"...past houses, farms and fields" to home

The snow-covered Spanish Peaks of southeastern Colorado are the first indication home is only a few hours away. We've been snaking along the old Super Chief route and are making the slow but steady climb to Raton Pass. It is a gray and wintry day, but somehow being back in the Southwest makes it less gloomy than the rust belt or the midwest. There is even a friend of Dan Fogelberg, who I shared breakfast with, playing Christmas carols in the lounge car. This just feels right. And you know that travelers have followed this route to New Mexico for hundreds of years...it feels historic, too.

Chicago was a great pick-me-up. It is as if the Grant Park celebration the night Barack was elected has never really worn off. Despite the economic woes of the country, the weekend was full of nightlife, crowds out shopping and partying in all the downtown restaurants and nightspots. Even one sort of crazy homeless fellow was singing a little song about how "he's gonna turn the economy around..." You could tell by his happy visage who the "he" was and the faith this fellow had in him. And then an Iraqi journalist threw the ultimate Arab insult at GWB in the form of his size 10 shoes and it truly became a happy, holiday weekend.

I enjoy going to Chicago to see my nephew. We share some traits in common, particularly a demand for neatness and order, and he also knows that I am not a high-maintenance uncle. We go to an Irish pub for dinner. We hit a bar after that, towing along his buddy, Emory, who seems to enjoy the Windy City experience as much as Delton does. Sunday morning we hit our usual spot for pancakes, sausage and coffee, and then after a bit of shopping it's off to Union Station to catch the Southwest Chief back to Santa Fe. I must admit, though, that as much as I look forward to ending this trip, I could have stayed a few more days in his 13th floor perch above State and Elm.

At the moment, however, we are in the tunnel you pass through to go from Colorado to New Mexico. I am going to enjoy one more lunch in a few minutes and a bit of scenery. It's not the end of the story. I'll recap it all in a few days. For now, let's just say "all is forgiven" Tony Romo. And "thanks" to WWL-AM out of New Orleans for making it possible for me to say so!

The weather outside was frightful!

What began on the sunny streets of Simi Valley came to a frosty conclusion on the streets of Montreal when Quebec was blasted by a blinding snowstorm, plummeting the temperatures in Quebec City to below zero and turning Montreal into a snowy, icy muck. Of course, it remains a very picturesque province, even under a foot of snow, but any plans for carefree wandering had to be curtailed lest an ear or two freeze up and break off. It was numbing conditions at best and absolutely unbearable the rest of the time. Fortunately, both "old quarters" have very narrow streets and tall buildings, so unless you were in a direct line with the St. Lawrence River, it was possible to get around and at least stay out of the wind.

Quebec City was definitely the more enjoyable of the two. My hotel was within sight of one of the main entrances to the Vieux Quebec on rue Saint-Jean, a main thoroughfare both then and now, so on my one full day there I bundled up in my thermal underwear and set forth through the snow. And even though I later discovered that it was barely a positive temperature reading most of the day, it was not bad. There were enough shops and galleries and cafes to browse through to continue recharging the batteries and not become frozen completely. I even broke down and bought some wool gloves, which I admit did make a bit of a difference the rest of the journey and can be useful in New Mexico. With the continuing snowfall, though, even gloves could not alter the reality that this was not going to be how I imagined this part of the trip. I had gambled on the weather and lost. Yes, the dinner at Aux Anciens Canadiens, in the oldest house in Quebec, was terrific. Who knew you could have tenderloin of wapiti? And the maple lattes put Starbucks to shame, but by Wednesday morning I was ready to go. One summer I will come back and enjoy it properly. Until then, I will simply be grateful I avoided frostbite.

Montreal, for many of the same reasons, and weather patterns, was even gloomier and grayer. so my decision to splurge on my last two nights in Canada was a prescient one. I could have remained in the Hotel Gault the entire time I was there. Behind the walls of this imposing old building on rue ste.-Helene was everything the definition of a "boutique" hotel should be. What I assume was originally a warehouse is now a 32-room, exceptionally well-run property staffed by the most personable staff I encountered across Canada. My accommodation boasted 10-foot ceilings, complete electronics, state of the art lighting and an open style bathroom and shower area in one corner. The unique feature was the room-dividing drape that could be adjusted so the sleeping and living area was completely closed off from the the entrance hall, clothes storage and remainder of the space. These photos do not do my "Extential" (as it was called) much justice. When not luxuriating there, I did walk the two or three main streets of Old Montreal, but chose to dine at bistros near the hotel on typical French cafe fare. Doing much more, once again, was not Mother Nature's intent.


Truth be told, I am writing this somewhere in Indiana, having endured a nightmare train connection in Schenectady, NY, due in large part to the severe weather that hit the northeast at the end of the week. We are more than six hours late! As we arrive in Elkhart, IN, on the way to Chicago, it strikes me that parts of this country seem so bleak. Maybe it is winter, but snow can only cover so much junk. Or maybe it is simply the reality of the economy of the rust belt. I know Chicago will be fun, but this part of the journey is, in a word, depressing. Next stop -- Elm and State Street. That great street...!

You can't spell 'moron' without 'R O M O'

I learned my lesson on the train from Halifax to Montreal. If you waste several hours holding your little Sony sport radio against the window listening to some static-filled AM broadcast from a radio station in West Virginia on the opposing team's network then you will be justly rewarded by an idiot quarterback who throws the whole damn game away in the final seconds of a contest most likely going into overtime!

Montreal's layover was only a few hours. Time enough to wander through all the connected indoor shopping malls and have a quick bite to eat at a creperie. Then it was off to Quebec City in VIA 1 business class for my two night stay in the Old Quarter or more properly, Vieux Quebec. That is a posting in itself, but meantime it is indeed winter here. Montreal was simply cold and icy, but as evidenced by these photos my experience in QC has been one big snow storm! I leave behind at least 5-10 inches of snow when I return to Montreal Wednesday.

From sea to shining...well, you get the message

Once again a stop ended on a rainy, gloomy note. Halifax had been pleasant, but cold, until this morning when I woke to a mixture of rain and snow outside my hotel room window. Fortunately, I could sleep in because my departure on The Ocean to Montreal was not until 12:35 p.m. And when I did get up I was able to remain indoors and use the skywalk system that connects the Delta Barrington with its sister hotel, the Delta Halifax, and the Marriott, to find a quick breakfast before catching my taxi to the VIA Rail station. Most of the stores are closed on Sunday, but all the local coffee houses are open for business.

Before arriving in Halifax on Thursday, I had spent two nights in Toronto. The visit lasted less than forty hours, but my intent all along had been to hang out at The Drake Hotel when I was not doing the one thing that was a must, a visit to the newly-reopened, Frank Gehry-designed Art Gallery of Ontario. After a quick cab ride with some fellow who informed me it was his first day driving a taxi, then handed me a map to show him where AGO was located, I spent most of the day wandering the dozens of individual galleries in awe of their collection. Everything from European Masters to Canada's Group of Seven to the world's largest public display of Henry Moore sculptures. Some things were still be finished architecturally, so I was unable to enjoy one of AGO's most famous collections, the 130 ship models donated as part of The Thomson Collection, but one display was visible so I got a taste. What incredibly intricate detail! Go to
www.ago.net to see what I mean.

After the cab ride from hell, I chose to walk back through Toronto's Chinatown. Although the temps were dropping late in the afternoon, it was fun to check out all the little Chinese/Vietnamese/Thai groceries and shops. Dinner at The Drake was first class. The rhubarb sours with Jack Daniels also warmed the soul. In fact, four or five will knock you senseless. Probably why Monday night is a blur! Where I passed out is shown below. Pardon the clothes, but the Drake's "Crash Pad" is rather compact.

