It has been a few years since I have ridden the Mirror Lake highway from Kamas to Evanston, Wyoming and with the return of hot weather, I wanted to ride someplace that would be as cool as possible. I even removed the lining from my coat and re-opened all the vents. I also took some water with me. As I ride up Parley's Canyon I am reminded that riding in heavy traffic on a motorcycle is a little like playing a giant game of chess. I plan my moves and passing and pick and choose empty pockets of traffic and in no time at all, I am again on the highway 40 exit from I-80 and heading toward the turn off for Kamas.
I decide at Kamas that I have enough fuel to get to Evanston and start up the canyon from Kamas. I am heading on highway150 through the area of the highest elevation in Utah and of course I will see King's peak, the highest point in Utah at 13, 528 off to the not so distant right. Fall is very noticeable, leaves turning and an abruptness to the cooler air. Most of the campgrounds I pass on this road have all ready closed for the season. The traffic is light in both directions and I try to ride not over 10 to 15 miles an hour of the posted limit. The lower part of this canyon is open grazing and there are still some cows that haven't been moved in anticipation of winter.
My sister Cynthia use to do some camping with her children in this area, and I am reminded by the name of several campgrounds she enjoyed., Soapstone and Christmas Meadows. I decide at Mirror Lake, not to turn off, on this road, if you stop you are supposed to pay a fee and also there is a part of me who has believed to one level or another that when you visit some places, you help destroy the very reason you wanted to go there in the first place. But the lake is very clear and I have memories from previous stops with others to suffice for today. Looking down at the GPS I see that I am over ten thousand feet above the level of the sea and as I behold the glacial spread of the Unita's, the only East-West Mountain chain in the Continental United States. I think about the process of glaciation and that leads me to suddenly thinking that Terminal Moraine, would make an interesting name for a female character in a short story. Now, all I need to do, is to come up with a plot line to fit the character's name. She would of course, besides being beautiful and smelling of both homemade bread and sage, be part French and I would try and find some fancy spelling of her first name, to make it sound more alluring. But the road beckons and as I get down to a lower Altitude and get closer to the Wyoming boarder, I am reminded of other things, and Termi-nal, ceases to occupy any part of my thinking.
The big flat valley in Wyoming between just beyond the boarder and just before you get to Evanston, is called Hillard, and although I can't tell you where Hillard proper starts or stops, I did in the mid 1970's spend many weekends in this area, moving cattle from the back of a horse. My family started running cows on some land north of the airport, as either a lark, or a fun weekend hobby, but like a lot of things my father did, it soon grew and took on a life of its own. The two main adages I remember from my days in the cattle industry were as follows: It doesn't take fancy barns and white fences to put fat on cattle, it only takes grass and water, and my favorite. The way to earn a small fortune in cattle is to start out with a large one! We decided in the fall of 1973 that we would increase the number of mother cows we were running during the next year. That also would mark the first summer that we would sub-lease some summer ranged near Croydon ,up Weber Canyon towards Lost Creek, from a neighbor. I remember that Bob, my father and that is what I called him my whole life, made me do up a business plan on this increase of cows and the leasing of summer range and I learned a lot in doing it. The first year I under estimated the weight gain of the calves and under estimated the overall expense of checking on the cows, and on the number of calves that we lost during the grazing period. We bought cows through the Producer's Livestock auction in North Salt Lake and had even joined the Coop. Bob knew one of the head people at Producer's , Van Moss, who had even passed out in a bathtub at one of my parent's parties in the 1950's. Van's son Russ was just a couple of years older than me, and was also one of the Auctioneer's at the Monday and Wednesday Auction. The term used to describe what an auctioneer does is Crying. He cries the auction. Van and Russ had some yearling heifers for sale and I went up to Hillard to look at them. We ended up buying about sixty five or seventy five of them with the stipulation that we wouldn't take possession of them until late October or early November of 1974. I don't remember Bob looking at them before I bought them, and I had agreed that I would help take care of them during the upcoming summer, the land up there is mostly irrigated meadows, courtesy of the Bear River and I went up many times that summer with Russ, and using a borrowed horse, I didn't at that time have a decent horse trailer, helped move the cattle, got a good feeling of the land up there and stayed several nights at a big ranch there owned by a man named Dick McGraw. The next year, because of a divorce, that place would be for sale, but things had changed by then. Bob and I also spent the summer looking to buy a ranch somewhere. I also ended up late in September in driving to beyond Dallas Texas to pick up a 20 foot Goose necked trailer to help in hauling cattle and calves. The ride to and from Athens Texas is a tale in and of its self. My good friend Robert Weyher went with me and boy was it a long trip back. I ended up bringing back all of the parts to make a 16 foot goose neck trailer for Ken Garff and coming back over Eisenhower pass on Interstate 70 my mileage dropped to about six miles per gallon. Thank goodness I had a main and two saddle tanks on the truck and gas was relatively cheap!
When we took delivery of the cows, it was time to brand, and to check for pregnancy, etc. In those days some of the best cattle equipment was made by a company called Powder River, this was way before I even knew where the Powder River was located and they had a manufacturing facility in Provo. We ended up getting a parcel of their movable and interlocking 16foot panels, a cattle chute, a squeeze chute, complete with preg gate, and of course a calf table. We had both electric branding irons and a propane burner to heat up a metal wand to help de-horn calves, this was after giving them shots, castrating them if necessary and branding them as well. I have been kicked by both calves and cows so many times. We had a registered brand NT for Northpoint Towers and I even wore a Stetson hat, and listened to Charlie Daniels. I paid for the balance of the cows upon delivery and they were to start calving in mid February. Bob and I had a trip planned in January to look at ranch land in Costa Rica. One of my nieces and one of my nephews; brother and sister, and children of my deceased sister Cynthia, have both purchased property in Costa Rica. Bob loved both Costa Rica and Guatemala and I was looking forward to the trip, although I had mixed feelings about potentially living part of the year out of the US. We continued to look around Utah, Idaho and Wyoming at ranch land and I have always wondered where I might be today if we had purchased a ranch somewhere in the West. In early December of 1974, Bob dropped dead one evening.
The calving of these new mothers was bittersweet. I ended up having to aid a fairly large amount of these births by pulling the calf, and I would come out of the barn where I was calving them at two in the morning, the snow coming down, with my hands and arms still drenched in amniotic fluid, and suddenly remember that I could help a calf being born, but my CPR on my father had not worked. The next fall I spent several weekends traveling with Russ Moss in Nevada and Wyoming on cattle buying trips These were trips to established clients of Producer's to weigh and sort the cattle. I learned a great deal and met some very interesting hard core ranch people. I even got a chance to load cattle into rail road cars and by this time I was a veteran at loading semis with cows. Later in the fall of 1975 I attended a week long seminar at the famous Graham School for Cattlemen in Garnett Kansas. During that hands on week, I learned how to test a cow for pregnancy , which involves putting on a giant glove, and putting your hand up a part of a cow where the sun wasn't meant to shine, and then you push down on top of the uterus. If there is a calf there, it will bounce up against your hand. I also learned a great deal about herd management and artificial insemination. I also in 1976 attended the annual Livestock Show in Denver Colorado. Russ still is a cattle buyer for a large company and lives near Greeley Colorado.
We continued to run cattle until about 1984 and at the same time I was doing some real estate things, but would start out every morning and end up every evening feeding and checking on cows. It was a good balance to more cerebral undertakings and gave me a good balance in life.
I was pleased to see that the Hillard area is still very much farm and ranch country and there did not appear to be many new houses, and where there were, it was a case of probably building a bigger house, or a second house for another generation. There are a lot of gas wells around this area, and that has certainly helped in the stability of ownership. At Evanston I gassed up and then headed toward the boarder and the ride through Echo Canyon via I-80, this section of the road is called the Eisenhower Highway. In 1919 Ike was part of a military convoy that drove across the United States from coast to coast. It tested the feasibility and problems of doing this and it took 61 days to go from Washington D.C. To San Francisco. In 2009 a John Ryan rode a Big Honda from Pruhdoe Bay Alaska to Key West Florida, 5, 641 miles, in 86 hours and 31 minutes. The prior record was held by Salt Laker Gary Eagan at 96 hours and 1 minute. This is straight through with in reality, no sleep, and you would me a complete zombie by the time you were done. In 1945 on his first visits to Germany, Ike was impressed by the Autobahns and during his Presidency the Interstate Highway Act was passed. Ike was very proud of this legislation. Part of its financing was Pentagon related, to help get it passed, and that is why there is a small amount of Interstate Highway in Hawaii. I seem to remember that one of the last sections of the original Interstate to be finished was a section of I-70 between Green River and Salina, Utah.
I don't know why Echo Canyon has never been one of my favorite rides, certainly there are red rock canyons and one gets a sense of what it must have been like for the pioneers but it has always lacked something to me. Its always windy and since I have tended to ride it in summer, hot. At Echo I head towards I-84 and when I had stopped for fuel in Evanston I had clicked my way point for home and was pleased to see that it had me turning off at Henefer, which even without a GPS I had decided to take, and coming into the valley via East Canyon and Big Mountain. The water level of East Canyon, Little Dell and Mountain Dell reservoirs were all noticeably lower than earlier this summer. I elect not to continue to Emigration Canyon and spend the few miles until the mouth of Parley's once again playing the game of traffic chess. The ride was 217 miles.
