I'm leaving Deadwood, SD shortly, a little disappointed by the sights. I've uploaded some photos (see below) from the last few days despite the slow internet connection. I had intended to put up the entire group from the day on the Snake River going to the massacre site, partly to contrast that terrain with the one of the drive that evening to Lolo, MT, but, I ran out of patience with the slow connection AND I have a full day of driving today: hoping to cross all of South Dakota.

I'm also adjusting to this being the beginning of the trip's end and
the feelings that engenders. Given the amount of driving over the next few days - my intention is to be in Philadelphia on Tuesday and I am still on the western border of South Dakota - the next postings might be very brief until I get home. (The weather reports for the Midwest states through which I'll be going through the next 3 days are chockful of thunderstorms and tornado warnings, so that may affect my plans.
please have patience!

If Route 12 East from Lewiston, ID to Lolo, MT is not listed as one of the great scenic drives in the Northwest, it should be. Like Ginger to Fred, the road follows the Lochsa River's lead through almost 200 of miles of turns and dips through pine forests that come down to the waters' edge.  Like any good dance partner, it detaches sometimes, to curve and climb a hill, but always returns to flow in unison with the river. Having it to myself -- there was no other traffic east-bound for over an hour, partly because I outsped the few -- was the perfect antidote to the day on the Snake going to the massacre site. The contrast between the two landscapes couldn't have been more striking. Whereas the vegetation along the Snake was sparse and ground-hugging in a palette of browns, the Lochsa ran a gauntlet of deep greens and towering pines covering every hill along it. It exuded strength, vitality, and life-force that was comforting.

More Route 12 at dusk, with one of the few vehicles encountered. Most were trucks, usually carrying logs. I like how the low fog looks like a plume of smoke/steam coming from the truck. (Clicking on the image enlarges it.)

(Old news.) A couple of friends asked me to post both the poem and my “advice” to Janet and Gary at their wedding in Carmel that was at the mid-point of this trip. (Photos of the happy couple are in a posting around May 30.)

I was very fortunate to find a poem that was short, fitting, and by a Chinese woman poet in a little anthology called “Women Poets of China”, co-edited by Kenneth Rexroth. I read it and then added my remarks.

The author of the poem, poetess Kuan Tao-Sheng was married to Chao Meng-Fu, a leading calligrapher and painter of Chinese history. (She herself was known as a calligrapher and painter of bamboos, orchids and plum blossoms.) She wrote the poem to her husband when she found out that he was intending to take a concubine. It is said that he was so moved by it that he did not.)

Here it is:


Married Love

Kuan Tao-Sheng , 1262-1319

You and I
Have so much love,
That it
Burns like a fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay
Molded into a figure of you
And a figure of me.
Then we take both of them,
And break them into pieces,
And mix the pieces with water,
And mold a figure again of you,
And a figure of me.
I am in your clay.
You are in my clay.
In life we share a single quilt.
In death we will share one bed.
--------

"I felt both honored and humbled when Janet and Gary asked me to share their special day by imparting some words of advice for their life together. 

In fact, I felt twice humbled: first, by having been perceived as having something valuable to impart and second, by the task of trying to live up to that perception.


The truth is that there are probably as many guides for a happy marriage as there are diets for losing weight. Yet, most of the advice for achieving either goal is familiar and comes from common sense.


Just listen again to the “action verbs” in the “Charge to the Couple” and their declaration to each other: CONFIDE, LAUGH, ENJOY, SHARE, LOVE, CHERISH, RESPECT, PROVIDE, PROTECT, COMFORT, TRUST.


If the advice is so obvious – and all marriage vows contain some or most of those verbs – what makes it so hard for them to be followed?


Well, just like in the work Janet and I share within Human Resources, the key in having a great hire (or a great spouse, in this case), is in selecting the right person in the first place, the person who is made of the right "clay".


Therefore, you have each already done the most difficult part. You have chosen each other as being made of the right clay to be your life partner. 

