoln is in the Valley of the Rio Bonito near the Lincoln National Forest on Route 380. Situated at 5700 feet, it is a living community although its population is only about 150.
Most of the main street through the town of Lincoln, New Mexico is part of the Lincoln State Monument, and is sometimes said to consist of 1000 yards of museums. It shows a community as it was in the 1870's and 1880's, and includes 17 structures and outbuildings built mostly in the Territorial adobe architectural style.