The Great Basin
Wheeler Peak
Monday, September 20, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
MY SISTER WEARS COMBAT BOOTS*
After getting home from last week's ride, and washing the bike, I saw a site you never want to see, a small section of the rear tire, was showing the first tell-tale notion of steel cords. I knew I was going to shortly need a new tire, had even ordered one over the web, and was awaiting its arrival, so until it came, and could be mounted, it was park the bike, do not pass go, etc.
The sum total of the front and rear tire of a bike, that is touching the ground at any point in time, is referred to as the contact patch. This small amount of rubber, has to adjust to all of the demands put upon it by the road, and the rider. The traction pie is only so big, and the more contradictory demands a rider makes at any point in time, the less that is available to respond to any one of them. This is why good tires are a necessity. My bike, is a kind of sports-touring bike, and this bike puts more emphasis on the sport than touring. I usually get about 8 thousand miles out of a rear tire and about 10 thousand out of the front. It costs roughly about $275 for a pair of tires and several years ago I use to go through about 2.5 sets per year. Now I am going through about one pair per year. I also track my MPG and can tell you how much gas I have consumed in the previous year and that on average I gas up every 165 miles. The actual range on the bike is probably about two hundred to two twenty five max. In 2010 I have spent around $185.00 for gas. The physics of riding are fascinating, and the two books I have highlighted are very informative and thought provoking.
I had thought about where I wanted to ride this weekend, the Mirror lake road to Evanston, when I got a call from my brother-in- law Larry to see if I wanted to take a ride on Sunday morning with both he, and my sister Valerie. We haven't ridden together for several months and of course I said yes. Valerie has been riding for about twelve or so years, Larry since he and Valerie married a few years ago. I have watched Valerie; from the day she picked up her first new bike, after taking a Motorcycle Foundation Safety class, It seemed to take hours that first day for her to ride her bike, a Yamaha with shaft drive, to her house. And after the first ride to Magna, I wondered if she had not make a mistake in buying a bike. I figured out that the best way to help build her confidence was to ride someplace with as little of stop and go riding as possible. Ride to Tooele, stop for lunch, and ride back. This seemed to do wonders. The rides got longer and longer. Needless to say, she got better and better and she is both graceful and proficient on her bike. She outgrew her first bike in her first year of riding. She has had 3 BMWS. Larry is on his second BMW. It means an awful lot to me to be able to share my passion for riding motorcycles with a member of my family. She also speaks Swaner, a dialect spoken and on some levels only understood by my sisters. I can make reference to things that happened when we were children and that will explain to any of my family present, just what I am feeling about a given event. It is nice and comforting to be around family and I usually speak will all or most of my sisters at least once or twice a week.
Valerie has gone on trips with me to both California and several times to one of my favorite motorcycle rallies just out side of Taos, New Mexico. It is possible to attend a BMW rally somewhere in this country every weekend from about the middle of April till the end of October. Utah's rally the Red Rock Rendezvous which I helped found, and named, is held the third week of June in Panguitch. I used to go to about six to eight of these rallies each year. This year I have not been to any and this is also the first year since about 1988 that I have not camped out in a tent. The first rally Val went to with her own bike, other than a BMW club camp out in Southern Utah, was the memorial day weekend rally which was then in Quincy California. I arranged for Val's bike to be taken in an enclosed trailer to Quincy, and after I had been there a day or two, I rode down to Reno and Picked Valerie up at the airport on the Friday of the long weekend. We then rode on my bike back to Quincy. Just up from Truckee there is a beautiful expanse of forest that really is the forest prime evil. It rained the whole weekend of and on, and although we did do some riding around the area, I didn't get to show her all of the beautiful places around Quincy. We came back on highway 50 with some friends and I was rather surprised on the return leg, when at one point, Valerie suddenly passed me at over 100 mph. It turned out that she had been thinking about it the whole way home and had even discussed it with my friends. It was a riding rite of passage for her and she did it in a straight section of road with little traffic.
Valerie has gone with me to the rally in Sipapu about three times. Sipapu is about 35 miles south east of Taos, New Mexico up in the mountains. I have attended this rally about twelve times. Its about 675 miles from Salt Lake City and we usually ride it in one day, both ways. Sipapu, which to the Pueblo Indians is the entrance from below ground to our world, in Kiva's it is a small indentation in the floor of the Kiva which symbolizes this portal through which their ancestors first emerged in to the present world. Sipapu New Mexico, is the site of a mom and pop Forest service ski resort. The rally takes over the whole facility and there is first come first serve free rooms in the lodge. Valerie does not like to camp, so I would always take my tent, and Valerie would carve out some space in a room in the lodge. Making it into a woman's only dorm. We always made it part of the weekend to ride down to Santa Fe, for a few hours on Saturday. We have also been up to Angle Fire and have visited the breath taking Vietnam Memorial which is located there. It was started as a father's memorial to his son who died fighting in the war. We have stopped at many old churches on the way to Santa Fe, that always make me think of the Willa Cather book, “Death comes for the Archbishop.” I always figure out a back roads route out of the mountains and we ride through small Villages where the dogs still bark in Spanish. It was always festival weekend in Santa Fe, the weekend after Labor day, and the few blocks around the Palace of Governor's is always closed to traffic. After walking around, doing a little shopping, Valerie likes silver jewelery and fancy belts, and maybe going to a couple of museum's we would pick an upscale place for lunch, and then head back to Siapu. The first year she went we had lunch at the Pink Adobe, where we had lunch several times when we were kids. It is now famous for having been famous, although we did share for desert, a piece of their signature Apple Pie. Santa Fe is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the United States. It was the first Foreign Capitol, invaded by the United States in 1846, and the natives at first, welcomed the invasion. We spent a great deal of time in New Mexico on family trips, and it does remind me of the exploring that Valerie and I did on these trips as kids.
Valerie is a real trooper, except for unpaved roads, or sections of gravel, she is game for most situations, and in rain, sleet or even hail, she maintains her position, in most circumstances, a comfortable distance behind me. Larry likes to hang back far enough on his bike, that he can virtually ride at any speed he wants. Larry was with me three years ago when I was viciously attached by two deer near the Jeremy Ranch exit of of I-80. He called Valerie who wasn't with us, and she called everyone else, so that by the time I arrived at the hospital, all of my family, living in Salt Lake City, were all ready there.
On this day, we rode up Parley's Canyon past Park City, to the turn off on Highway 40 toward Heber City, Our destination was Kamas for breakfast, at Pasillas. We ended up having to ride to the junction with Highway 32, because of a closed exit ramp, Then it was up to Francis, and then North a couple of miles to Kamas. After breakfast we headed to Wanship and the ride back on I-80 to Salt Lake. My gas light came on, I had not filled the bike before we left, and I turned off at the Jeremy Ranch exit, and gassed up and drove the remaining way home by myself.
Weather permitting we will probably ride every weekend till late October. I have certainly in some years continued to ride my bike into December and a couple of years ago, I rode to Arizona in early December to visit some friends who winter there. I had to cut short my trip, because of an expected snow storm in Utah and had barely returned home when the first massive snow storm of the season arrived. I have also made trips to Death Valley in both January and February.
Todays ride was about 125 miles and there is more of a hint of autumn in the mountains than there was last week. I was glad I had re-inserted the lining in my coat and closed the vents in both my jacket and pants. *She doesn't really wear combat boots, but she does have stylish boots and even sometimes wears a pink motorcycle jacket and currently, a black Arai helmet.
The sum total of the front and rear tire of a bike, that is touching the ground at any point in time, is referred to as the contact patch. This small amount of rubber, has to adjust to all of the demands put upon it by the road, and the rider. The traction pie is only so big, and the more contradictory demands a rider makes at any point in time, the less that is available to respond to any one of them. This is why good tires are a necessity. My bike, is a kind of sports-touring bike, and this bike puts more emphasis on the sport than touring. I usually get about 8 thousand miles out of a rear tire and about 10 thousand out of the front. It costs roughly about $275 for a pair of tires and several years ago I use to go through about 2.5 sets per year. Now I am going through about one pair per year. I also track my MPG and can tell you how much gas I have consumed in the previous year and that on average I gas up every 165 miles. The actual range on the bike is probably about two hundred to two twenty five max. In 2010 I have spent around $185.00 for gas. The physics of riding are fascinating, and the two books I have highlighted are very informative and thought provoking.
I had thought about where I wanted to ride this weekend, the Mirror lake road to Evanston, when I got a call from my brother-in- law Larry to see if I wanted to take a ride on Sunday morning with both he, and my sister Valerie. We haven't ridden together for several months and of course I said yes. Valerie has been riding for about twelve or so years, Larry since he and Valerie married a few years ago. I have watched Valerie; from the day she picked up her first new bike, after taking a Motorcycle Foundation Safety class, It seemed to take hours that first day for her to ride her bike, a Yamaha with shaft drive, to her house. And after the first ride to Magna, I wondered if she had not make a mistake in buying a bike. I figured out that the best way to help build her confidence was to ride someplace with as little of stop and go riding as possible. Ride to Tooele, stop for lunch, and ride back. This seemed to do wonders. The rides got longer and longer. Needless to say, she got better and better and she is both graceful and proficient on her bike. She outgrew her first bike in her first year of riding. She has had 3 BMWS. Larry is on his second BMW. It means an awful lot to me to be able to share my passion for riding motorcycles with a member of my family. She also speaks Swaner, a dialect spoken and on some levels only understood by my sisters. I can make reference to things that happened when we were children and that will explain to any of my family present, just what I am feeling about a given event. It is nice and comforting to be around family and I usually speak will all or most of my sisters at least once or twice a week.