And that’s my advice to you: that if you remember always what made you choose each other, keeping those verbs active will become second-nature."

-----
I am in Deadwood, SD, famous for its history during the wild years following the gold finds in the Black Hills (and their theft from the Indians...). It's the location of the graves of Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane and the place where he was shot. Fans of "Deadwood" the HBO series -- and I am one -- will find this place to be somewhat of a disappointment. The main street is a gauntlet of original and "original" buildings ALL catering to the tourist dollar and ALL featuring gambling alongside whatever else they sell. (Deadwood must be the Mother of all dual-purpose emporiums.)

Living in a large Eastern city for so many years, I take many things for granted that aren’t so ordinary to others. Take “Baby”. Porsche Boxsters are not unusual around Philadelphia, but I have only seen four – not counting the ones in the dealer’s lot in Albuquerque – in the 6,691 miles covered since May 13th: three in LA, and one in Portland. Several times, Baby has been a conversation starter, but while puppies and babies attract women, sports-cars attract motor-heads, all of them male in my experience.

Tonight, I had barely pulled into the parking lot of an IGA Supermarket in Hardin, Montana, when a grinning, wide-eyed youth wearing a long apron came running to the driver’s side of the car. He was all motion, arms flapping in excitement, hardly able to wait for me to get out. (He was so excitable that, had it not been for the apron, which quickly pegged him as an employee of the market, I would have palmed the pepper-spray can before emerging.)

-“Wow, dude! Wow!! Is that a Boxer?”, he said in breaking voice, keeping his eyes fixated on Baby.
“Yes, it’s a Boxs-TER.” I corrected him. He came closer as I got out, almost blocking my exit and ability to close the door. He was a few inches taller than me -- yes, almost any teenage boy is -- and a little beefy, but looked less threatening with the untied apron’s sides flapping like a skirt in the evening breeze. He continued talking, almost squealing, his eyes never leaving Baby:
“Dude, that’s an AWESOME car! It is sooo cool!!”

I could see he wanted more than just talk, and since he looked both harmless and I had the time – Hardin’s life-blood are tourists on the way to the site of Custer’s Last Stand and the casinos for those tourists, but the casinos, which seem to be part of every business I saw (as in “Dairy Queen-Casino”, “Laundromat-Casino”, “Exxon-Casino”) don’t have card games so I had nothing to do – I said:
“ Do you want to..” and he was already seated inside, touching everything.
“Oh, it’s an automatic..”, his voice lowering with disappointment.
“It’s both an Automatic AND a Manual, but clutchless”, I replied. It confused him, as his foot sought a third pedal. I explained how it worked with the up-down shift-“clickers” on the steering wheel. “AWEsome, dude! AWEsome!”, he squeaked, and kept peering around the instrument panel.

I figured I would never get him out without turning on the engine, especially since, when he finally looked up at me, it was with a classic puppy-dog begging stare. So, with a little trepidation and a mental flash-video of him getting his left foot in (he hadn’t adjusted the seat back to get fully inside), putting the car in gear, and peeling out of the parking lot with me hanging onto the open door for dear life, I put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Porsche engines have a distinctive sound, at once soothing and powerful, hinting of forces straining to be unleashed. I thought the boy would cry or have an orgasm when he heard it roar to life. (I rarely get either feeling now -- from the car! -- but it brought back memories…) I said: “Don’t do anything stupid now!”, as he, oblivious to everything except the hum and ever-so-light vibration through the steering-wheel, put his right foot on the accelerator…..and almost floored it!

The needle on the tachometer shot up to somewhere around 6500 rpms (just south of the red-line) before he took his foot off. “AWEsome, dude! Really, AWEsome!!!”, he almost screamed. And gave me another begging-puppy look.

I knew what he was hoping for, and while others have driven Baby (most recently, Bonnie’s husband, Charlie, in Eugene), there was no way that I could allow it. My look answered the unspoken question, and he had come down to earth enough to accept it.