The trip to Halifax on the overnight train was routine. The menu in the dining car is the Canadian version of Amtrak's, with little variety and most things pre-made, then heated in the attached service car, which also serves as a lounge. I have the same crew on my return to Montreal, so we are all familiar to each other. My double bedroom has a shower and an upper berth I actually fit in and a little fold-out table perfect for writing entries like this.
I could spend time talking about Halifax, but beyond the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, this visit to be perfectly honest was somewhat uneventful. I dropped clothes at the dry cleaner, spent an hour or so at a laundromat washing a load or two, and the rest of the time just walked the streets browsing and taking in the historic downtown/waterfront area.

The restaurant scene is terrific -- I must try molasses on my biscuits next time I have the chance -- but beyond that I don't want this to become a gastronomic recitation. I did keep the tradition of snacking on a hot cinnamon roll at the Farmer's Market Saturday morning and bought a few other local things to bring back to the states. Oh, and I did find a spot to wet my fingers with seawater from the Atlantic, but unlike Vancouver it was not part of any stroll on the beach. Frankly, one of the highlights was the wonderful hotel swimming pool and sauna. Adult hours...9 to 11 p.m.

It is very snowy outside my window. Let's all cross our fingers Quebec City, QC is not like this or we may regret that the Courtyard by Marriott in the Old Quarter is not similarly equipped! Brrrr!!

"Rich folks eating in a fancy dining car..."

There is usually one on every train like this. Sort of the Cliff Klaven of the rails. He knows everything, trivial or not, about the rail system, the equipment, the latest government policies, and so on and so forth. Ours was this chubby gentleman from Bloomington, IN, who, with his equally smug and chubby wife, was traveling from Vancouver to Winnipeg. Of course, he had a contrary opinion about everything. "Those are the worst accommodations." "This schedule change will be disastrous." "No one likes this or that..." Blah, blah, blah! And every utterance was followed by this little smirk he'd make with his little thin lips framed by his huge jowls and little moustache. This couple from Vancouver and I agreed he had a face that deserved to be slapped.

As exotic as three days and nights on a long distance train across Canada may sound, it can become monotonous and tiring, especially with the majority of the trip through snowy, barren rock and forest-covered terrain. Think Agatha Christie's "Murder on the Orient Express" without Ingrid Bergman or Sean Connery. We do have our array of "characters," some quite pleasant, others bordering on the odd or borderline nutty. Several couples have been delightful to get to know and share a meal or two with. It's all community dining, so who you are seated with is by chance, unless you join up in advance and request a table together.

I did that on Sunday evening after befriending a couple from Vancouver, Peter and Wendy. He is a successful restaurant executive overseeing dozens of locations in Canada and the United States for Boston Pizza and she is, well, she is his wife. They had purchased this trip from Vancouver to Toronto and back at a charity auction, never having ridden the train before. I like them. They appreciate the odd people on our train as much as I do. Our fourth for dinner would be included in that bunch. Jishnu, this Indian chap who works for Hewlett-Packard (what else!), has an encyclopedic knowledge of railroad signals and systems, but his knowledge-base seems to go way beyond that. He and my friend, Chris Braun, would get along admirably discussing toilet configurations on Chateau sleeping cars and their relative ease of use compared to, say, Manor sleeping cars. The rest of us just like being able to pee in the middle of the night without leaving our compartment.

The food is terrific on the Canadian, served on "real crockery," as this Brit put it. Each day at each meal is a different menu and the choices are remarkable considering the facilities in which they are prepared. I've had apple fritters at breakfast, a grilled shrimp salad at lunch and tonight, a stuffed chicken breast with garlic and feta cheese. The other two days have been as unique and delicious. The only expense to me has been for liquor and wine. And the two bottles of Bailey's I brought on board have offset a bit of that.

We are now only a few hours from Toronto, where I will bid everyone farewell and be off to my "Crash Pad" at The Drake Hotel. A real bed and Wi-Fi will be most welcome!

Oh, Canada!

The buttermilk lemon bars at the Vancouver Art Gallery's cafe were scrumptious! And that's not an easy thing to admit after nearly four days of some of the best cuisine the city had to offer. The museum itself is also a wonderful experience, though the current exhibition entitled "WACK!" was a bit over the top. Imagine two huge floors comprising several dozen smaller galleries filled with the work of many of North America's most radical feminist artists. Lots of vaginas, a few penises and quite a few works that defy description, though I was fascinated by the huge enclosure created from mattresses. Please remove your shoes before entering and NO jumping up and down!

Admittedly, that was how I spent the time after checking out of the Metropolitan Hotel and before my departure to the train station this afternoon. Instead the last few days have been about enjoying the sights of downtown Vancouver, especially the funky West End near English Bay, where indeed I did stroll out on the beach so I could let the surf wash over my hand. Next week, when I do the same in Halifax, my quest to traverse the continent from one end of Canada to the other will be symbolically complete.

Meantime, I made the most of what is a very walkable city. The days were not too frigid, so I spent most of my time on foot exploring the heart of downtown, Robson Street, with its dozens of shops and eateries. It runs east to west and intersects with all the famous Vancouver thoroughfares -- Georgia, Howe, Burrard, Cambie, Denham, to name a few. Naturally, I was also on the hunt for places to eat. I take after my mother in one way. I'm usually thinking about lunch while I am eating breakfast, always staying one step ahead so I can be certain I pick only the best spots to dine.

The hotel made it easy in one regard. The Metropolitan is home to one of Vancouver's best rooms, Diva at the Met. Two breakfasts, a lunch and my first night's dinner were enjoyed there. The Berkshire pork tenderloin was melt-in-your-mouth tender. Seafood was everywhere, but the "simply grilled" red snapper at Joe Forte's made for a hearty lunch. Of course, I skipped lunch on Thursday -- Canada's Thanksgiving is in October -- because the Cowboys game started at 12:30. Afterwards, though, I celebrated with bacon-wrapped scallops, a spinach salad and a big, fat filet at The Keg. I could go on about the desserts, but I'll spare you the temptation. Let's just say I will never forget the gooey meringue shell filled with a passionfruit mousse at Cin Cin. I told the waiter it was "sinful!"

Tonight, I am writing this snug in my bed northeast of Vancouver. A Bailey's on the rocks, my third, is proving the perfect sedative. Outside, it's gradually turning white. We are in for a snowy ride across British Columbia. Next stop, Jasper, AB, and the Canadian Rockies.

The train may be early, but the blog is late!

My God, what a fine way to travel! The Coast Starlight between Los Angeles and Seattle is the closest thing to long-haul first class service Amtrak has to offer. If you are in a sleeping compartment for the overnight trip up the coast and through Oregon and Washington, you are afforded the unique option of the Pacific Parlour Car, a rebuilt Santa Fe hi-level diner/lounge that ran on the old El Capitan service from Chicago to Los Angeles in the 1950s and 60s. Our hostess in the parlor was Michelle, who wore several hats. Her primary goal was to man the bar and serve meals to those of us who chose to dine from her menu, which was unique from the main dining car's bill of fare. She also led us through our two wine tastings and in her free time proved to be a great conversationalist and trip guide. I snapped several shots of the Pacific Parlour Car, but they do not do it justice.