Valerie has gone on trips with me to both California and several times to one of my favorite motorcycle rallies just out side of Taos, New Mexico. It is possible to attend a BMW rally somewhere in this country every weekend from about the middle of April till the end of October. Utah's rally the Red Rock Rendezvous which I helped found, and named, is held the third week of June in Panguitch. I used to go to about six to eight of these rallies each year. This year I have not been to any and this is also the first year since about 1988 that I have not camped out in a tent. The first rally Val went to with her own bike, other than a BMW club camp out in Southern Utah, was the memorial day weekend rally which was then in Quincy California. I arranged for Val's bike to be taken in an enclosed trailer to Quincy, and after I had been there a day or two, I rode down to Reno and Picked Valerie up at the airport on the Friday of the long weekend. We then rode on my bike back to Quincy. Just up from Truckee there is a beautiful expanse of forest that really is the forest prime evil. It rained the whole weekend of and on, and although we did do some riding around the area, I didn't get to show her all of the beautiful places around Quincy. We came back on highway 50 with some friends and I was rather surprised on the return leg, when at one point, Valerie suddenly passed me at over 100 mph. It turned out that she had been thinking about it the whole way home and had even discussed it with my friends. It was a riding rite of passage for her and she did it in a straight section of road with little traffic.
Valerie has gone with me to the rally in Sipapu about three times. Sipapu is about 35 miles south east of Taos, New Mexico up in the mountains. I have attended this rally about twelve times. Its about 675 miles from Salt Lake City and we usually ride it in one day, both ways. Sipapu, which to the Pueblo Indians is the entrance from below ground to our world, in Kiva's it is a small indentation in the floor of the Kiva which symbolizes this portal through which their ancestors first emerged in to the present world. Sipapu New Mexico, is the site of a mom and pop Forest service ski resort. The rally takes over the whole facility and there is first come first serve free rooms in the lodge. Valerie does not like to camp, so I would always take my tent, and Valerie would carve out some space in a room in the lodge. Making it into a woman's only dorm. We always made it part of the weekend to ride down to Santa Fe, for a few hours on Saturday. We have also been up to Angle Fire and have visited the breath taking Vietnam Memorial which is located there. It was started as a father's memorial to his son who died fighting in the war. We have stopped at many old churches on the way to Santa Fe, that always make me think of the Willa Cather book, “Death comes for the Archbishop.” I always figure out a back roads route out of the mountains and we ride through small Villages where the dogs still bark in Spanish. It was always festival weekend in Santa Fe, the weekend after Labor day, and the few blocks around the Palace of Governor's is always closed to traffic. After walking around, doing a little shopping, Valerie likes silver jewelery and fancy belts, and maybe going to a couple of museum's we would pick an upscale place for lunch, and then head back to Siapu. The first year she went we had lunch at the Pink Adobe, where we had lunch several times when we were kids. It is now famous for having been famous, although we did share for desert, a piece of their signature Apple Pie. Santa Fe is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the United States. It was the first Foreign Capitol, invaded by the United States in 1846, and the natives at first, welcomed the invasion. We spent a great deal of time in New Mexico on family trips, and it does remind me of the exploring that Valerie and I did on these trips as kids.
Valerie is a real trooper, except for unpaved roads, or sections of gravel, she is game for most situations, and in rain, sleet or even hail, she maintains her position, in most circumstances, a comfortable distance behind me. Larry likes to hang back far enough on his bike, that he can virtually ride at any speed he wants. Larry was with me three years ago when I was viciously attached by two deer near the Jeremy Ranch exit of of I-80. He called Valerie who wasn't with us, and she called everyone else, so that by the time I arrived at the hospital, all of my family, living in Salt Lake City, were all ready there.
On this day, we rode up Parley's Canyon past Park City, to the turn off on Highway 40 toward Heber City, Our destination was Kamas for breakfast, at Pasillas. We ended up having to ride to the junction with Highway 32, because of a closed exit ramp, Then it was up to Francis, and then North a couple of miles to Kamas. After breakfast we headed to Wanship and the ride back on I-80 to Salt Lake. My gas light came on, I had not filled the bike before we left, and I turned off at the Jeremy Ranch exit, and gassed up and drove the remaining way home by myself.
Weather permitting we will probably ride every weekend till late October. I have certainly in some years continued to ride my bike into December and a couple of years ago, I rode to Arizona in early December to visit some friends who winter there. I had to cut short my trip, because of an expected snow storm in Utah and had barely returned home when the first massive snow storm of the season arrived. I have also made trips to Death Valley in both January and February.
Todays ride was about 125 miles and there is more of a hint of autumn in the mountains than there was last week. I was glad I had re-inserted the lining in my coat and closed the vents in both my jacket and pants. *She doesn't really wear combat boots, but she does have stylish boots and even sometimes wears a pink motorcycle jacket and currently, a black Arai helmet.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
RIDE THE HIGH COUNTRY
As a general rule, I don't plan on being on the road; in any major sense, during one of the three day weekends. Not only is there extra traffic, but people are in a hurry both coming and going and sometimes the tension you feel on the road is palpable. But I did want to go on a ride and I figured that Saturday, both weather wise and traffic wise might be the best bet. I had been thinking about where I wanted to ride the whole week, and since they were talking about how bad the traffic in Utah County was going to be Saturday afternoon, I opted to leave early and hit Happy Valley before the traffic started to pick up.
As I left my driveway, Miles Davis from his “Kind of Blue,” came on my Ipod No matter how often I re-load my Ipod, at least two or three of the piece's from this recording, seem to survive, Its as if they had some sort of digital extraterritoriality that exempts them from being removed. The traffic on both I-215 and I-15 did not seem much greater than a usual Saturday morning and except for the construction in Utah County and the narrowed roads, it did not get heavy. I passed some new sound barrier's being installed, I have mixed feelings about sound barrier walls, If I lived near the freeway, I am sure I would want them, but they tend to make the road seem less organic, at least to me, almost reminds me of a cattle chute. A cattle chute road! I will have to think about that.
Just as I exit I-15 at Spanish Fork, there are a bunch of motorcycle's a head of me. Mostly couples on Big Honda's and Harley's and thank goodness most of them are wearing helmets and have at least long sleeved shirts on. Also stuffed animals seem to be popular. They all turn off at the Chevron station, and I head up to a station up the road, that is less crowded.
As I start up the hill toward the mouth of Spanish Fork Canyon I see the 8 windmills a head, if I were a child, riding in a car the other way, and saw against the silhouette in the distance a field of blades it might even frighten me. Instead I think how much my father would have been intrigued by both the advances in wind power and solar energy. The traffic has started to pick up in the canyon and I have to wait till an open section to pass a couple of cars. It doesn't seem long until I see in the distance, and my garmin points out that I will be turning off of highway 6 just above the old town of Thistle, which was of course buried by flooding a few decades ago. It is chilly enough that I turn on my heated grips to the lowest position and even wish I had put one of my liner's back into my coat and closed all the vents.
After the new junction I am back on my beloved highway 89. I have spent so much of my life on this highway both in Utah, Wyoming , and Arizona,. At Fairview I turn off and start heading east on highway 31 to Huntington. Years ago, probably the late 1980's or early 1990's I first rode this road on a bike. I had read in the paper that they had uncovered a woolly mammoth while working on a water retention basin and after digging it out, it was going to be taken to BYU for study and eventual public display. You could only see a part of it, as they were digging it out, but it was interesting. It appeared to be a little bit bigger than a buffalo.
The first part of this road, up the canyon till about the summit, has been newly chipped sealed. I have very mixed feelings about chip sealing, to me, it is the paving equivalent of a comb over! It just masks the underlying problem of the road needing some real attention. Down and dirty and fairly cheap. All the places I have been to this summer have had newly chipped roads, I think that is why Utah had such a large percentage of shovel ready projects for the Federal Stimulus Funds.
This road has wonderful fairly evenly spaced sweeping turns, my favorite and after the summit, the chip sealing ended and I was back to regular paving, this coincided with a change in county's. The elevation at the summit is about 9,500 ft. Down the road to my right there is a turn off for Joe's Valley and reservoir, and a continuation onto Ephraim. But it is a dirt road and although my bike would handle it okay, I would need to probably make some suspension adjustments to enjoy it. My Great Great Great Grandfather, what a mouthful, Peter Madsen was one of the founders of Ephraim, and supposedly even named it. He converted to the LDS faith in Copenhagen, was baptized by Erastus Snow who opened up Denmark for the church. Peter Madsen even lent Erastus $300 to help Erastus get back to Utah. One of each of their grandchildren would marry each other and be my Mother's parents. Peter and his wife were part of the first group of converts from Denmark to come to Utah. He never gave up his ale and spirits, and said you can't deprive a Dane of his coffee. Peter Madsen and his wife emigrated to the USOFA, and came West in a Handcart company and after a brief stay in SLC, they headed down to Sevier County in 1853. They stayed in Spring City the first year. Peter Madsen was a wheelwright and a carpenter and in his long life, (91 years) he worked on three temples constructed in Utah, fought in the Black Hawk War, worked on the railroad as it came down Weber Canyon in 1868 and lived until 1910. His daughter Cathrine was my mother's grandmother and she lived till she was 92 and died a month or so after I was born. I suspect that my love of reading and knowledge, stem from my Madsen-Rodgers genes. They all read and wrote and had good memories.