Getting out and recognizing that he had already experienced something he probably hadn’t imagined he would that day, he recovered his up-mood: “ Wow, dude! Great car!! Do you race it? Are you going to be around a while? How many horses?” I answered his questions – “no”,“no”, and "206" – as I locked the car and semi-escorted him toward the store as he talked. I considered asking him his age and about his Ride, but didn’t want to take a chance on making him feel awkward given his enthusiasm for mine. We parted as I entered the store and he went to his post as a grocery-bagger.

Later, as I was paying the cashier for my Fuji apples and yogurt, the healthy balance to the delicious bacon and eggs breakfast that John’s friends, Sally and Dan, made for me in Lolo, Montana this morning, he came up to me from the other check-out line and said: “Dude, can you drive by the Dry-Clean so my friends can see the car?”

“Sorry, I can’t.”, I said, and his whole body made a sagging motion to go with the verbal “Ohh…” of disappointment. And he moved back to his line.

The cashier, a friendly, plain-looking woman in her thirties said to me, smiling: “All that boy thinks about are cars and girls! He should be thinking more about school”, paused for a moment, and in a louder voice directed more toward him: “And work!” I laughed, as she did, and I said: “Yes, but his are the better thoughts at any age.” She laughed. I picked up my bags, said good night, and left.

What I found most interesting was how his focused interest made him oblivious to some social conventions (like saying “thank you”) and that he almost took for granted that I would let him sit in the car, etc. He wouldn’t have forced himself, but neither was he shy about what he wanted and expected to get. And, in a way, our enthusiasm for the car made me a willing accomplice and facilitator. It thought about a parallel with how celebrities are viewed by fans. Fans’ adulation and familiarity with gossip articles make for a sense of "ownership” that becomes on entitlement when they finally meet a celebrity in person. They expect to get an autograph, to be treated as familiar when they are really strangers. And, the celebrities comply, up to a point. As I did on behalf of Baby.
----

I actually had other things to write about from the past few days, including the conversation in the checkout with the same cashier and three Mexican men, as well as my visit yesterday by jet-boat to the site of the Chinese massacre I’ve previously mentioned, but it will have to be another day. I am way behind on important correspondence as well.

This “blogging” continues to be alien to how I write (as noted in earlier posting):it's a struggle to curb, not always successfully, an urge to edit and polish. A friend, with whom I talked about this tonight, said that I shouldn’t go for perfection, but, at least when it comes to writing, it’s in my nature.

It’s late and tomorrow is a long day since there is a 300 mile drive to Deadwood, SD after the visit to the Custer battlefield. I’ll also upload more photos when I get somewhere again with a high speed connection.

Not that you've been waiting with bated breath, but I finally got photos uploaded the RIGHT way, for those who've been complaining -- and you know who you are, ahem!) So, brace yourselves: they cover the highlights so far and start immediately below. Click on an individual photo to see a larger image (which is recommended). Enjoy (I hope).

Monday was supposed to have been my day on the river to the site of the massacre, but there was a goof-up on the part of the outfitter and it will be Tuesday instead. It gave me a chance to catch up on mail and this bloc....and to make a donation at the local casino's Black-jack table.

I mentioned in the text posting for that part of the trip how much fun it was to drive Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway from LA to -- eventually -- Crescent City in northern CA. This one and the next few try to give a sense of the scenery and the road.

Cox Bridge (?) on Highway 1 between San Simeon and Carmel.

Big Sur coast line from the side of the road.

Tough to shoot while driving. Don't try this at home. Next shot is of the same subject (the mass in the middle) done right.

I stopped to get the shot right, before the fog dissipated.

More coastal scenery from the road to Carmel...

Carmel, CA - Interior courtyard of The Carriage House Inn. Looks are deceptive: the rooms are very nice and the management very service-oriented. (See earlier text posting.)