The scenery along this route, of course, is its main drawing card. Beginning north of L-A in Simi Valley, you very quickly transition to California's vast agricultural resources -- fields of all sorts of fruits and vegetables, many of which we take for granted everyday when we add that "side salad" to our lunch or dinner. Once you hit the coastline, though, the journey gives way to those vistas everyone picks a lefthand seat to see. Surfboards and campers and RVs line the highway that parallels the track, but it is the blue of the Pacific that makes your mind begin to chew on the thought that "I could live here, maybe, in one of these RVs for the summer..."

As the train begins it journey inland, the sun is beginning to set and before you realize it you are on your way to Oregon. I like to sleep in the upper berth, so the next morning I can climb out and plop in my roomette seat and figure out just where the train is. South of Klamath Falls was the answer, which meant we were still on time! My window view was not much more than Oregon forests, but the Willamette River valley and the Cascade Mountains lay ahead, so day two would be almost as fun as day one.

This Starlight is not at capacity but there is still a great cross-section of your typical passengers. The veterans, like me, usually know all the ins-and-outs of rail travel. All the minutiae related to the equipment, how it works, where it came from, the schedules, the protocols, etc., even the history of Amtrak or VIA Rail. Then there are families taking the children for a "train ride." I would prefer a separate car for that bunch, something that has no access to the rest of the train. With bars on the windows, if necessary. Happy Meals could be loaded on board at the appropriate times. And then at the other end of the spectrum is the senior set, the same people that shuffle through airports completely bewildered by the real world. Now, they are simply shuffling through a train car, being knocked senseless as the cars sway back and forth at speed. These folks essentially span that age group I am trailing, so I will limit my humor. I'll know I am there, however, when I look in the mirror and the perfectly starched, very blue blue jeans hiked up to my belly button look quite normal!

There was one gentleman I will never forget. By the time the train arrived in Simi Valley he was already into a Sunday morning wine binge in the Parlour Car. As the train rocked along, he would lapse in and out of consciousness. I thought he'd fall out of his seat if the car swayed hard enough. The last I spotted him he was staggering off the train in Santa Barbara, but the best or possibly the worst part -- he had WET HIS PANTS! The huge damp spot made it obvious!

Seattle will be nothing more than a quick night's rest at the Best Western before an early departure for Vancouver, BC. That is when the real fun will begin!

(Note: Once I begin a post, the date is established at that moment. However, until I complete my thoughts and find Internet service, the entry remains in limbo. Hence, the disparity between what you are reading and the actual day or two I wrote it.)

Time warps

I must give a certain amount of credit to Allan, my favorite roommate of the four at the Grand Canyon. He has this remarkable ability to convince me to do the most improbable things. So, it should be no surprise to learn that only hours after my arrival in Los Angeles I was at a shooting range squeezing off 50 rounds from a Sig-Sauer .40-cal. automatic followed by hiking to Paradise Falls in Wildwood Park on a terrific set of trails near Thousand Oaks. And that was just day one!

The Southwest Chief had arrived 30 minutes early at Los Angeles Union Passenger Terminal and although I had my fears, he was there awaiting my arrival. Wonders will never cease. I simply hope picking me up was not on par with getting up to go dishwashing at the lodge. On those occasions, he was NOT a morning person. This time, and for the next two days he could not have been a better host. We not only had a great time just "hanging out," but he did his best to treat me to things I would never have done on my own. Like wandering down Hollywood Boulevard on a Friday night or going to Universal City's famous City Walk on Saturday. I even coaxed him and some of his friends into lunching at a sports bar for as much of the LSU/Ole Miss debacle as I could stomach.

The only disappointment I encountered took place at the famous Grauman's Chinese Theater. My excitement at spotting Olivia de Havilland's footprints was met with a vacant stare. And they had no clue who anyone else was, either! Having just seen "The Wizard of Oz," it was also fun to spot Ray Bolger and Billy Barty's stars on the sidewalk. And there was Frank Morgan, too. Maybe I just know my films better. Or maybe I am just old! There was an equal lack of enthusiasm for the DVDs I found at the Virgin Megastore. Who has not heard of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show"?? Or Brad and Janet? Depressing, for sure!

Sunday morning arrived and after watching a few minutes of the Cowboys game, it was time to board The Coast Starlight to Seattle. A hug goodbye and it was farewell to my little brother. The train was early and as we head for Oakland we are still on time. I'll spend a few minutes describing this leg in my next posting, but now it is time for a Bailey's or two before I turn in. After a Bloody Mary (made the right way by Josette in the lounge car}, a wine tasting, a "Star-tini" with dinner and these late night toddies, I will snooze well in my upper berth.

Before I go, though, Allan deserves one more thanks. Unlike some of his peers, who I discovered the word "maturity" is foreign to, he is genuinely an enjoyable young man to know. I will always appreciate that he chose to room with me at the Grand Canyon, but even moreso I will always be grateful that he has chosen to continue our friendship beyond that day we said "goodbye" at the North Rim Lodge. Goodnight, Allan! This last Bailey's will be to your success and good health.

The audacity of adventure

I cannot begin to conceive what a 4-week vacation by rail around North America will be like but when I stepped onto Sleeping Car 330 in Lamy, NM this afternoon it was too late to have any second thoughts. Now, I am comfortably relaxed in my roomette and day one is almost complete. The city of Flagstaff, AZ is rolling by and although it is sort of an unrelated thought, it just struck me that not too far north is my summer home, that big hole in the ground called the Grand Canyon. When I see Allan and possibly, Brody, in a few hours, I'll see if they miss it as much as I do!

The adventure so far has been rather unexciting. Lamy is where the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe came through northern New Mexico and although there is a spur line into town, Santa Fe was never actually on the main line of the railroad that came to be known by that moniker many years ago. For $20, however, Amtrak is gracious enough to provide shuttle service from your front door to the station so you can catch the Southwest Chief (not to be confused with the original "Super Chief") to Chicago or Los Angeles or points in between. Tony, the driver, was quite friendly the half hour it took to make the drive, even pointing out the site the stone was quarried for the cathedral and the famous Loretto Chapel in downtown Santa Fe.

Both the eastbound and westbound trains arrive in Lamy between 2 and 2:30 p.m. each day, so for about an hour or two the station is jumping, then dead the other 23 hours. Not a great way to make a living if you are a station agent at the depot. There is also a diner in an old dining car that served a decent cup of coffee and a bread pudding. That was enough to tide me over until dinner on the train at 6:30 with several Bloody Marys in between in the Superliner lounge car for good measure.

I would tell you that the scenery was gorgeous, but it was not. Between Lamy and Albuquerque, the train rolls through what has to be the worst part of town, places you would only see from the train or worse yet, if you got terribly lost. It is difficult to believe the conditions in which some people live, but God bless 'em, they have a dish and probably high speed Internet. What more do you need for your trailer/wooden shack combo in the desert! Upon leaving Albuquerque, it turns into evening rather quickly and although the sunset was pretty, it quickly faded into darkness. And with the darkness comes sleep. Simi Valley is the next stop after I arrive in LA. I can't wait to see my Grand Canyon little bro's Jeep!

Watch For Snakes!

That was what the sign said at this brand new, state-of-the-art rest stop along I-40 in the Texas panhandle east of Amarillo. Frankly, I didn't notice it at first, more intent on finding some much-needed relief after hundreds of miles of driving across the northern part of the state on my return journey to Santa Fe. But there it was, firmly planted in the landscaped gravel beds surrounding the huge visitor's center with its touch screen displays covering everything from local historical sites to the region's weather forecasts. "Watch For Snakes." I wonder how many travelers have actually seen a snake and, if so, did it cause them to relieve themselves sooner than planned?