Back to the road! I have ridden on this road many times and it has such a good feel to it, the air is crisp and although I can't see any hints of autumn in the foliage, one sense's it in the air. I stop for a drink of water and I remember a ride in this direction in 1995 in the fall, when someone on a bike behind me, who I knew, ended up crashing on a fairly tight turn towards the bottom, he was trying to keep up with me. I was far enough ahead of him, that I didn't see the crash, it was only because when the road got straight I couldn't see anyone behind me, that I got concerned and went back. They ended up taking him to the hospital in Price, I had to call his wife, who I had never met and tell her about the crash, and later they ended up flying him back to Salt Lake City. About the time I am thinking about this, I ride past the turn off to the Crandall Canyon mine and decided I needed to think about cheerful things.
At the junction with highway 10 I turn north for the ride to Price. This is fairly bleak desert country and not an easy place to live, or to make a living. At Price, I turn onto highway 6/191 and head to Helper for gas. If I gas up here, I will be able, I think, to go the rest of the way home without stopping for gas. I stretch and get off the bike at Helper, have some water and get back onto the bike for the several mile ride to the turn off of highway 191 and Indian Canyon to Duchesne.
Indian Canyon has both some nice turns and also some long climbing stretches of straight road. There is some traffic on this stretch and I get stuck behind about 7 cars as the road meanders toward the summit. Finally there is a place to pass, and I drop down a gear or two and quickly pass five of the cars and trucks. The other two are a little bit ahead and it takes me a mile or so to catch up and pass them and as I head down towards the eventual junction in Duchesne with highway 40 I think about how easy it still is in the West to be somewhere where there are probably no more than one or two people per square mile. Several years ago I went on a ride with my friend DeVern, where one of my criteria for where we went, was that it had to be at least two counties away from the nearest Starbucks.
I had thought about stopping in Duchesne for something to eat, but I wasn't hungry and decided I would wait to see if I was hungry by the time I got to Hanna. I have eaten many times at the Hanna Cafe. I stay west bound on highway 40 till its junction with highway 208 and the ride to Tabiona and Hanna. As I head down some fairly tight turns before it flattens out, there are some free range cows to the right side of the road. The yearling's eye me as I ride past. This whole area is pretty and green. From Tabiona till just past Hanna at every house there are Flags Flying. For whatever reason, I find this kind of moving and just before I get to the Hanna Cafe, I decide that I will stop if, I do this quite often; I decide that if so and so is, then I will. Anyway I said to myself that I would stop if there was either a BMW motorcycle or a Ducati at the Cafe. There wasn't so I continued to the mouth of Wolf Creek Canyon and highway 35. I have all ready ridden this road, once this season and for a holiday weekend the traffic is sparse, I had only been on the road for a few miles when a bunch of bikes coming the other way pass me, and there is both a BMW and a Ducati in the pack, Another road with wonderful vistas and sweeping turns. The air is cool and crisp and all is right with the world. Just past the summit (9400+ft) I stop for another drink of water. Down the road a few miles is where a friend Randy Montgomery was killed on a bike back in 1999. It was just a little bit after the road had opened, after the final section had been paved and was in November. I think of all that Randy has missed, the Olympics that he was so looking forward to and his younger children growing up. As I pass Woodland, I waive at my friend John's Cabin, although I don't know which one it is.
The rest of the way home was fairly routine, although the closer I got to the mouth of Parley's canyon the worse the traffic became. As I turn off the road to home the GPS shows 347 miles for today's outing. Not a bad days ride! I did think about Randolph Scott and the movie “Ride the High Country,” I also remember that there is some speculation about his relationship with Cary Grant, who lived with Randolph on and off and between marriages for about 12 years. Maybe Randolph made great chili or it was nice not to have to worry about leaving the toilet see up. Anyway, its still a great western.
As I left my driveway, Miles Davis from his “Kind of Blue,” came on my Ipod No matter how often I re-load my Ipod, at least two or three of the piece's from this recording, seem to survive, Its as if they had some sort of digital extraterritoriality that exempts them from being removed. The traffic on both I-215 and I-15 did not seem much greater than a usual Saturday morning and except for the construction in Utah County and the narrowed roads, it did not get heavy. I passed some new sound barrier's being installed, I have mixed feelings about sound barrier walls, If I lived near the freeway, I am sure I would want them, but they tend to make the road seem less organic, at least to me, almost reminds me of a cattle chute. A cattle chute road! I will have to think about that.
Just as I exit I-15 at Spanish Fork, there are a bunch of motorcycle's a head of me. Mostly couples on Big Honda's and Harley's and thank goodness most of them are wearing helmets and have at least long sleeved shirts on. Also stuffed animals seem to be popular. They all turn off at the Chevron station, and I head up to a station up the road, that is less crowded.
As I start up the hill toward the mouth of Spanish Fork Canyon I see the 8 windmills a head, if I were a child, riding in a car the other way, and saw against the silhouette in the distance a field of blades it might even frighten me. Instead I think how much my father would have been intrigued by both the advances in wind power and solar energy. The traffic has started to pick up in the canyon and I have to wait till an open section to pass a couple of cars. It doesn't seem long until I see in the distance, and my garmin points out that I will be turning off of highway 6 just above the old town of Thistle, which was of course buried by flooding a few decades ago. It is chilly enough that I turn on my heated grips to the lowest position and even wish I had put one of my liner's back into my coat and closed all the vents.
After the new junction I am back on my beloved highway 89. I have spent so much of my life on this highway both in Utah, Wyoming , and Arizona,. At Fairview I turn off and start heading east on highway 31 to Huntington. Years ago, probably the late 1980's or early 1990's I first rode this road on a bike. I had read in the paper that they had uncovered a woolly mammoth while working on a water retention basin and after digging it out, it was going to be taken to BYU for study and eventual public display. You could only see a part of it, as they were digging it out, but it was interesting. It appeared to be a little bit bigger than a buffalo.
The first part of this road, up the canyon till about the summit, has been newly chipped sealed. I have very mixed feelings about chip sealing, to me, it is the paving equivalent of a comb over! It just masks the underlying problem of the road needing some real attention. Down and dirty and fairly cheap. All the places I have been to this summer have had newly chipped roads, I think that is why Utah had such a large percentage of shovel ready projects for the Federal Stimulus Funds.
This road has wonderful fairly evenly spaced sweeping turns, my favorite and after the summit, the chip sealing ended and I was back to regular paving, this coincided with a change in county's. The elevation at the summit is about 9,500 ft. Down the road to my right there is a turn off for Joe's Valley and reservoir, and a continuation onto Ephraim. But it is a dirt road and although my bike would handle it okay, I would need to probably make some suspension adjustments to enjoy it. My Great Great Great Grandfather, what a mouthful, Peter Madsen was one of the founders of Ephraim, and supposedly even named it. He converted to the LDS faith in Copenhagen, was baptized by Erastus Snow who opened up Denmark for the church. Peter Madsen even lent Erastus $300 to help Erastus get back to Utah. One of each of their grandchildren would marry each other and be my Mother's parents. Peter and his wife were part of the first group of converts from Denmark to come to Utah. He never gave up his ale and spirits, and said you can't deprive a Dane of his coffee. Peter Madsen and his wife emigrated to the USOFA, and came West in a Handcart company and after a brief stay in SLC, they headed down to Sevier County in 1853. They stayed in Spring City the first year. Peter Madsen was a wheelwright and a carpenter and in his long life, (91 years) he worked on three temples constructed in Utah, fought in the Black Hawk War, worked on the railroad as it came down Weber Canyon in 1868 and lived until 1910. His daughter Cathrine was my mother's grandmother and she lived till she was 92 and died a month or so after I was born. I suspect that my love of reading and knowledge, stem from my Madsen-Rodgers genes. They all read and wrote and had good memories.
Back to the road! I have ridden on this road many times and it has such a good feel to it, the air is crisp and although I can't see any hints of autumn in the foliage, one sense's it in the air. I stop for a drink of water and I remember a ride in this direction in 1995 in the fall, when someone on a bike behind me, who I knew, ended up crashing on a fairly tight turn towards the bottom, he was trying to keep up with me. I was far enough ahead of him, that I didn't see the crash, it was only because when the road got straight I couldn't see anyone behind me, that I got concerned and went back. They ended up taking him to the hospital in Price, I had to call his wife, who I had never met and tell her about the crash, and later they ended up flying him back to Salt Lake City. About the time I am thinking about this, I ride past the turn off to the Crandall Canyon mine and decided I needed to think about cheerful things.
At the junction with highway 10 I turn north for the ride to Price. This is fairly bleak desert country and not an easy place to live, or to make a living. At Price, I turn onto highway 6/191 and head to Helper for gas. If I gas up here, I will be able, I think, to go the rest of the way home without stopping for gas. I stretch and get off the bike at Helper, have some water and get back onto the bike for the several mile ride to the turn off of highway 191 and Indian Canyon to Duchesne.
Indian Canyon has both some nice turns and also some long climbing stretches of straight road. There is some traffic on this stretch and I get stuck behind about 7 cars as the road meanders toward the summit. Finally there is a place to pass, and I drop down a gear or two and quickly pass five of the cars and trucks. The other two are a little bit ahead and it takes me a mile or so to catch up and pass them and as I head down towards the eventual junction in Duchesne with highway 40 I think about how easy it still is in the West to be somewhere where there are probably no more than one or two people per square mile. Several years ago I went on a ride with my friend DeVern, where one of my criteria for where we went, was that it had to be at least two counties away from the nearest Starbucks.