Carmel, CA - Room 12 at Carriage House Inn, my home for four days. Highly recommend it, especially if you use LuxuryLink.com to book (see link section).

Ashland, OR - When I saw the name of the store, I did a quick pat-down of myself to make sure I was intact.

Ashland- Oregon Shakespeare Festival outdoor stage. I went to a performance of "The Comedy of Errors" (see text entry a few days ago).

Ashland - rehearsing.

This is the hotel where I stayed in Ferndale (see the web-link at the top of the blog about the town). br />

On the road to Ashland, OR from Ferndale, CA, is "Trees of Mystery" with this 49 ft. Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox (who has blue you-know-whats. Honestly.) Just another roadside attraction cashing in. Isn't America great?

And here he is with an amazed little girl.

Memorial Day in Pleasant Hill, CA, with my friends Sue and Charlie -- they are the two waving. Their friend, of whom there is more than a backside, "owns" three of the scampering children, with a fourth one on the way....

Sue and Charlie doing what parents do when most of the young 'uns -- theirs and neighbors' -- are finally rounded up for a photo at the end of the day.

I honestly tried to get a photo with ALL five -- especially the little girl -- smiling. At least, in this one, I've got the son of my friends (2nd from left) looking cute, a good Will hunted (sorry!).

Sometimes Highway one merges with Hwy. 101 and goes inland through small towns in northern CA. This is still in Marin County, near the border with Sonoma, I think. Nice to see priests carrying their own groceries....

Another view, with the parish house and landscaping.

Driving Highway One to Mendocino. (See text entries.) The depth-of-field doesn't show that it's at least a couple of hundred feet drop to that inviting blueish lagoon...Note the car wheels at the right edge and the bridge just above right of center.

As if the hair-pin turns and blind curves on Highway One weren't enough of a challenge, it cuts through some ranch land before Mendocino. This is would have been more road-kill than I could handle.

For fans of John Grisham, this was my pelican brief lunch by the banks of the Russian River in Jenner, CA on the way to Mendocino. It was brief because he wasn't much of a conversationist, though he had a good appetite.

I passed it and turned around to take this shot of an unusual topiary with a silhouette metal sculpture of a woman reading. (The circle in Hell for people who dress their dogs in little outfits must be right next to the one for people who do this to a tree....)

Mendocino. My room at McElvoy's B+B. Note the "trompe d'oleil" (sic) painting on the door. The colors and decor really got me in touch with my feminine side....

Mendocino. Another view of my room at McElvoy's Inn B+B, now owned by a Frenchman named "Michel". Great location and rates, but the "Breakfast" part of the B+B has huge room for improvement: it consisted of convenience-store, celophane-wrapped danishes!

Mendocino, CA. Typical "water-tower" houses. They all look like there should be a windmill on top. Maybe they did at some point. The place is too quaint for its own good. Eat at Cafe Beaujolais or the Mousse Cafe: they are NOT "cafes", but full-blown French restaurants (with prices to match), but quite good.

Mendocino, early evening. The view from where the next photos were taken.

I was watching the pre-penultimate rays of the sun over the Mendocino Cove when these two girls, in vintage 1940s dress, walked up and plopped themselves in the middle of the road for a photo-shoot. Is it their age or California?

Mendocino. Art students? Budding fashion photographers? Road-kill-in-waiting? (Notice the "artsiness" of my own shot...

Mendocino. The two girls receding and still doing their photo-shoot in the middle of the street.

In northern CA, this was possibly the biggest of the many places selling souveniers. Note the tall Big Foot on the left edge of the photo.

Avenue of the Giants - the 32 mile scenic drive in northern CA through old growth redwoods. The car gives some scale. (The next couple of photos are from that drive.) If you are ANYWHERE in that area, as the Nike slogan says, "Just do it!"

Looking straight up at 200-foot tall Redwoods is surreal....

On the Avenue of the Giants. (Baby is there to give scale to the fallen redwood, NOT because she's photogenic. Really. No, really!