The drive across north Texas is really one of the most enjoyable ways to return to New Mexico from Louisiana. It's almost as if you are sneaking by all the big cities on I-20 and cheating them out of the heavy trafffic they have waiting to snare you in some massive jam on the LBJ Freeway in Dallas or US-287 in Fort Worth. What you do see are the wind farms that are now sprouting up in the wide open spaces just south of the Oklahoma border next to the horse breeders and oil wells that have been there for years. Amarillo is still the destination after a long day's drive, but certainly it is a less harried way to make the journey.

Amarillo, like Abilene, is a place the family was once in the hotel business. Beyond that, there is not much more to discuss. I stayed at the Fairfield Inn using my employee discount, got up the next morning and had breakfast at a local spot famous for its pancakes (huge AND tasty), then hit the road to Santa Fe. In retrospect, I cannot say I see many differences between the two. Both are just points on the interstate highway system with nondescript downtowns and one area on the outskirts chock full of all the chain stores, hotels and restaurants you'd expect to find clustered together. Urban blight on the dusty Texas plains!

Now I am in Santa Fe. The City Different. It's not everyone's idea of paradise. My uncle doesn't care for all the "mud huts" even if some of them are several million dollars worth of "mud." Beyond that, though, it is hard to beat for culture, art and, of course, gastronomic pleasure. I will go broke before I go hungry, but after six months of employee dining room fare at the Grand Canyon who could blame me for a little indulgence here and there. And if you could have tasted the crepes I had for breakfast Saturday morning, drizzled in chocolate, you'd certainly understand!

On Wednesday it is off to California en route to Canada. I can't wait to see Allan's Jeep or Allan for that matter. Even better, I cannot wait to hit the rails. All aboard!

Tick tock tick tock tick tock

I've been home less than 24 hours and I am ready to leave. My parents' home is like a scene frozen in time, everything where they left it several weeks ago when they departed for New Mexico. I've not encountered any ghosts, but I did open all the drapes. The darkness was tomb-like. Fortunately, I did have my list of things to do, but having accomplished most of them in one morning, it is becoming apparent that I will have some serious free time in the next few weeks to fill.

The drive to Santa Fe was perfect. Most of the mileage was on the Navajo and Hopi reservations and provided an extended glimpse of daily life in rural eastern Arizona. So many of the towns' names were quite familiar to me, so it was fun to see them in person for the first time. And it was a reminder of how vast these two reservations are in square miles. From one mesa to the next might be 10 to 15 miles with nothing but a long, straight road in between. In Albuquerque and Santa, however, reality quickly set back in with afternoon rush hour traffic. I was ready to return to the tranquility of the North Rim sooner than I thought!

After a few days of rest, some great meals at my favorite spots and the planned maintenance of the Jeep, it was off to Abilene. It may be a dull place otherwise, but the bed at the Hampton Inn was one of the most comfortable I've slept in this year. I even went swimming in the pool and had a soak in the hot tub after a tasty BBQ dinner at Joe Allen's, a mainstay in Abilene's gastronomic scene. Then, on Sunday, the highlight of the trip home was only a few hundred miles to the southeast -- Austin!

If it wasn't so damn big and overcrowded, Austin would be my paradise. The weather never seems bad, the food is everything I love, from BBQ to burgers to beer gardens, and if you like the outdoors, this city is the perfect destination. From a run on the trails that stretch along the river downtown to an afternoon at Lake Travis on a sunny day, what more could anyone ask for. The friends I visited and stayed with are also a big part of what makes this place so special. The Marstons are nothing less than a second family and represent a friendship that goes back to the early 70s when we were at SMU. And Mark and Luann Glowacz, with their two little boys, are wonderful reminders of what my experience as a Sigma Chi chapter advisor at Drake University will always mean to me...even with kids in tow, the perfect "little brother."

Well, despite the title, there is no clock ticking away the minutes, simply the leaves falling and the sunlight fading on my first day home. The post office was still there, the Japanese restaurant was open for a quick lunch with my pal, Julia, who filled me in on the latest at my former employer, and best of all, my hair stylist was thrilled to shear off three months of grey hair. She even swept it into a big pile and exclaimed "that's you!" Shreveport, it would seem, is much the same as I left it. No wonder I miss that big "hole in the ground" in Arizona even more!

The clock struck 12

I could not think of a title for the life of me until the APR announcer mentioned it was midnight and I realized my day of departure had arrived!

My last hike on the Arizona Trail was the perfect way to end this season. A nice meander through the North Rim's famous meadows and the Ponderosa pines of the Kaibab National Forest ended with a snack on a log at the edge of a clearing. Dinner in the EDR was adequate, but I was more interested in watching LSU beat South Carolina on my laptop in the room, so I don't even remember what was on the menu. Today was even less adequate, but once again I had more important things to do. One of the cooks, however, did turn out a batch of lemon squares that were so close to the ones I love at Cafe Pierremont in Shreveport, I imagined it a sign from above that it was time to go home. To end the evening, I finally had a few minutes to spend with a few friends, people that have become a part of my daily life. Some I will see soon, others may never cross my path again. Undoubtedly, I will see Brody and Allan next month in Simi Valley on my way to Canada, but beyond those "little brothers" I have had to recognize that for many people this is a gypsy lifestyle. I don't believe it is something I would enjoy, but for some of my friends loading everything they own in their car and taking off for the next resort is perfectly acceptable. And if the Grand Canyon North Rim never sees them again, few people will notice. I will, but that is just unrealistic me!

Before I turn in (it's 534 miles to Santa Fe), I thought I would close with what are a few things I know many of you might be wondering...what's tops on my list of things to do after six months at the Grand Canyon.

So, here's a Top Ten List direct from New Dorm Room 208:

1. Get a haircut. Nothing says "old hippie terrorist" like grey hair sticking out of a baseball cap.
2. Get my shoes shined. I did my best, but eventually the dust and dirt of the Grand Canyon won out.
3. Clean up the Jeep. And that includes fixing the fender flare knocked loose when Allan and I were playing "Rat Patrol" on the Point Sublime Road.
4. Eat BBQ. And Japanese. And real New Mexican. And French. And a real breakfast at the La Fonda Hotel.
5. Resume regular e-mail and phone calls with my buddies who assumed I was on another planet. I was.
6. Meet my favorite philosophy department chair at Centenary College for a long lunch.
7. Work a N-Y Times Sunday puzzle with my uncle to prove I am still on top of my game.
8. Have a real smoothie from Shane's Smoothie Shack...God, I have missed those!
9. See the nieces and nephews. Remember me? Uncle Shelbs?
10. And, finally, on November 4th, vote for "that one" for President of the United States!

From the Grand Canyon North Rim Lodge...happy trails!

Packing anxiety or why I got a 4-door Jeep

With only 56 hours remaining those of you who know what an obsessive I am about order and organization will realize that I am beginning to get very fidgety as I look around my dorm room and try to imagine it all being squeezed into my Wrangler. It actually seems so innocent and unaware of what is about to happen sitting in its usual parking spot. Like one of the multitude of deer grazing the property with the stealthy OCD cougar about to pounce! Fortunately, if I can make it to Santa Fe, it will be returned to its normal state by Monday night.