I had thought about stopping in Duchesne for something to eat, but I wasn't hungry and decided I would wait to see if I was hungry by the time I got to Hanna. I have eaten many times at the Hanna Cafe. I stay west bound on highway 40 till its junction with highway 208 and the ride to Tabiona and Hanna. As I head down some fairly tight turns before it flattens out, there are some free range cows to the right side of the road. The yearling's eye me as I ride past. This whole area is pretty and green. From Tabiona till just past Hanna at every house there are Flags Flying. For whatever reason, I find this kind of moving and just before I get to the Hanna Cafe, I decide that I will stop if, I do this quite often; I decide that if so and so is, then I will. Anyway I said to myself that I would stop if there was either a BMW motorcycle or a Ducati at the Cafe. There wasn't so I continued to the mouth of Wolf Creek Canyon and highway 35. I have all ready ridden this road, once this season and for a holiday weekend the traffic is sparse, I had only been on the road for a few miles when a bunch of bikes coming the other way pass me, and there is both a BMW and a Ducati in the pack, Another road with wonderful vistas and sweeping turns. The air is cool and crisp and all is right with the world. Just past the summit (9400+ft) I stop for another drink of water. Down the road a few miles is where a friend Randy Montgomery was killed on a bike back in 1999. It was just a little bit after the road had opened, after the final section had been paved and was in November. I think of all that Randy has missed, the Olympics that he was so looking forward to and his younger children growing up. As I pass Woodland, I waive at my friend John's Cabin, although I don't know which one it is.
The rest of the way home was fairly routine, although the closer I got to the mouth of Parley's canyon the worse the traffic became. As I turn off the road to home the GPS shows 347 miles for today's outing. Not a bad days ride! I did think about Randolph Scott and the movie “Ride the High Country,” I also remember that there is some speculation about his relationship with Cary Grant, who lived with Randolph on and off and between marriages for about 12 years. Maybe Randolph made great chili or it was nice not to have to worry about leaving the toilet see up. Anyway, its still a great western.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
"In the Mountains, there you feel free!"
One of my very best friends called me early in the morning and invited me to go on a ride. Before I even knew where they intended to go I said yes. Over the last twenty years I have ridden and camped with them in all of the western States. If I had not hurt my shoulder this spring I would have gone with them to California over the Memorial Day weekend. Last year I rode with them to California to a rally in Quincy in mid September. They told me what time they wanted to leave and I said I would be up at their house in Ogden about twenty minutes before that time. I mounted the GPS, radar detector and tank bag on the bike, checked the air pressure and stopped for gas.
We left Ogden on a major secondary road and stayed on secondary roads through North Ogden, rode through to Brigham City past all the fruit stands, and proceeded to ride through the beautiful trees of the main street of Brigham City. The green canopy of trees reminded me of my favorite Voltaire story. At his famous estate, he was eager one day to plant some trees. It was an ambitious project and at Voltaire's age, it was doubtful he would even begin to see the results of the endeavor. He spoke to the gardener, who countered that it would be fifty years before you would see what they were planning on doing. Voltaire answered “Then we have no time to waste.”
We proceeded North through Wellsville, Honeyville, and Garland and then turned East to Smithfield. Even though Cache valley has grown tremendously, and there are houses in little pockets all over the place, and traffic jams at certain times of the day, Cache Valley still has an agricultural feel to it. We rode past many fields of corn, its supposed to be a bumper crop nationwide this year, and I could smell the freshly cut silage nearby. When I ran cows, I actually purchased corn on the stump and had it ground up for silage from a neighbor. Even in the middle of winter, you could put you hand in several inches into the pile and it would still be hot, and when you exposed a new face, of silage steam would come off it. Its a giant fermentation process and the cows in one sense of the word are inebriated much of the time while consuming silage. We hit the Idaho border and entered Franklin, there did not seem to be a lot of cars at the main service station in Franklin that sells so many lottery tickets to desperate people from Utah. On the North side of Preston, we gassed up.
Our destination for the first part of the ride, was Bear Lake and Garden City for lunch. We turned off of highway 34 and took highway 36 past Mink Creek, Emigration pass and to meet up with highway 89, one of my favorite roads in Utah and other states. Just before the Mink Creek turnoff, we ran into something that makes my least favorite list. Number one on the list is Medley's. Number two is Pilot Cars, and yes we had a pilot car. I have never been able to figure out, what a pilot car, is supposed to accomplish. How the contractors liability is less using a pilot car, isn't really apparent to me. Anyway, we didn't have to wait very long and the pilot car only lasted for about five to seven miles. We then proceeded up and over Emigration pass and soon met up with highway 89.
The early trapper's spent a lot of time around Bear Lake, they even had one or two of their famous rendezvous, a French word, in this area. It is still, in the west, and impressive body of water. We stopped for shakes and something to eat. We all had what amounted to a trifecta of berries, shake.
We left Garden City toward Laketown on highway 30, going up the hill to Sage Junction we had a couple of trucks pulling double asphalt trailer's and much of the hill we had to stay put, there is a double yellow line going up most of the hill. Finally after the top, we were able to pass the cars in front of us and soon found ourselves at Sage junction and the right had turn to head south toward Randolph and Woodruff, were we would turn off for Monticristo and the ride into Ogden Valley. This is a truly beautiful road and one I try to ride in both directions a couple of times each summer. It is closed more than six months of every year because of snow. Anytime you are on a road that has gates at both ends, the top and the bottom, you can rest assured that they get a whale of a lot of snow. There was very little traffic on this day. We had to slow down for a couple of steers at the side of the road, but I am happy to say that no animals were injured this day and there were no forest rats, (deer) lurking near the road. We kept seeing signs about utility work and to be aware, but except for one area near the top where there were flagmen in each direction, nothing was evident.
As we headed down Monti, I tried to imagine what it must have been like for the early trapper's and settler's in this area. By the time my ancestors came to the Salt Lake Valley, Miles Goodyear and Peter Skeene Ogden had been in the area for many years. Ogden Valley was originally known as Ogden;s Hole, just like there was Jackson's Hole and Pierre's hole etc. Ogden Valley, despite the new subdivisions sprouting up, is still one of the spectacular vista's of the inter- mountain area. We stopped off to gas up in Huntsville and when I got home I figured out that between Preston and Huntsville I had averaged over 58 miles per gallon. After saying our goodbye's we turned off to take trapper's loop over to I-84 and at the mouth of Weber Canyon I waived goodbye and headed south on 89 towards the Legacy Highway and home. The mileage for today's outing was 321 miles. The longest I had been on my bike so far this year
We left Ogden on a major secondary road and stayed on secondary roads through North Ogden, rode through to Brigham City past all the fruit stands, and proceeded to ride through the beautiful trees of the main street of Brigham City. The green canopy of trees reminded me of my favorite Voltaire story. At his famous estate, he was eager one day to plant some trees. It was an ambitious project and at Voltaire's age, it was doubtful he would even begin to see the results of the endeavor. He spoke to the gardener, who countered that it would be fifty years before you would see what they were planning on doing. Voltaire answered “Then we have no time to waste.”
We proceeded North through Wellsville, Honeyville, and Garland and then turned East to Smithfield. Even though Cache valley has grown tremendously, and there are houses in little pockets all over the place, and traffic jams at certain times of the day, Cache Valley still has an agricultural feel to it. We rode past many fields of corn, its supposed to be a bumper crop nationwide this year, and I could smell the freshly cut silage nearby. When I ran cows, I actually purchased corn on the stump and had it ground up for silage from a neighbor. Even in the middle of winter, you could put you hand in several inches into the pile and it would still be hot, and when you exposed a new face, of silage steam would come off it. Its a giant fermentation process and the cows in one sense of the word are inebriated much of the time while consuming silage. We hit the Idaho border and entered Franklin, there did not seem to be a lot of cars at the main service station in Franklin that sells so many lottery tickets to desperate people from Utah. On the North side of Preston, we gassed up.
Our destination for the first part of the ride, was Bear Lake and Garden City for lunch. We turned off of highway 34 and took highway 36 past Mink Creek, Emigration pass and to meet up with highway 89, one of my favorite roads in Utah and other states. Just before the Mink Creek turnoff, we ran into something that makes my least favorite list. Number one on the list is Medley's. Number two is Pilot Cars, and yes we had a pilot car. I have never been able to figure out, what a pilot car, is supposed to accomplish. How the contractors liability is less using a pilot car, isn't really apparent to me. Anyway, we didn't have to wait very long and the pilot car only lasted for about five to seven miles. We then proceeded up and over Emigration pass and soon met up with highway 89.
The early trapper's spent a lot of time around Bear Lake, they even had one or two of their famous rendezvous, a French word, in this area. It is still, in the west, and impressive body of water. We stopped for shakes and something to eat. We all had what amounted to a trifecta of berries, shake.
We left Garden City toward Laketown on highway 30, going up the hill to Sage Junction we had a couple of trucks pulling double asphalt trailer's and much of the hill we had to stay put, there is a double yellow line going up most of the hill. Finally after the top, we were able to pass the cars in front of us and soon found ourselves at Sage junction and the right had turn to head south toward Randolph and Woodruff, were we would turn off for Monticristo and the ride into Ogden Valley. This is a truly beautiful road and one I try to ride in both directions a couple of times each summer. It is closed more than six months of every year because of snow. Anytime you are on a road that has gates at both ends, the top and the bottom, you can rest assured that they get a whale of a lot of snow. There was very little traffic on this day. We had to slow down for a couple of steers at the side of the road, but I am happy to say that no animals were injured this day and there were no forest rats, (deer) lurking near the road. We kept seeing signs about utility work and to be aware, but except for one area near the top where there were flagmen in each direction, nothing was evident.