Over-zealous Asian tourist photographing a light-rail station? (Yeah, yeah: "pot calling the kettle black") No, and it's clearly not any of the SEPTA stations (hah!) in Phila....It's the tramway for those too lazy or unable to take a 15 minute walk up a gentle incline from the parking lots to The Getty Center in the hills above LA. (I took it because it was raining. Really.)

The only way to get a good photo of the Getty Center complex is from the air. This is not from the air. There is someting antiseptic about it despite the great care about landscaping, layout, fountains, and use of organic materials, eg. rough-faced stone, "reech Coreenthian leather" (just kidding), etc. It feels like a grown-ups' Disneyland with watchful volunteers in little vests everywhere and a cafeteria that has separate counters for hot food, Mexican food, sandwiches, wraps/salads, sushi (just kidding - don't know how they missed that one)... Considering how often the Museum is in the news as affecting the art market because of its financial resources, I was not as excited/impressed as I had expected to be.

When you have billions and billions of dollars to spend on architecture and art (but not on ransoming a grandson from Italian kidnappers, who then cut off his ear), it'd better look stunning: and it does. The Getty Center is worth a detour.

Henry Gray and his eight year old son, after we made it back up to the canyon top at Canyon de Chelly. (Story in earlier postings.)

This is Henry Gray, the young Navajo I met hiking in Canyon de Chelly, about whom I wrote several posting earlier. Our conversation was profoundly affecting. His son took the photo.

Canyon de Chelly National Monument, AZ. View from the bottom of the canyon. The trail back to the top, about 750 feet up, zig zags across this face. (About an inch down and an inch from the left edge, there are two specks, one reddish and one whitish: they are hikers on the way up.)

White House ruins - a view with more of the sheer cliff face above it. The ruins are about 30 feet high...

White House Ruins, Canyon de Chelly, Arizona. Parts of the Canyon have been continuously inhabited for 800+ years. It is also sprinkled with ruins of the Ancestral Puebloans, like this one (called "White House because the dwelling at the center has traces of white-wash, as you can see -- click on the photo to enlarge). For a sense of scale, the ruins in the cleft of the cliff face are 3-4 stories high. The cliff continues upwards (and curving slightly outward) for several HUNDRED feet and to the left and right as far as the eye can see. (See other photo(s).)

Natchez, Miss - Twice a year, the town has "The Pilgrimage", when restored private homes are also opened to tours and there are dances, etc. to celebrate the pageantry of a lost way of life. A King and Queen and Court are selected for the main Ball. These are the gowns/costumes from a past Ball. ( I'm all for remembering the past, but I think it's a mistake to have the "King" wear a Confederate uniform. For one thing, it's a little strange since the pre-Civil War period, which is the one they are celebrating, by DEFINITION didn't Civil War uniforms, duh!

The sad side of Natchez, Miss. This is one in a row of abandoned houses on Canal Street along the waterfront. The town lost all of its industrial base and hasn't quite re-made itself into a full-functioning tourist attraction. So, ante-bellum mansions, both restored and awaiting $$, co-exist with run-down housing stock and high unemployment.

Natchez, Miss.- Stanton Hall, a house "King Cotton" built. Competing ladies' garden clubs own and run some of the houses that can be toured. The club running this one is quite a bit more snotty than the other one.

My friends Margie and Grace's daughter Eleana (and friend) in front of the shape of things to come: a McDonald's with a "McCafe", a copy-cat Starbucks grafted to its side. Be scared, be VERY scared....

Biltmore House, the largest private home in the USA -- has 255 rooms -- built by one of the Vanderbilts. I would have enjoyed the walking trails, gardens, vineyard, and landscaping if it had been dry...The house-tour (and the furnishings) are unimpressive given how much moolah the man had. (See earlier entry about the visit.)

On I-95 south of Washington, D.C. on the first day of the trip. A little lost?