Closing the lodge has been a fascinating exercise in controlled chaos. The accounting department has been relatively calm compared to somewhere like the dining room or the general store. Everyone is cleaning and counting and preparing the lodge for the winter ahead. And if you are curious, indeed two couples stay here for winter maintenance, using snowmobiles to get about. I prefer the summer, however, so no matter how exciting or "The Shining"-like this might seem, it would get old very fast. Or creepy. Or both.

In our department, we were simply preparing each day's reports and deposit with today being the final one to do that. Now, it is up to us to wrap up a few loose ends and prepare the contents of the safe for transport back to the bank. Sounds easy, but consider this: when I closed out all the vending machines and we unloaded the laundry and showers, we were left with more than 16-thousand quarters to roll and box up for shipment. That occupied most of our day Friday and I will get a much-deserved day off before I finish my contract on Sunday with the aforementioned safe preparation.

On a personal level, beyond the stress of packing, I am slowly seeing the staff disappear as their contracts conclude. First to go, in fact, was my dear friend, Willa, the history teacher who left on Thursday. We will cross paths again soon, but that was the first goodbye that meant something. We drove to Kanab Wednesday night for one more dinner at The Rocking V. The moon was brilliant overhead and the deer were out in huge numbers, so much so that I accidentally popped one on the rump when it didn't clear my front end in time as it bolted across Highway 67. Neither was hurt - the Jeep or the deer - but it gave us a start nonetheless. On the way back, I let her drive the last 20 miles, a sight to see with her barely able to peer over the steering wheel!

I am told that Saturday evening will be exceptionally quiet when I get back from my last hike but enough staff will remain to continue the winterization of the property, so I'll have someone to dine with. Of course, that includes several people I will miss tremendously, especially my favorite housekeeping buddy and "Dennis the Menace" lookalike, Brody Johnson. We'll meet once more before he leaves for the Ukraine and I leave for Canada, but we've also said more than once how much this has become our home, so even a temporary parting of the ways carries with it a bit of sadness.

As I draft this, Saturday has arrived. The weather should be perfect for one more walk in the woods and meadows of the North Rim. As I do that, I will consider, too, what to share in my last posting from our little sanctuary on the plateau. Good night, all!

The leaves of brown came tumbling down

It was only a few months ago that I was unloading my Jeep and deciding which bed I would take in my new dorm room. The trepidation of who would be my roommate was tempered by the discovery that my initial fears of some tiny space to live for almost six months were unfounded, but still it would be a new experience to say the least. Now, four roommates later I am still here and once again contemplating how all this stuff could fit in a Jeep, but simply in reverse. And with seven days remaining on my contract, it is time to pack up for the winter and I've acquired a few additional possessions, including a refrigerator, which obviously I cannot leave behind. Oh well, there is always UPS and my parents' garage.

More important, I have completed my commitment. Certainly I never believed that I wouldn't finish this grand experiment in semi-retirement, but there was always the unspoken option of simply leaving if I discovered that it was not my cup of tea. Tonight, drinking a beer or two in the pub with several other middle-aged semi-retirees, it struck me that no matter the sacrifices that must be made, this is truly a remarkable place to prove something to yourself. In my mind, it was simply that I could fit in and make a contribution that would be significant and positive in this first year for this company to operate the resort and at the same time reward me with friendships that will extend well beyond my own first season. I have done both and as testament to my desire to come back, when quizzed by my fellow bar mates I was able to immediately rattle off a half dozen things I plan to do next year that went unaccomplished this year.

Outside it is 27 degrees. The winds are calm tonight, but the last few days have seen gusts as high as 65 mph and the closure of two of the most popular viewpoints because the roads were blocked by downed trees. Even the lodge was compelled to lower their huge metal shutters to protect guests from a possible shattered window in the auditorium or dining room. The sun room was anything but, too. We also experienced a lengthy power failure and for several days operated on a huge generator the National Park Service fired up to keep the park open. Naturally, everyone was asked to conserve electricity, so there was a certain dim bunker-like atmosphere to what is usually a very lively lobby after most of the lighting was turned off. So far, the predicted snow has not arrived, but between now and the 20th, it would only be fitting if it did.

Next Monday, if everything stays on track, I plan to head to Santa Fe for a few days, then on to Austin through the 30th to visit friends and a favorite "little brother." Meantime, I am trying to determine if this will simply be the first chapter in an ongoing narrative or a brief short story to share with people when a conversation begins to lag. In mid-November, I will embark on what I am calling my "Canadian Odyssey 2008," a 28-day circumnavigation of the continent by rail that will take me up the West Coast, across Canada and back through Chicago before returning to New Mexico. That might be even more interesting reading, but for now I have a few more days here to worry about. Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of "At the North Rim"...on your local PC or Mac. One more exciting week to go!

At the end of the tunnel

There is only one positive on a day like this. The Jeep is getting a free car wash.

It was only days ago that I was on a trail in the western reaches of the Kanab River Wilderness that borders one of my favorite sections of the North Rim. It had been cloudy most of the morning, but the sun had finally broken through and after a nice snack-filled lunch under a huge reddish-tinted rock formation, I was actually enjoying an hour or so of rest. And unlike the beach, this suntan was free of all the things I don't enjoy about going to the shore, particularly the people and traffic. It was also a chance to do what I promised in my last posting and give serious thought to the offer that is now on the table -- to return next season as a manager or payroll supervisor. I have not had a chance to discuss the details of either, but since the "talk on the street" or maybe in this case, "the trail," is that I will be back, I am assuming they have read my mind before I have done so. And if last weekend's hike is any guide, the sheer enjoyment I got from it might offer a clue to my ultimate decision.

It is funny how a place like this can grow on you. I am only a few days from leaving for Santa Fe (and Austin) and what I think will be a rather fun way to spend the rest of the year, traveling across Canada on a CanRail pass after visiting my ex-roomie Allan in Simi Valley, California. Yet, with all the satisfaction that comes with completing a season and closing the lodge for the winter, some of us seem to have a tinge of melancholy in our voices when we discuss the inevitable goodbyes later this month. Conversations that once dwelled on what we would be doing on our next day off, now discuss what we plan to do next year that will make that season more fun than this one. There are the also the little gestures that color every day like exchanging phone numbers or ensuring that e-mail addresses or winter plans are clearly outlined so everyone will stay in touch. And, as mentioned a few minutes ago, the inevitable question of who will be coming back and, if so, doing what.

Today, however, October has held true to the prediction. It was as if a switch was flipped and the temperatures that warmed me on that rock last Saturday have plummeted bringing with them gloomy days and stormy weather. What had been planned as a full day on the Arizona Trail is being spent listening to "Car Talk" on NPR and writing this. The weather.com radar is suggesting this afternoon might be enjoyable, but still there is nothing more bleak than sitting on the edge of this or any other national park watching the rain come down with your pack and cameras ready to go.

Well, it's happened again, as the guys on the radio are suggesting. I've wasted another hour ruminating about my home here on the rim. It is now pouring down outside, so maybe this is the brunt of the weather for today. Meantime, lunch is being served in the EDR and I need to close out the pub's register so it will be ready to open for business tonight. Maybe that poncho I used in British Columbia will be handy this afternoon. It won't be a perfect day in paradise, but at least the Jeep will be clean!

Important Announcement

After much thought, I have decided to suspend my blogging and discontinue any further entries until the financial crisis is averted. I will be leaving immediately in the morning for a remote trail where I can devote all my energy to solving the problems that have cropped up almost spontaneously for "my friends" in the real world.

Once I return from my sabbatical on the Powell Plateau (John Wesley, not Colin), I will do my best to tell you in numbing detail what my plan for (my own) economic stimulus will be later in October.