As we headed down Monti, I tried to imagine what it must have been like for the early trapper's and settler's in this area. By the time my ancestors came to the Salt Lake Valley, Miles Goodyear and Peter Skeene Ogden had been in the area for many years. Ogden Valley was originally known as Ogden;s Hole, just like there was Jackson's Hole and Pierre's hole etc. Ogden Valley, despite the new subdivisions sprouting up, is still one of the spectacular vista's of the inter- mountain area. We stopped off to gas up in Huntsville and when I got home I figured out that between Preston and Huntsville I had averaged over 58 miles per gallon. After saying our goodbye's we turned off to take trapper's loop over to I-84 and at the mouth of Weber Canyon I waived goodbye and headed south on 89 towards the Legacy Highway and home. The mileage for today's outing was 321 miles. The longest I had been on my bike so far this year
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
A Day in the Desert
This past Sunday, I really did go for a ride. From last week's missive, I still had the Desert on my mind. I did think about heading up Parley's to play in the Wasatch Mountains, “where the gods of the Ute's slept in the cool of the day”, but I knew the Tour of Utah was ending and that traffic might be a problem. I therefore headed west on I-80, the wind was persistent the whole ride, but fairly moderate in its velocity. At the Toole Grantsville exit, I stopped and topped of my tank, so that I could do the rest of the contemplated ride without having to stop. I got back on I-80 westbound again and proceeded till the Rowley Dugway exit. One can't think of Dugway without also thinking sheep. An old line ranch family I know has some large holdings in the Dugway Valley where they winter sheep. It it known to have a fairly mild winter there, mild being a relative term. Compared to Woodruff and Randolph Utah, it is down-right balmy, but then anyplace has a mild winter compared to those two places. About ten to twelve miles from the junction is the sign for the ghost town of ISOSEPA, which mean Joseph in Hawaiian. In the 1880's some Polynesian converts to the LDS church began to come to Zion. At first a large number of them settled in the North Salt Lake area. They were discriminated against by both the local merchant's and population and were not allowed to stay in the Hotels in Salt Lake City. It was determined that they needed to be relocated. All the choice parcels around the Salt Lake Valley had been spoken for by various individuals and entities. Any way, what they ended up doing was taking these people who for generations had lived someplace where the temperature does not vary a whole lot, and they moved them to a place, so remote, that it made the middle of nowhere look convenient. Temperature from around 90-100 in the summer to well below zero in the winter and wind almost all the time. What were they thinking! It was a typical early joint-stock type company, and the inhabitants were nothing but indentured servants. At some point they had a sort of arbor day and planted over 500 trees of various kinds, including a large orchard. The inhabitant's worked very hard, make it bloom like a rose, even won a beautification award, but it was never successful economically and in the late 1890's they even had a few people get Leprosy, which didn't make them any more acceptable to their neighbors in Grantsville, Tooele, and made their excursion's to the Temple Square not as enjoyable as it should have been. Once the church had built a Temple in Hawaii, the whole place cleared out and it became a Ghost Town. Recently there have been some excavation work done out there to see what artifacts might have been left.
A few miles down the road, I go past the Goshute Indian Reservation, where the tribe wants to store nuclear waste that is so hot, it makes the operation of Energy Solutions at Clive, look like a place it would be fun to camp. Enough said. I did notice that on either side of the reservation there were farms with green field's and fairly new equipment. Perhaps a low interest rate loan could be arranged to help the Indians do the same.
A few miles later I hit the end of the road, paved where there are three options. One: is to take the dirt road to Simpson Springs , Fish Springs and beyond, two: Have the necessary papers to get admitted to the Dugway Proving grounds. What we are proving I don't really know! My father did some electrical work at Dugway and once told me this story. He had a contract to wire a tower. Their was a large platform at the top and in the middle it was clear. The contract called for electrical boxes and a small platform about every five feet from the top to about ten fee above the ground. He had no idea what it was for, until at a later time his contact person told him that it was used for the following activity: At each five foot level, there were camera's mounted facing to the opposite side. There were also strobe lights at each of these platforms. Rabbits were injected at the top, with whatever, and then dropped down the middle of the tower, at each level a picture of the rabbit was taken. This also gave them a time line and what they learned was how long, after a rabbit was injected with this or that, it took for the rabbit to die. Needless to say, there was probably never a rabbit that was alive by the time it hit the bottom. You will be glad to know that the Dugway Proving Ground alarm poles scattered throughout the Dugway, Rush and valley South of Stockton, now have solar collectors to power them! What a Country!
At the junction there is also a large LDS Stake Center, both to serve the ranches in the Dugway and Rush Valley's and also the people who reside at Dugway. The reason the building looks so large, is that there is nothing around it. The third option which I chose and which was one of my destinations, was to head east toward Johnson Pass and Rush Valley. I have always ridden this road, East to West, and wanted to ride it West to East. For a road in the middle of nowhere, it is fairly well maintained. After I pass the summit and could see in the distance Rush Valley, there was a truck and trailer in front of me that advertised inflatable Bouncers, JohnnyJumpups for all kinds of events, indoors and out. What they were doing at just before noon on a Sunday in late August, I have no idea and probably don't need to know.
As I hit the junction with highway 36, I wasn't ready to head home, so I turned south on highway 36 till I hit the little hamlet of Faust. Years ago I had an eerie experience in Faust, where my Dune buggy just stopped running. I checked the ground on the battery, knew I had fuel, but I couldn't find anything wrong. After about five or so minutes of poking around, I walked back to the exposed engine and with a screw driver, shorted out the starter against its housing and it started up. It never did that again. I also had a girl friend in the mid 1970's who's last name was Goethe and was a direct decedent of the poet. At Faust I took the bypass road, which I have always heard called the Pony Express trail East where it reaches a junction with highway 73. From there I road through Fairfield, Cedar Valley, Cedar Hills and of course Saratoga Springs. Every time I drive there I can't believe the growth, especially when you consider that Utah has a hefty number of properties in foreclosure. I have read the population projections for this whole quadrant and it boggles the mind. Where are these people going to work, all of them can't make big bucks over the Internet while working at home! In the future I am afraid that everywhere from Provo to Ogden is going to be part of a giant conurbation, a word I just learned, a continuous urban community, made up of smaller entities that retain to one extent or another their individual identities. I am glad that it will be when I am no longer a functioning carbon entity.
I turned north on highway 68 to enter the Salt Lake Valley and after meeting up with I-15 I rode the rest of the way home. Today's ride was 188 miles. I got home well before the wind picked up, causing roads to be closed, cars to roll over and my power to be out till Monday morning.
A few miles down the road, I go past the Goshute Indian Reservation, where the tribe wants to store nuclear waste that is so hot, it makes the operation of Energy Solutions at Clive, look like a place it would be fun to camp. Enough said. I did notice that on either side of the reservation there were farms with green field's and fairly new equipment. Perhaps a low interest rate loan could be arranged to help the Indians do the same.
A few miles later I hit the end of the road, paved where there are three options. One: is to take the dirt road to Simpson Springs , Fish Springs and beyond, two: Have the necessary papers to get admitted to the Dugway Proving grounds. What we are proving I don't really know! My father did some electrical work at Dugway and once told me this story. He had a contract to wire a tower. Their was a large platform at the top and in the middle it was clear. The contract called for electrical boxes and a small platform about every five feet from the top to about ten fee above the ground. He had no idea what it was for, until at a later time his contact person told him that it was used for the following activity: At each five foot level, there were camera's mounted facing to the opposite side. There were also strobe lights at each of these platforms. Rabbits were injected at the top, with whatever, and then dropped down the middle of the tower, at each level a picture of the rabbit was taken. This also gave them a time line and what they learned was how long, after a rabbit was injected with this or that, it took for the rabbit to die. Needless to say, there was probably never a rabbit that was alive by the time it hit the bottom. You will be glad to know that the Dugway Proving Ground alarm poles scattered throughout the Dugway, Rush and valley South of Stockton, now have solar collectors to power them! What a Country!
At the junction there is also a large LDS Stake Center, both to serve the ranches in the Dugway and Rush Valley's and also the people who reside at Dugway. The reason the building looks so large, is that there is nothing around it. The third option which I chose and which was one of my destinations, was to head east toward Johnson Pass and Rush Valley. I have always ridden this road, East to West, and wanted to ride it West to East. For a road in the middle of nowhere, it is fairly well maintained. After I pass the summit and could see in the distance Rush Valley, there was a truck and trailer in front of me that advertised inflatable Bouncers, JohnnyJumpups for all kinds of events, indoors and out. What they were doing at just before noon on a Sunday in late August, I have no idea and probably don't need to know.
As I hit the junction with highway 36, I wasn't ready to head home, so I turned south on highway 36 till I hit the little hamlet of Faust. Years ago I had an eerie experience in Faust, where my Dune buggy just stopped running. I checked the ground on the battery, knew I had fuel, but I couldn't find anything wrong. After about five or so minutes of poking around, I walked back to the exposed engine and with a screw driver, shorted out the starter against its housing and it started up. It never did that again. I also had a girl friend in the mid 1970's who's last name was Goethe and was a direct decedent of the poet. At Faust I took the bypass road, which I have always heard called the Pony Express trail East where it reaches a junction with highway 73. From there I road through Fairfield, Cedar Valley, Cedar Hills and of course Saratoga Springs. Every time I drive there I can't believe the growth, especially when you consider that Utah has a hefty number of properties in foreclosure. I have read the population projections for this whole quadrant and it boggles the mind. Where are these people going to work, all of them can't make big bucks over the Internet while working at home! In the future I am afraid that everywhere from Provo to Ogden is going to be part of a giant conurbation, a word I just learned, a continuous urban community, made up of smaller entities that retain to one extent or another their individual identities. I am glad that it will be when I am no longer a functioning carbon entity.