Seriously, I barely posted my last entry before two weeks had flown by. Part of the reason is that the accounting department has been reduced to Lorraine and me and a part-time cash clerk who filled that role last year when the lodge was operated by Xanterra, the other major player in this park and several in Utah. The result is that we are doing the jobs of four people in what should be a relaxing final few weeks. I am back to doing payables in my room at night to keep that area on track, while spending each day covering my normal responsibilities AND helping out with the cash deposit preparation when I have the time. At least I earn overtime, but in Arizona you must work a 48-hour week before it kicks in. How primitive is that??

Last weekend, I did enjoy a nice belated birthday dinner in Kanab, generously hosted by my dear friend, Willa Douglass, who, like me, is using this first foray into seasonal employment to determine if it is something we could do beyond this initial experience. And I think we both would answer in the affirmative. She is a former teacher, with a terrific sense of humor and a great appreciation for all things cultured and sophisticated. In other words, someone who you'd want to have at every family gathering so the conversation would not grow dull. And someone who would not let you off the hook if you were wavering from some goal or decision she knew would be best for you to pursue. In her younger days, she and her late husband had wonderful adventures, doing things like hiking into the Grand Canyon and staying for eleven days! Now, she travels extensively when she is not here doing such diverse tasks as operating the switchboard or writing the text all the guides use when tour busses have arranged for someone to "step-on" and provide commentary on the way to Point Imperial or Cape Royal. I will miss her when we part in October, but she will be continuing with Forever Resorts at Big Bend NP, so we will cross paths soon enough. Maybe she will come back here for another season, too.

Other than that, the winds were so high last week, the outdoors was not particularly enjoyable, so I simply drove a few forest roads looking for signs the aspens are about to explode in fall colors. There were a few isolated spots, but the real treat will come in a few days when we see the nighttime temps dip to freezing. I have a roll of slide film set aside simply for that moment alone. I'll share some digital images, too, in this space.

In a few hours, I do plan to spend the day on a nice daylong hike...but first I must fold the laundry. And I promise I will return to full-time posting as soon as I realize my absence from the blogosphere has barely been noticed.

"Far above the timberline..."

If you are familiar with the epic film "The Ten Commandments" then you will also remember the climactic scene where Charlton Heston hurls the tablets at the Golden Calf, unleashing an almighty conflagration that decimates the sinners and disbelievers who scream in anguish as they perish into the bowels of the earth. Well, that's sort of how we view the world from our little corner of paradise. Turmoil on Wall Street, the Gulf Coast awash from storm after storm. It is like a reckoning from God and we are simply casual observers. Nevertheless, I would suggest that if that Metrolink engineer was indeed text messaging some teenagers before he ran a red signal, God should deal with those infernal devices next, followed by digital cameras in short order.

Enough of that "real world" dreariness! I made a big discovery this weekend while driving back from Kanab Saturday afternoon. I listened to Michael Martin Murphy. Not only do his lyrics and music send me soaring one minute, then plummeting into waves of nostalgia the next, but when added to the drive back to the North Rim, it is apparent that few artists can create a modern-day soundtrack for this part of the west like he can. The vast meadows, the aspens and pines, the blue sky and clouds above are all transformed from a great scenic view to a cinematic masterpiece with his music becoming the score. And, if you are in the frame of mind that I am, you'd find yourself sighing deeply and saying things like "good Lord, I love this place" or maybe "I've got to come back here next year..." Of course, I am not going to let music decide something so important, but I must admit I did finish filling out my application for the 2009 season Sunday night. Meantime, I will make sure I always incude his version of "Adobe Walls" when I'm driving so I will stay focused on getting to Santa Fe posthaste!

Saturday afternoon in Kanab was also fun. The Jeep got washed twice, once by me at a do-it-yourself outfit with the high pressure wand and a second time at the Chevron convenience store's modern drive-thru system. It still needs work, but at least it looks clean. After I stuffed myself at Big Al's Drive-In with a double bison burger and waffle fries, I was ready to take my groceries and beverages home.

My plan was to contrast Saturday with a day of hiking on Sunday. Something that would really be a test at age 54. So, I drove all the way out to Indian Hollow Point where Allan and I had discovered that magnificent view and hiked the Thunder River Trail. It is a very narrow trail, perched high above what is called the Esplanade, that after a bit descends through a series of steep, rocky switchbacks to some 12-hundred feet below. Even in the low 80s, it was still hot enough to leave me drenched at what I determined would be my stopping point, but a nice shady spot in a ravine for lunch was perfect to refresh me for the hike back to "way up there" as it appeared from below. Eventually, I was at my Jeep, but I must admit the hike back was grueling! Next weekend, it will be back to the woods and those nice strolls through the forest that aren't so draining. One test every few weeks is all I can take!

On the way back, I also made sure to listen to something more upbeat, so I tuned in the oldies station from Southern Utah and as I barreled down one narrow forest road after another, everything within earshot was entertained by this old man behind the wheel singing songs from his teenage years...everthing from The Grass Roots "Sooner or Later" to Three Dog Night's "One." Not a bad way to end what was a perfect weekend at the Grand Canyon.

Well, time for an English muffin and some tea and a bit of celebrating. Have a great Tuesday and to quote Jimmy Johnson:

"How 'bout them Cowboys!"

When I grow up...

Forty three days. And counting!

It is hard to comprehend how quickly the calendar has flipped from April to September, but obviously it is not a dream because there is Desmond from "Lost" admonishing me to "have a little faith, brother" and he is September, 2008. I know because I peeked. I am also wearing my Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, quite proudly I might add, because today was the beginning of the season. Finally, on Wednesday the 10th, I will turn 54, a September boldfaced date if there ever was one. Parenthetically, I must admit that I usually have some grand plan on where I will be to celebrate, say on a train in Canada or Santa Fe, for example, but this year dining in the lodge dining room at the Grand Canyon North Rim just doesn't carry the same cachet. Been there, done that, but lunch with my buddy, Brody, will be special since we celebrated his 19th in the same place and I bet the memory will be one that remains with us for a long time.

Now that I have that out of the way (the subtle reminder), maybe we should return to Desmond's advice. When I decided to abandon the real world and sign on for this adventure, I always knew that if I spent too much, if any, time worrying about what I would do afterward, I would never come here in the first place. I'd still be in "the rut" at Magee Resource Group. Now, however, "the biggest rut in the world" is about to close for the winter and it is time to figure out what to do. As crazy as it may sound, I may come back. But in the meantime, where do I "winter" as the veterans of this lifestyle put it. I have the resources to simply go to Santa Fe and sit in front of a fire and read, maybe work part-time in a gallery or hotel. Or do i get my affairs in order in Shreveport and take off for three or four months at Big Bend? I turned down the full-time offer simply because they needed me immediately and I need a break. Instead, I can come down after the 1st of the year and fill in until I come back here or simply stay there for good. Who knows? Maybe this is where I should insert a reader's poll or simply have "a little faith" that it will resolve itself in time.

What makes this so difficult is that my typical weekend here is so beyond the norm I will find it hard to come back to reality no matter what I decide.

On Friday, I worked a half day, then changed into hiking clothes and within a matter of an hour was at a spot above the canyon and off the beaten path. You would not know the side trail was there unless you'd been there before and even then it is a bit overgrown in places leading you to think it is a dead end.

Once you find it and make your way to the end, you discover this outcropping, wide enough and flat at the end to have a picnic or just lean back against a rock and survey a good part of the east end of the Grand Canyon. It's not the only spot like this, but the easiest to get to.


From this point of view it doesn't seem that spectacular or isolated, but if you hike in from the right direction or leave it after a few hours, then turn around and look back, the realization of what makes this such a fun place to hang out sets in. Take a look below and see just what this little corner of paradise looks like from afar...

Later that night, after skipping the dinner in the EDR, I went to the lodge, ordered a drink and sat out on the veranda listening to the astronomy lecture, but frankly with billions of stars above, just taking in the sheer magnitude of the universe needs no lecture. A can of white paint exploded inside an inky blue bowl and no additional description is necessary.

On Saturday, the entire day was spent on the west side of the North Rim, hiking between two points along the Rainbow Rim Trail. Six miles round trip was a good workout and after Garrison Keillor's broadcast from Vermont, a double bacon-cheeseburger from the Kaibab Lodge north of here hit the spot.

Today, I put in a half day at the office, watched the Dallas Cowboys and filled out my application for next season. And now it's time for bed and in a few hours we start the whole process over again...oh, and this evening we booked a round-trip ticket for Brody to go to the Ukraine for Christmas to visit his beloved Natalia. Only $965 to Kiev from Las Vegas. Privately, we all thought her departure would be the end of this housekeeping department love affair, but like Zhivago's "Lara," she apparently knows how to strum his balalaika!

And finally, Happy Birthday, Adam "Frodo" Wilson. The Old Grey One is only a few days behind you...but still wandering the wilderness doing wizardly things, nevertheless.

Hopi rock

Before I moved to the Grand Canyon, I made sure that I would be able to continue to listen to National Public Radio. I knew there was a station at the South Rim, so I would undoubtedly be able to hear it 12 miles away. Much to my surprise, it was almost a mirror image of the Red River Radio network in north Louisiana, airing every program I enjoyed at home, only at times more suited to the Mountain Standard Time Arizona observes year round. When Mark, my latest roommate, moved in he asked me late one night if there were any other stations we might try. A quick scan found something more to his liking, a Native American-operated station in Tuba City, AZ. Late at night, depending on who is doing the programming we can listen to everything from Led Zeppelin to early Beatles...but with one interesting quirk. Sometimes, as a segue from one song to the next, the disc jockey will drop in a minute or two of Navajos or Hopis singing or chanting in their native tongues. It is what we call "Hopi rock."

Actually, that was not my original opening, but we just heard another example of this odd choice of music, so I thought it would be fun to mention.

My parents have been here for three days this week, so I have been enjoying taking them on several drives around the rim, including the long drive out to Point Sublime on what can best be described as a primitive road. My friend, Willa Douglass, who works behind the front desk, accompanied us as we bounced from rut to rut and rock to rock for the 18-mile drive to this historic overlook and then back through the national forest to Hwy 67 north of the park entrance. For all the muscle ache and back pain, I think everyone agreed that it was worth the trip, if only to say they had been to a spot Ansel Adams found to be perfect for his landscape photography here at the canyon. It was also a nice contrast to the easy drives we did Tuesday to Cape Royal and Point Imperial.

After four or five meals in the lodge dining room, tonight I suggested we drive to Kanab and enjoy the haute cuisine of The Rocking V, this terrific restaurant and art gallery my manager suggested I try several months ago. The buffalo was perfectly prepared and, of course, being chocoholics, my mother and I finished the meal with two chocolate lava cakes ala mode. My father simply finished the meal with an American Express, no ice cream on the side! Tomorrow it will be back to the EDR for me and back to Santa Fe for them.

I've not had much time for hiking, but on Saturday did complete a trail I had started several times before and been unable to finish because of late starts. It turned out to be a bit more grueling than I imagined, but what a view at the end. There are some spots at the Grand Canyon that just beg you to take off your pack, find a flat spot high above the canyon floor and simply lie back and enjoy an afternoon nap. This was one of them...I may never go back to the Nankoweap Overlook, but it was a hike I am glad I accomplished. Google it to see the view from the trailhead.

And, finally, a quick shot of how Mr. Adams made his way to some of these same places on the North Rim...

On parenting, parting and piccolos

Saturday night was a magnificent experience. The symphony performed at the North Rim!

Traditionally, the Symphony of the Canyons makes an appearance at the lodge each season, usually playing on the veranda with the spectacular panorama of the canyon itself as the backdrop for their evening program. This year, weather forced them to abandon that and move the entire performance into the auditorium off the lobby, a space nevertheless quite well suited for music. The huge picture windows along the south wall also allowed the view to remain a part of the experience, which included a variety of popular tunes and patriotic medleys. The highlight, undoubtedly, for most of us was the famous 3rd movement from Ferde Grofe's Grand Canyon Suite, more popularly known as "On The Trail." It might not have been played note-for-note perfect, but hearing it surrounded by the massive stone walls and wood-beamed ceiling of this ancient structure, with thunder and lightning in the distance for added effect, was certainly the way the composer envisioned it. And, frankly, they actually did a terrific performance. Afterwards, it was off to the saloon for Irish coffees with dear friends and then back to the dorm for the last few minutes of the Cowboys broadcast.

Wednesday night I went camping with Allan and several friends in the Kaibab National Forest. He insisted on one last campfire and a bit of camaraderie before he returned to California, so I couldn't say no. Wrapped in a blanket in the front seat of my Jeep proved to be more comfortable than I imagined and alot warmer than the tent Allan and Brody shared. The best part, of course, was that when the alarm went off, I simply started the engine, said "goodbye" and returned to the dorm. I walked into the office at 7 a.m. as if nothing unusual had occurred. The rest of the morning flew by and by noon, "little brother" and I were enjoying one more meal in the lodge dining room and spending the next few hours taking photos on the Bright Angel Point trail along the rim. The Boeshaars were a delight to meet and we spent awhile in the saloon before unloading Allan's belongings from my vehicle into theirs. I will certainly visit them in Simi Valley before the end of the year. Their invitation was definitely appreciated.

Personally, I have never been anything close to a parent. Maybe being "Big Bro," "Dad," or "the Old Man" has given me a perspective many single people do not get to experience but that only scratches the surface of what it means to raise a child. I do know, however, that when you have grown attached to someone and had the kind of experiences I shared with this particular "youngster" in such a short time, saying goodbye can be very difficult. And for all the mental forewarning you can give yourself, when the moment at hand comes nothing can stop a few tears and a choked-up "goodbye, little brother..."

The good news is that I have a new roommate and I've known him for 26 years! A great friend from Utah was planning to visit over the weekend and before I knew it he was offered a job on the front desk.

Before I go, let me end with four very "Happy Birthdays" to Mark Glowacz, Drew Girton, Colette Lyman and Jim Drew. In a ten-day span, four people who have brought me years of friendship celebrate one more year of their own adventure on this planet...I wish I could be with all four of you! Thank you for sharing at least some of your years with me.

And to Allan, thanks for making the Grand Canyon such a spectacular memory. I only wish you could have been here Sunday when I came face-to-face with my first rattlesnake!

Perfect music...

Somewhere out there, deep in the national forest, a 19-year-old is sitting by a campfire, maybe reading his Bible or listening to music, with the moonlight streaming through the aspen trees quaking ever so lightly in the evening breeze. Plans for his life ahead, images of his family and friends, the decision he's made to go home, all fill his thoughts as only the solitude of the wilderness can foster. And the big, black Jeep -- it sits there as a simple reminder of someone who genuinely feels his absence.