I turned north on highway 68 to enter the Salt Lake Valley and after meeting up with I-15 I rode the rest of the way home. Today's ride was 188 miles. I got home well before the wind picked up, causing roads to be closed, cars to roll over and my power to be out till Monday morning.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
"The Road Goes On Forever And the Party Never Ends"
If you have never heard this Robert Earl Keen song, I suggest you go on line, it's a great road song. I don't have it on my I pod, but I can hear it in my mind. I have only being riding with any kind of music on a bike, for a couple of years, I tried cassette tapes years ago, but I never got the hang of reaching into a tank bag at speed and either turning a cassette over, or by feel, finding another one. I later tried CD'S with skip buffers, but they never worked that well. I use to travel with my Ham radio when a riding friend also had one, but somehow having him sing HOME ON THE RANGE over the radio, did not cut it. Now days, if I want to, I can turn on my i pod and have both music, and if my Valentine One picks up radar, it cuts the volume and I turn my attention to the music of the spheres, K band, X band and Laser.
I thought I might be making a desert trek this week through Nevada and then after that to Yosemite and then Fresno to see my sister, but it maybe another few weeks, if I end up going at all. Over the weekend I spent some time with an old friend who was telling me about his young teenage son, who loves flight simulation programs, he's been doing them for years and on his computer he routinely fly s F-16's. So view the rest of this installment as my virtual ride.
Although over the last thirty plus years, I have played around the whole West and have spent time in the Rockies, the Tetons, the Wind river's, the Wasatch, the Pequop's and have made pilgrimages to South Pass, the very important, but very unassuming major pioneer crossing point of the Rockies. When you ask me what kind of riding I really love, its riding, crossing, cursing and hopefully surviving the Great Basin. I am a child of the Great Basin and although Salt Lake City is a major urban area of this country, to me its still a desert town. A green Oasis, between here and Reno. John McPhee in his wonderful book Basin and Range, talks about the geology of this area and I always remember his little saying, “Basin and Range, Basin and Range, a mile in height between Basin and Range.” I can't ride from here to California without thinking of all those early trapper's and explorers from Kit Carson, John C. Fremont, Jim Bridger, Joe Meek and last but never in any sense least, Jedediah Smith. He was the first personal of European decent, doesn't that sound less potentially racist than white person, to cross in both directions the Great Basin. He was also the effective discoverer of South Pass in 1822 when he was about 23 and he just disappeared near Santa Fe in 1831 when he was about 32 The route that he walked, not knowing when or where he would find water, is within about thirty or so miles of the present highway 6 in Nevada, This highway is one of my favorites. There's an old adage among motorcyclists that if you think Nevada doesn't have any curves, you not riding fast enough.
So for this my simulated ride, We will ride first to Wendover, or as I have heard it called several times, Bendover, because you will end up getting fleeced. Wendover will be our first stop for gas, mainly because our next stop Ely, is about 240 miles from SLC and that's beyond the range of my current BMW. If I am alone, I don't even get off the bike, Pay at the pump, then back a couple of feet, and grab the wand to clean my visor, this gesture always brings a smile or a laugh to anyone who sees me doing it.
After that we pick up highway 93A for the ride to Ely. Most people don't think of Nevada as being a mountainous state, but it really is. Sometime get an Atlas and look at all of the different mountain ranges. To this day I am sure that are peaks where no one has ever climbed, and who knows, there might even be a lost Indian tribe that hasn't been cataloged by anthropologists. There's a migratory bird refuge during this stretch and White Horse pass as well. I have seen a wild horse in Nevada, but not in this area. Looking at the clock on my bike as we get close to Ely, I see that it has been three and a half hours, plus or minus fifteen minutes since we left Salt Lake. Time, after getting gas, to get off the bike, drink some water and use the facilities.
Ely is a major junction for both highway 50 and 6. They talk about highway 50 being the loneliest road in America, but I sometimes ride the road we will be taking today, highway 6, and between Ely and Tonopah and will not see more than about three cars heading to Ely and about the same number in the 167 mile stretch I will be riding. This is Desert riding at its best with Mountain peaks and ranges as far as the eye can see. There is visually so much going on, that I don't know how anyone could get bored. We will ride in and past the Egan Range, Grant Range, through Railroad Valley and just pass a spot in the road called Current, we will ride past an oil refinery in the middle of know where. I find so much visual stimulation that I even kind of envy that UPS or FEDEX driver that I sometime see. Because I am riding somewhere between 85 and 90, almost always, just as I start up the hill towards Tonopah, my fuel light will come on. After gassing up, I take a much longer break than before and will usually even have a candy bar or some sort of a muffin. When I stop, I turn off my GPS, to stop the timer, what I am interested in is riding time, not accumulated time, for I certainly don't time myself when I am drinking coffee or doing other things. Generally, it takes me a little more than five and a half hours of riding time to get to Tonopah.
Although we will ride through several junctions from here to the California border we will stay on highway 6 till we get to Benton and after getting waived through the inspection station, we turn onto highway 120 on which we will stay till its junction with 395 near Lee Vining. . Between Benton and Lee Vining there is a stretch of road, as we continue to climb towards the Sierra's, the famous roller coaster road, a stretch of about 3 miles of undulating, what a wonderful word, road that at speed you get the feeling of flying at the top of every crest and then gravity seems to suck your back down, its rather hypnotic and its not as noticeable if you were going in the other direction. As we get close to Lee Vining, you can see Mono Lake off in the distance. I have stopped at Mono lake and even in hot summer, there is an eerie quality to it, with it TUFA formations of calcium carbonate. One can imagine microbes, maybe not entirely of the earth, clinging to life for billions of years.
If I was with other people I would probably stop in Lee Vining, after getting gas of course, at Nicely's restaurant.. They have the best deep dish pie, with real ice cream, that I have ever had. But since I don't enjoy eating in restaurants alone, I opt to back track the few miles to the turnoff to Yosemite and highway 120. We now start climbing and climbing and its become both more rocky and alpine like and the temperature starts to drop. It is roughly 150 miles from here to my sister's house in Fresno. After paying my $10 for a seven day pass, I start to notice the traffic density coming the other way. This helps me guess whether it is going to be slow going, or extremely slow going with in the confines of the park . The language of the most gifted poet, falls short of really describing Yosemite, even for a secular humanist, it is a religious experience. Just as the vistas I have seen on the ride today, have reminded me, the sheer scale of the natural world, within Yosemite at every turn you are overwhelmed. I watch my average speed on the GPS drop by miles at a time, as I negotiate around the through the traffic. Although its only about 40 miles to the junction at the bottom, it may take an hour and a half or two to get there. For arguments sake, the traffic today will be minimal, and as I pass the exit gate near El Portal, I know its about 100 miles to my destination in Fresno.
After Mariposa, where I have gone to many BMW rallies, you get the rolling foothills of the golden sierras and small village after village as I drop down to the San Joaquin Valley. Highway 49 is an old friend, and I will be on it, until it has turned into a divided road and I hit the freeway exit and my sister Kathy's house. Its been a great day and in riding time its been a tad less than 12 hours since I left the Great City of Salt. The distance as per GPS is about 745 miles.
“ She pulls back onto main street in her new Mercedes Benz. The Road goes on forever and the party never ends.”
I thought I might be making a desert trek this week through Nevada and then after that to Yosemite and then Fresno to see my sister, but it maybe another few weeks, if I end up going at all. Over the weekend I spent some time with an old friend who was telling me about his young teenage son, who loves flight simulation programs, he's been doing them for years and on his computer he routinely fly s F-16's. So view the rest of this installment as my virtual ride.
Although over the last thirty plus years, I have played around the whole West and have spent time in the Rockies, the Tetons, the Wind river's, the Wasatch, the Pequop's and have made pilgrimages to South Pass, the very important, but very unassuming major pioneer crossing point of the Rockies. When you ask me what kind of riding I really love, its riding, crossing, cursing and hopefully surviving the Great Basin. I am a child of the Great Basin and although Salt Lake City is a major urban area of this country, to me its still a desert town. A green Oasis, between here and Reno. John McPhee in his wonderful book Basin and Range, talks about the geology of this area and I always remember his little saying, “Basin and Range, Basin and Range, a mile in height between Basin and Range.” I can't ride from here to California without thinking of all those early trapper's and explorers from Kit Carson, John C. Fremont, Jim Bridger, Joe Meek and last but never in any sense least, Jedediah Smith. He was the first personal of European decent, doesn't that sound less potentially racist than white person, to cross in both directions the Great Basin. He was also the effective discoverer of South Pass in 1822 when he was about 23 and he just disappeared near Santa Fe in 1831 when he was about 32 The route that he walked, not knowing when or where he would find water, is within about thirty or so miles of the present highway 6 in Nevada, This highway is one of my favorites. There's an old adage among motorcyclists that if you think Nevada doesn't have any curves, you not riding fast enough.
So for this my simulated ride, We will ride first to Wendover, or as I have heard it called several times, Bendover, because you will end up getting fleeced. Wendover will be our first stop for gas, mainly because our next stop Ely, is about 240 miles from SLC and that's beyond the range of my current BMW. If I am alone, I don't even get off the bike, Pay at the pump, then back a couple of feet, and grab the wand to clean my visor, this gesture always brings a smile or a laugh to anyone who sees me doing it.
After that we pick up highway 93A for the ride to Ely. Most people don't think of Nevada as being a mountainous state, but it really is. Sometime get an Atlas and look at all of the different mountain ranges. To this day I am sure that are peaks where no one has ever climbed, and who knows, there might even be a lost Indian tribe that hasn't been cataloged by anthropologists. There's a migratory bird refuge during this stretch and White Horse pass as well. I have seen a wild horse in Nevada, but not in this area. Looking at the clock on my bike as we get close to Ely, I see that it has been three and a half hours, plus or minus fifteen minutes since we left Salt Lake. Time, after getting gas, to get off the bike, drink some water and use the facilities.
Ely is a major junction for both highway 50 and 6. They talk about highway 50 being the loneliest road in America, but I sometimes ride the road we will be taking today, highway 6, and between Ely and Tonopah and will not see more than about three cars heading to Ely and about the same number in the 167 mile stretch I will be riding. This is Desert riding at its best with Mountain peaks and ranges as far as the eye can see. There is visually so much going on, that I don't know how anyone could get bored. We will ride in and past the Egan Range, Grant Range, through Railroad Valley and just pass a spot in the road called Current, we will ride past an oil refinery in the middle of know where. I find so much visual stimulation that I even kind of envy that UPS or FEDEX driver that I sometime see. Because I am riding somewhere between 85 and 90, almost always, just as I start up the hill towards Tonopah, my fuel light will come on. After gassing up, I take a much longer break than before and will usually even have a candy bar or some sort of a muffin. When I stop, I turn off my GPS, to stop the timer, what I am interested in is riding time, not accumulated time, for I certainly don't time myself when I am drinking coffee or doing other things. Generally, it takes me a little more than five and a half hours of riding time to get to Tonopah.
Although we will ride through several junctions from here to the California border we will stay on highway 6 till we get to Benton and after getting waived through the inspection station, we turn onto highway 120 on which we will stay till its junction with 395 near Lee Vining. . Between Benton and Lee Vining there is a stretch of road, as we continue to climb towards the Sierra's, the famous roller coaster road, a stretch of about 3 miles of undulating, what a wonderful word, road that at speed you get the feeling of flying at the top of every crest and then gravity seems to suck your back down, its rather hypnotic and its not as noticeable if you were going in the other direction. As we get close to Lee Vining, you can see Mono Lake off in the distance. I have stopped at Mono lake and even in hot summer, there is an eerie quality to it, with it TUFA formations of calcium carbonate. One can imagine microbes, maybe not entirely of the earth, clinging to life for billions of years.
If I was with other people I would probably stop in Lee Vining, after getting gas of course, at Nicely's restaurant.. They have the best deep dish pie, with real ice cream, that I have ever had. But since I don't enjoy eating in restaurants alone, I opt to back track the few miles to the turnoff to Yosemite and highway 120. We now start climbing and climbing and its become both more rocky and alpine like and the temperature starts to drop. It is roughly 150 miles from here to my sister's house in Fresno. After paying my $10 for a seven day pass, I start to notice the traffic density coming the other way. This helps me guess whether it is going to be slow going, or extremely slow going with in the confines of the park . The language of the most gifted poet, falls short of really describing Yosemite, even for a secular humanist, it is a religious experience. Just as the vistas I have seen on the ride today, have reminded me, the sheer scale of the natural world, within Yosemite at every turn you are overwhelmed. I watch my average speed on the GPS drop by miles at a time, as I negotiate around the through the traffic. Although its only about 40 miles to the junction at the bottom, it may take an hour and a half or two to get there. For arguments sake, the traffic today will be minimal, and as I pass the exit gate near El Portal, I know its about 100 miles to my destination in Fresno.
After Mariposa, where I have gone to many BMW rallies, you get the rolling foothills of the golden sierras and small village after village as I drop down to the San Joaquin Valley. Highway 49 is an old friend, and I will be on it, until it has turned into a divided road and I hit the freeway exit and my sister Kathy's house. Its been a great day and in riding time its been a tad less than 12 hours since I left the Great City of Salt. The distance as per GPS is about 745 miles.
“ She pulls back onto main street in her new Mercedes Benz. The Road goes on forever and the party never ends.”
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
In Search of Lost Time
I am reading all of Proust for the second time, somehow that sounds better than saying I am re-reading Proust. The first time I read Proust; it almost sounds like something one would have done at Oxford, with Proctors and tutors, and a nearsighted professor who probably was unsure what decade it was. I was in my mid to late twenties. During that time my family kept a sail boat on the Great Salt Lake which I named Swans Way after the first book. The books, which I still have, were under the title of “Remembrances of Things Past” and was based on quote, the definite translation by
C.K. Scott Moncrieff. I could say something about be weary of somebody with too many names, but I will not. Since then, a new Proust has come out, and although it is still based mostly on the same translation, Terence Kilmartin, a solid British name, and a D.J. Enright have also been involved and the whole thing is now called IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME.
In this series, I actually read the last book first, Time Regained, and am now reading Swann's Way again. I suspect this whole undertaking will probably take me at least a year and a half, I am not just reading Proust, I find I need to think about it as I read it. The new books for whatever reason seem more readable to me, that and the fact that I have had decades of experience in my own life to bring to this undertaking. My heart has been broken, at least once or twice and repaired , at least medically with stents, I have suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. So maybe one should not read Proust before they are either of a certain age or have suffered and experienced life.
I have always been interested in time and memory and certainly Proust deals with both of these in extreme detail. I read a wonderful book a couple of years ago called Proust was a Neuroscientist, it pointed out that modern science and brain chemistry has confirmed several of Proust's precepts about memory and the fallibility thereof, almost a century after his death. Proust was always rewriting, and never did see his complete books in print, on the day he died, he dictated changes having to do with the death of somebody in the book, because as he was dying, he suddenly was aware of things he had not known before.
Another interesting book is My Year of reading Proust. It follows the author in the rest of her life, as she reads Proust and how she brings or tries to bring Proust to bear in dealing with other people in her life and their needs, wants and frustrations.
I use to joke that I was probably one of a few people who read Proust and ride motorcycles, but once I did a Google search of Motorcycles and Proust and was amazed at the number of references I found relating the two.
To Proust there are two types of memory, the more common memory, is just remembering something, the more advanced and more important are those things we remember because of some sort of stimulus, whether it being food in the famous Madeleine Cookie, or catching your foot on a brick, but alas not a cattle guard. Both of these happened in the books that make up in Search of Lost Time.
Many times on Motorcycle trips in different parts of the west, something has triggered this Proustian memory, Suddenly remembering the smell of the night air in a motel in West Yellowstone when I was about seven Stopping several miles from the Mokie dug way in southern Utah as we said good bye to some friends who were artists in Taos in 1963. Because these memory examples were triggered by an emotional response, they were vivid and alive in a much different way than mere memory. How a person who spent the last few years of his life, almost completely bed-ridden in a cork lined room, could glean all of this knowledge about life and the motivation of people, etc. is beyond me.
C.K. Scott Moncrieff. I could say something about be weary of somebody with too many names, but I will not. Since then, a new Proust has come out, and although it is still based mostly on the same translation, Terence Kilmartin, a solid British name, and a D.J. Enright have also been involved and the whole thing is now called IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME.
In this series, I actually read the last book first, Time Regained, and am now reading Swann's Way again. I suspect this whole undertaking will probably take me at least a year and a half, I am not just reading Proust, I find I need to think about it as I read it. The new books for whatever reason seem more readable to me, that and the fact that I have had decades of experience in my own life to bring to this undertaking. My heart has been broken, at least once or twice and repaired , at least medically with stents, I have suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. So maybe one should not read Proust before they are either of a certain age or have suffered and experienced life.
I have always been interested in time and memory and certainly Proust deals with both of these in extreme detail. I read a wonderful book a couple of years ago called Proust was a Neuroscientist, it pointed out that modern science and brain chemistry has confirmed several of Proust's precepts about memory and the fallibility thereof, almost a century after his death. Proust was always rewriting, and never did see his complete books in print, on the day he died, he dictated changes having to do with the death of somebody in the book, because as he was dying, he suddenly was aware of things he had not known before.
Another interesting book is My Year of reading Proust. It follows the author in the rest of her life, as she reads Proust and how she brings or tries to bring Proust to bear in dealing with other people in her life and their needs, wants and frustrations.
I use to joke that I was probably one of a few people who read Proust and ride motorcycles, but once I did a Google search of Motorcycles and Proust and was amazed at the number of references I found relating the two.
To Proust there are two types of memory, the more common memory, is just remembering something, the more advanced and more important are those things we remember because of some sort of stimulus, whether it being food in the famous Madeleine Cookie, or catching your foot on a brick, but alas not a cattle guard. Both of these happened in the books that make up in Search of Lost Time.
Many times on Motorcycle trips in different parts of the west, something has triggered this Proustian memory, Suddenly remembering the smell of the night air in a motel in West Yellowstone when I was about seven Stopping several miles from the Mokie dug way in southern Utah as we said good bye to some friends who were artists in Taos in 1963. Because these memory examples were triggered by an emotional response, they were vivid and alive in a much different way than mere memory. How a person who spent the last few years of his life, almost completely bed-ridden in a cork lined room, could glean all of this knowledge about life and the motivation of people, etc. is beyond me.
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