Allan, my roommate of little more than six weeks, has chosen to leave.

The decision had been coming for a week or so and, honestly, I am not surprised. Actually, I encouraged him to do it because I remembered how I felt earlier this year when I reached the point that going to work each morning in Shreveport made me miserable. Here, I look forward to it, but his situation was not the same. He was not meant to be a dishwasher and even though new opportunities were beginning to present themselves, it was simply too late. By Saturday morning, I could tell he had made his mind up.

It rained that morning, but by the time he got home from his shift the weather was perfect for one last adventure. He wanted to drive and I simply wanted to enjoy the last ride. I had picked three remote points, down miles of 4WD backroads, through narrow canyons, way beyond what any tourist or hiker would attempt. As the Jeep rumbled along, the conversation and music blended seamlessly with the sounds of nature surrounding us. Several times, we simply stopped for a minute or two to take in the scenery along the way, but the real memories were to be made along the canyon's rim. At Crazy Jug and Monument points, the rock outcroppings lent themselves to a bit of scrambling out to the edge to enjoy the view, but the best was the third point I had chosen. At Indian Hollow, we hiked a small valley that climbed up to the canyon's edge where we discovered the perfect flat rock perched high above the floor below. It was just the right size for two great friends to lie back and watch the clouds above and without saying so, understand we were only a few days from saying "farewell."

On the drive back, we decided to blow off the original plan and head across the desert toward southern Utah for one last meal in Kanab. You cannot script some things in life and this was one of those times. Jackson Browne will never know how incredible "Running on Empty" sounds with the windows down and the highway straightaway toward a sunset made just for such a scene. Yes, I thought about alot of friends and alot of my life's experiences, but I also felt as young as that kid behind the wheel with the huge smile on his face. And, truthfully, nothing seemed to matter but that.

Today, Allan gave his notice, but his parents will not be here for a few days. He has always wanted to camp out on his own, so I agreed to let him have the means to do so. What I did not expect was to come home to a half-empty room, but apparently they told him he could not leave his belongings here after he quit; his note on my bed explained as much. Of course, this is not the first time for me to experience this. It's just the first time that it struck me like this.

My alarms will be going off in a few hours, so it's time to end this. How I am going to fall asleep without the snoring across the room is yet to be seen.

"Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I don’t know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too

Running on - running on empty
Running on - running blind
Running on - running into the sun
But I’m running behind"

Sunday in the Park

Meow

Pookie aka Punkie Pooksters, Punxsatawney Pooks, Punkdiddlyumptious, and most affectionately, Punkin, was my cat.

For fourteen years there was one footnote to any claim I might make to living a completely independent life. And she, most definitely, would say the same. No matter what I did or where I went, the first order of the day was to take care of Pookie. And no matter how late at night it might get, the last order of the day was to grant her the ultimate cat wish -- "in or out?" She was the only responsibility I had and she knew it. Infuriatingly standoff-ish at times and completely affectionate at others, Pookie defined the role of a cat in a bachelor's life. "I do not belong to you. We simply share this house. Now, where's my food?" But she was also the constant every single person needs, sitting on the porch each afternoon waiting on me to drive up, purring as loud as a locomotive late at night to remind me that I was not alone in the dark or crying bloody murder at the front door, only to take a few steps, stop for a lick or two and say "thanks, that's all I wanted."

When I decided to come to the Grand Canyon, the biggest impediment was not financial, it was feline. The entire transition centered around how to maintain one cat's lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed while I ran off on some adventure. So, enter my housesitter, a terrific young man and dear friend, Chris Bryan, who agreed to live in my home essentially so Pookie would be in good hands. His mother, Beth, the definition of a best friend, would also lend a hand and report back all the latest "meownderings" of the lady of the house. And for three months all was well. Until Monday.

It was not a call I had expected, but Chris and Beth had discovered a large growth. At the vet it was diagnosed as inoperable cancer and it had reached the point that ultimately Pookie would have only a few days left before she would begin to physically suffer. So, this afternoon, after many phone calls and e-mails, the decision was made to put her to sleep. I spent the entire drive to Kanab and back today remembering all the little things that made her so unique. She was the perfect audience for all my outlandishness and I was the perfect servant to all her finicky whims. She must have thought I was completely insane at times, but I hope she also knew that I was only doing it to keep her entertained.

I will never forget pulling out of the driveway in April knowing how much she would wonder what happened to me. The last few days had been interesting to this very curious cat who spent hours nosing around my containers and boxes all stacked in the middle of the living room. It would only be six months, I thought. Then I'll be back and the world will be right again. Well, maybe it was never meant to be, but at least I know the last words I said that day remain profoundly true on this one --

"Goodbye, Punkin. I will miss you."

Allan Boeshaar

Having been here almost three months, I've seen what it means to room with someone not of your choosing and cannot imagine how this adventure would have turned out if I had been stuck with almost 90 percent of the people here. Fortunately, to some degree, I have had the ability to "choose" all three of my roommates so the experience has been at least a pleasant one.

The latest roommate is Allan Boeshaar. Allan is the best thing to happen to me here. And in some ways, the worst. From the moment we met there was a spark. And like so many of the relationships I've developed over the years with so many of my friends and "little brothers," it was simply a matter of recognizing the power of the chance encounter and making the most of it. I could have easily continued having a single room, but when he announced that he had decided to move in, I was actually happy to share my space.

In some ways Allan is mature for his age. After all my Sigma Chi experiences, it has become almost second nature to be able to measure someone immediately against an unwritten standard of "adultness" and he passes the test. He also appreciates all types of music and, in particular, loves a number of the same artists I do. The latest favorite is Poi Dog Pondering, the Chicago band I've been listening to since hearing them open for Dave Matthews a decade ago. Allan is now hooked on their latest album "7" and no Jeep drive is complete without it. He is a great conversationalist, too, and even though his interests may be narrower than mine, we are never at a loss for something to talk about. Best of all, he came to the Grand Canyon for the same reason I did -- to enjoy all the possibilities this magnificent national park has to offer.

Are there any negatives? Certainly. Some are not of his making like his job as a dishwasher and the horrible schedule that entails. I have endured more than one long diatribe, but for some reason I don't mind. It gives me the opportunity to offer a bit of encouragement and a reminder that someone cares about his welfare. He also has a few other quirks, but nothing atypical of a teenager. A short list would include impatience, short attention span, and a constant need for trivial entertainment/sensory stimulation, all of which are counter to my nature, but are not so irksome that I find them intolerable. In a word, it is like bunking out with a freshman pledge versus a senior officer...and I had my share of both.

So, when all the positives and negatives are considered, what is it about Allan that has totally captured my heart? Well, frankly, he has given me the kick in the pants I needed to really begin to enjoy this place. In one week, we have been 4-wheeling in the Jeep to places no one else goes, we've hiked several great trails, and enjoyed dinner together in the lodge dining room and at the Kaibab Lodge north of here. And one night last week, we did something completely over the top. We drove out to a spot along the East Rim, hiked through these amazing aspen groves, then built a campfire and watched a lightning storm on the South Rim. Sitting by that fire under the stars, enjoying a bowl of pipe tobacco, could not have been more Gandalfian if J.R.R. Tolkien had created the scene himself.

Having written this, I know it begs the question: "what did he mean by 'the worst?' " Simply this. Time is flying by and before we know it, October 20th will be here. Everyone will go their separate ways and I will lose a terrific hiking companion, perfect roommate and as all of you will understand, an awesome "little brother." Nothing could be worse than that.